For seven seasons, Mad Men took us on a tour of the 1960s, undercutting the eras supposed tranquility by presenting characters with inherent urges and failings, before showing the vague discomfort felt by those same characters as they started becoming culturally obsolete whilst trying to guide the conversation about what is and was cool.
Will we miss the characters — the con man who built a god for himself (and his baggage) to inhabit, the glutton who grew a soul, and the ceaseless dreamer — more than we miss the clever dialogue and the bold storytelling? The style more than the substance? We’ll need a little time away from Mad Men before we can properly answer that. But for now, the Uproxx staff has gathered up our favorite moments from the show’s iconic run. We’ll start with mine.
Though I was tempted to go with Don’s recent realization in the McCann boardroom that he was not nearly as special as he thought, or the time that he reminded Ginsberg of his insignificance (“I don’t think about you at all”), or… I ultimately wanted to go with a more personal moment, and there’s none more personal than Don and Peggy’s first last goodbye in Season 5.
Frustrated and finally eager to spread her wings, Peggy tells Don that it’s time for her to move on. There are so many words in this exchange, as Don smirks and assumes this is some kind of game while Peggy visibly braces herself and continues to rebuff his half-hearted apologies and his offers of more money. After a few moments, when Peggy once again stands firm and goes to shake Don’s hand, we see him realize that this is real, and we see his desperation and hear him say, “Don’t go,” as he holds her hand and kisses it gently. She holds back tears and amazingly evades the emotional pull of an obvious plea from a man who’s been like another father to her. It’s an amazing moment, and it’s one of so many from the history of this show. Here are our picks, make sure you tell us what yours are in the comment section.
Ryan Perry
It’s impossible to choose from the dozens of Mad Men moments that ignited earnest feelings within me without gushing like a lunatic, so instead I choose to salute the shorts of the show’s delightfully mysterious, ass-kissin’, Pete Campbell-instigatin’ fraud: Bob Benson. While his “NOT GREAT, BOB!” moment in the elevator with Pete was great, Bob peacocking around Joan’s apartment in his short shorts to the disgust/envy of Roger was peak Bob Benson:
Danger Guerrero
One of the complaints you’ll hear about Mad Men, usually from people who don’t watch the show, is “nothing happens.” This is hooey. The following things have happened on Mad Men: A secretary ran over a man’s foot with a riding mower she was driving around an office, in a high-rise, in Manhattan; a man cut off his nipple because he thought a computer was turning him gay; a man tried to poop on another man’s office furniture; a fist-fight broke out in the office because a prostitute left chewing gum on a client’s “pubis.”
And one day, an executive called in his personal doctor to administer pharmaceutical-grade amphetamines to the staff by injecting it into everyone’s butts, sending everyone on a drug-fueled, episode-long escapade. It was so weird. That was the episode. Everyone was just on drugs for an hour. It wasn’t my favorite episode of the show from a plot and character development standpoint, but it was … it was so, so weird. I love that they did it.
Jamie Frevele
I honestly don’t know what could be more satisfying than Pete Campbell being punched in the face. Lane punching Pete in the face feels so good to think about AND watch because he’s gotten nothing but weasly over the course of his time on the show. I don’t know if I’m ready to accept being happy about him getting to punch someone himself (even if that punch was directed by Jared Harris), but there was something kind of poetic about it.
And Sally calling her mother “Betty” always cracks me up.
Chet Manley
The stairs! His butt! It works on so many levels!
Pete Campbell was one of the more sniveling f*cks on Mad Men. Whenever he got knocked out, was ridiculed by Bob Benson, or threatened by his wife, it was all well deserved. This particular moment combined malice towards a character and classic slapstick with hilarious results.
In the end, we may never get to see that infamous bear (I still hold out hope for an epilogue), but we’ll always have Pete Campbell falling down the stairs.
Ben Goldstein
Even though Don Draper has left a long trail of broken women in his wake, there’s no debate that Roger Sterling is the biggest cad in the Mad Men universe. Exhibit A: In the Season 1 episode “Red in the Face,” Roger drops by for dinner at the Drapers’ house, then corners Betty in the kitchen and makes a string of rather gross passes at her.
