This is what I want to see at the beginning of Sunday’s “Mad Men” season premier — the premier that marks the beginning of the end for this, the best show of the new golden age of television.
“My name is Dick Whitman, and I’m an alcoholic.”
The camera tight onto Don’s face, wan with bags under his eyes, his hair hanging over his forehead. The camera pulls back to reveal his light grey suit, shirt open at the collar. He sits on a metal folding chair cradling a cup of coffee, bathed in the harsh fluorescents of a church basement.
“Hello, Dick.” a representation of late 1960s America drones — housewives and businessmen, blue collar workers, civil servants, black and white.
“It’s been two weeks since my last drink.”
This is the only way forward for Don Draper — the only way forward that doesn’t involve his death — a complete stripping away of his facade, his false identity and removing the crutch that would otherwise kill him.
The last scenes of season six began Don’s unmasking. He disastrously revealed his past to his colleagues, and poignantly to his family. The firm put him on leave, hinting at an admission that his alcoholism was affecting his work. Much like Freddy Rumsen, Don has been put out to pasture.
At this point there are three ways forward to Don: He can accept his fate, rest on his substantial fortune and fade/drink his way into oblivion, perhaps mellowing enough to hang onto Megan; he can burn out spectacularly, dying an alcohol-fueled death; or he can find redemption and rebirth — he can achieve a new beginning.
Based on the opening sequence and the reoccurring allusions to death throughout the series, most critics and fans believe the series will end with Don’s death, that the primary question left to answer is, “How does Don fall from that window?” Does he jump, is he pushed, or simply stumble.
But I prefer to be an optimist. I prefer to believe that Don will find his new beginning. That he will rise again to start his own boutique firm in somewhere in sunny California. I prefer to believe he will fund happiness. That the twilight of his career will see him surrounded by a small, bustling creative team dreaming on the cutting edge of advertising. I prefer to believe the show ends with Don smiling, as he settles into his chair, arm sling around the back, to listen to the pitch of a brilliant young creative director.
This is how I want the series to end, but to get there, it must begin with Don’s ultimate admission.
“My name is Dick Whitman, and I’m an alcoholic.”
