<p>I thought Roger cried for several reasons. He was emotionally spent. He is holding back all sorts of feelings about what he could have been as a son and father and husband. He sees an enactment of his talk about doors right in front of him: he’s the only one who called about the shoeshine guy not being there - and that wasn’t out of concern, we know because we saw the scene where he wants to know where the guy is. It’s all so empty. Here’s a man’s life in a box, handed to him by the man’s family. They don’t care about the box, it seems, any more than Roger’s daughter cared about the water from the Jordan in which her father and she were baptized. Where is the sentiment when you can feel the end approaching?</p>
<p>I have mixed feelings about the episode. It was meant to disappoint, with Don’s failure, with Betty’s failure, with Roger’s failure, etc. But I also thought it was more of a ground-laying episode than we’ve seen before. </p>
<p>The agency is obviously doing well: the crew is working on an ad for Dow, so they’ve picked up business from one of the biggest advertisers in the country. They have Sheraton as a client. Despite the pitch not going well, that is the basis for a campaign once it is refined. Not all meetings go well. Remember, it is less that Peggy did well and Don’t didn’t then that Peggy had to handle a crisis and Don is just at the beginning of a campaign for Sheraton. The point, I think, is they’re at different points but they’re also the same: they both see through what others do and they work through the problems until they find the right solution. Remember, Don also talked about how taking the word “love” into the kitchen cheapens it so they need to find a better alternative. That scene was brilliant, as was Peggy dismissing the 3 lines her subordinates developed because they were just one idea said 3 ways. </p>
<p>I think the overriding message of the show was that you are what you are even as the world goes haywire around you. This is the year when that happened in the world: assassinations of MLK and RFK massacres, the Tet Offensive (giving lie to the notion we were winning), riots and a machine gun emplacement on the steps of the Capitol. But the people are the same. Under the hair. There are brown nosers trying to get ahead. Unhappy people trying to stop being self-destructive. People wasting their lives. Last year, at a college forum I asked the Exec Producers how they would handle the intrusion of the world into the characters’ lives and they were very clear: life is not the headlines but sometimes the headlines shape what you say and think and do even as the petty attributes of your life continue. They said they want you to experience the headlines through how the characters live their daily lives. </p>
<p>I’ve been thinking about The Inferno, which I’ve read. A main message is simply: Abandon hope, all you who enter here. The rest of the book describes the various forms of hell, from limbo, which is rendered as the hell for the unbaptized no matter how good they were, through lust all the way to treachery. The book’s aim is to make you repent by showing you what happens if you don’t. But I think the message we saw was more: abandon hope.</p>
<p>Abandon hope. Betty leaves the violin on the floor and walks away. Can’t find her. Can’t fix her. Her daughter closes her bedroom door in Betty’s face. Can’t reach her. Can barely talk to her and now her daughter calls her Betty instead of Mom. They grow up and you can’t control them, if you ever could. Abandon hope.</p>
<p>Your mother is dead. You barely know your children. You’re divorced … again. You have another child you’ll never get to know. Every door you open leads to another door. Perhaps the doors are like the journey Dante and Virgil take across the River Acheron into hell. Perhaps it means: repent. Perhaps it means you can’t repent because you are what you are. See Claudius in Hamlet. See Don Giovanni. </p>
<p>You have a wife who adores you. She works to bring sunshine into the darkness she knows is in you. You can’t hold it together long enough to stay sober for one day without her. </p>
<p>I had trouble with the Doctor’s wife affair for 2 reasons: it must have been going on before the men became friends because we see that happen and I can’t understand how on a night with a blizzard Don could disappear and then slide into bed without a question. And how he must have smelled of this other woman. I think a meaning is that Don may be, along with her, in the 9th Circle, the one reserved for the traitorous, because it is not merely Lust - circle 2 - but betrayal of one of the few men Don has seemed to genuinely like. If there is any foreshadowing in that, then we can’t expect a great turning in Don’s life. I can’t believe they chose this person for this affair casually without understanding this is a different form of betrayal than with affairs past. It isn’t merely a betrayal of Megan but of the part of Don that reaches past women to the world of respect among men. He respects the Doctor. He likes him. He betrays him. </p>
<p>In many ways, the “stepping off point” is exactly what people have said but the implication is that Don is getting on the boat with Charon to cross over into eternal suffering. I think they set up the ambiguity in that very well: we want heaven, but we’re incapable of making it happen. Life intrudes. We are who we are and fail because of who we are. We can’t help those we want to save. We can’t even reach them. Poor Dinkins probably dies in Tet. </p>
<p>I expect a struggle between heaven and hell. I remember 1968 well. I was 11. We watched our soldiers struggling to take back our embassy in Saigon. The massacres by the VC at Hue. The siege at Khe Sanh. Kids dropping out. Drugs spreading through my suburban neighborhood, driven by fear it was all collapsing as Soviet tanks crushed Prague’s Spring. But the struggle will be in the daily lives of the characters.</p>