If there was ONE thing you had to pick that was most memorable about this episode, what would it be?
Sally’s barbie doll in the bushes? Probably not.
Conrad Hilton summoning Don to the presidential suite at the Waldorf-Astoria? Nope.
Don getting an old-fashioned shave with a flat razor? Definitely warmer…
Let’s see, umm, Oh, I know! Going out on a limb here (hee hee), but I’m going to predict it’s this…
Yeah, definitely Guy McKendrick getting his foot sliced off with the John Deere lawn mower during Joan’s going-away party. Nailed it. (update: animated gif now up at Gif Party.)
So let me just take a second here to say…HO-LEEE MEGA-CRAP! That’s a Hard Right Turn right there, folks, and most definitely a candidate for the Mad Men’s most shocking moments board on the AMC Mad Men page.
And secondly, I think it’s safe to say that Lois and machinery do not mix well, hmm? Last week she got her scarf caught in the xerox machine. This week, well, here’s another take on the moment…
Okay, maybe I went a bit far with the dialogue from the guy in the background, but…he’s smiling, people. C’mon.
And there’s a lesson here.
The next time your Brit bosses make you work on July 3rd because they “were unaware of the holiday” then you remind them of a little thing called the Revolutionary War and you make it hurt. Because that’s the American way.
So what happened to Lois? Well, her getaway ended up like everything else she attempts: a sadness parade.
Lois invents open office architecture (unknowingly, of course).
Peggy faints into Pete’s arms (interesting) and Ken yells for someone to call an ambulance.
Joan runs in and saves Guy’s life, proving once again she’s the greatest office manager in the world. Speaking of…
Joan can’t be leaving Sterling-Cooper, right? Say it isn’t so, Weiner and sons! She’s got skills, spunk and she’s got a heart, considering she’s the only S-C employee who bothered to go to the hospital, until Don shows up, right? Yes, a big heart, until the writers remind us that there’s no tragedy too big not to be openly mocked by these people (as long as it’s a well-crafted joke, of course; there’s no points for poor wordplay), so Joan pouts about her dress being ruined from Guy’s blood and then makes a joke about how that’s life: you may have a great day or you may have a secretary run you over with a lawn mower.
Too cruel, you say? Tell that to the nuns in St. Patrick’s Cathedral (which is, btw, the church spire that is visible from Roger Sterling’s window, although that’s probably artistic license because his office is not high up enough to have that view).
This is New York. People lose their feet every day. Whatayyawant me to do about it?
It should be noted that Roger delivered the first, and awesomely best joke about the gimp…
Paul: He may lose his foot.
Roger: Just when he got it in the door.
Didn’t even skip a beat. Then he calls Harry Crane a “Sissy Mary,” which is like winning the Masters two years in a row. The Masters being a golf tournament, which is something Guy McKendrick will never participate in, according to his boss Powell…
Powell: The doctors said he’ll never play golf again.
And that is the measure of a man, isn’t it? His golf game. Actually, it’s more the golf course; that’s where the deals are made, and no one wants to play golf with the club-footed guy.
Yet another reminder about the importance of style and presentation in this world. It is the surface of a man that must be flawless and inspiring, even if it covers over the darkest of secrets. Just like a glossy ad in a magazine or a television commercial populated with actors who flash rows of teeth bleached to the grit.
(Note: Powell’s full character name on imdb is listed as Saint John Powell. I thought he was being called Sinjun Powell, didn’t you? Or is Sinjun short for…Saint John? Who the f names their kid Saint John?!)
While we’re on the topic of the Brits, let’s discuss that miserable Michael York-looking bastard, Harold Ford.
Ford’s got a cuckoo clock for a heart and getting his jaw wired shut was elective surgery. He practices sneering in the mirror for ten minutes a day. Eleven on Sunday. When he told Lane Pryce “One of your greatest qualities is doing what you’re told,” I wanted to smack the pomp out of his circumstance. Or worse, deny him his afternoon tea, which would probably make him melt into the floor like The Wicked Witch of the East. Add to that Powell telling Pryce “Don’t pout” after ordering him to move to BOMBAY and once again on Mad Men, we suddenly feel sympathy for a character that we previously thought was a class-A dick.
I now want Lane Pryce to remain at Sterling Cooper, just long enough to see Powell, Ford, Putnam, Lowe, Shakespeare, Wernham and Hogg burn, baby, burn.
And talk about two guys who know how to give a present: that shriveled up Cobra in a cheap wooden basket? That’s one you want to have under your arm when you cross a bouncy threshold. And did Powell actually say to Peggy “As you were” as if he were her superior officer in the service?
Does the party ever stop with these Brits?
And notice how Guy McKendrick called Don’s department “Creative Art and Copy” thus reducing it to doodles and captions. I mean, if that’s what you’re looking for, Jude Law Jr., then I’ve got it all cued up for you …
Guy, pre-getting his foot sliced off by a lawnmower driven by Lois the secretary who has styrofoam for brains.
Guy…I’ve known Don Draper. I’ve worked with Don Draper. You’re no Don Draper.
And what else this week?
The wife-raper proved he was a failure…
Paging Doctor Lowered Expectations.
…Betty’s still a bitch and an awful mother…
"Only boring people get bored, and only new babies get love. Or, so my mother used to say. Before I strangled her for touching my hairbrush."
…and what the f*$k kind of Atomic-age doohickeys are happening here?
"I make-uh Mr. Draper feel-uh good with electric pizza dough rollers I invent back in Napoli."
One last thing.
The Joan-Don goodbye: was that a “what could have been” moment or a “what WAS” moment? Drop your opinion in the Comments below.
Next week on Mad Men…incoherence. Seriously, those previews are getting more Sopranos-rage-inducing each week.
It’s gonna be a long six days, Madison Avenue, so smoke ’em if you got ’em. LOTS of ’em.