Now, if this were some random schmuck hitting on his wife, Don would probably fire the overhand right and be done with it. But considering that Roger is essentially his boss, it’s a delicate situation that requires some higher-level skullduggery.
First, Don lulls the enemy into a false sense of comfort by playing it cool during Roger’s morning-after apology. Later, Don takes Roger out to lunch and stuffs him with enough liquor and oysters to feed a battalion. As they return to the Sterling Cooper offices for a meeting with some Richard Nixon campaign managers, they see that the building’s elevator is out of service. In fact, Don had bribed the elevator operator to make sure it was out of service.
And so begins a 23-flight death march up the stairs, which becomes pure agony for the booze-addled and shellfish-gorged Roger Sterling. Meanwhile, Don soldiers through it, talking trash the whole time. The dynamic duo finally makes it home, and Sterling pukes his entire life onto the carpet:
“You okay?” Don asks Roger, and strolls away smirking, savoring the victory. It’s the perfect revenge because it hits Sterling where his ego would feel it the most. At that moment, Roger is an aging, wheezing drunk who can’t handle his oysters — not the virile man-about-town he hopes to be forever. The crown of alphaness officially transferred to Don in that episode, and there it has remained.
Andrew Roberts
The episode Far Away Places — in particular the Roger Sterling portion of the episode — is an episode I feel was odd, but very easy to relate to for some reason. The notion of escape is something I think we’ve all dealt with at one point or another, but there’s also the aspect of needing to be honest with yourself and the people around you. Sometimes it takes a trip, be it real or drug induced, to realize these things and see the world through another set of eyes. Escape.
And the production in the LSD scene really helps to sell what’s happening to Sterling in the scene. It’s a little jarring to watch, but certainly memorable. In a series full of scenes I have enjoyed, this was the one that jumped out to me instantly. I don’t know if speaks more about my own personal interests or the overall quality.
Dustin Rowles
With echoes of “The Suitcase,” Don opens up to Peggy after they argue over the Burger Chef pitch in “The Strategy.” He’s vulnerable with her, telling her that “I worry about a lot of things, but I don’t worry about you.” He reminds her that she’s “doing great,” and that he worries that “I don’t have anyone.” It culminates with Peggy coming around to a great Burger Chef pitch, and Peggy and Don dancing to “My Way” in one of the most beautifully perfect scenes on one of the best television dramas ever. Mentor and mentee. Two old friends finally returning to one another. It’s romantic, but there’s nothing sexual about it. And that kiss on the head. It’s an amazing, sweet moment of television that will always epitomize what Don and Peggy were really about underneath all the office politics.
Cajun Boy
“Technology is a glittering lure. But there is the rare occasion when the public can be engaged on a level beyond flash, if they have a sentimental bond with the product. My first job, I was in-house at a fur company with this old, pro copywriter, Greek, named Teddy. And Teddy told me the most important idea in advertising was ‘new.’ Creates an itch. You simply put your product in there as a kind of calamine lotion. But he also talked about a deeper bond with the product: nostalgia. It’s delicate, but potent. Teddy told me that in Greek nostalgia literally means ‘the pain from an old wound.’ It’s a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn’t a space ship. It’s a time machine. It goes backwards, forwards. Takes us to a place where we ache to go again. It’s not called ‘The Wheel.’ It’s called ‘The Carousel.’ It lets us travel the way a child travels. Around and around and back home again, to a place where we know we are loved.”
Any time I’ve tried to get friends into Mad Men after the first season of the show aired, I’ve sent them a clip of this scene, and every time I’ve done so they’ve wound up watching the show. It stands on its own; it doesn’t need much context to someone not familiar with the show. It’s something they can watch and just get it. It is, in my estimation, one of the greatest scenes in the history of TV, as there’s so much good stuff going on here. The dialogue, the acting, the cinematography. But perhaps best of all is the score. The song that plays over this scene — “The Carousel” by Mad Men composer David Carbonara — is damn near perfect. It’s just heart-shattering.
I mean, even that prick Harry Crane couldn’t hold back the tears. (And the scene is even more powerful knowing what we know now about Betty.)
