Plasma Pool

This essay is part of “Point-Hyperpoint: Mad Men,” a rollicking series of posts devoted to discussing AMC’s drama series. Spoilers abound. To read the entire series, please visit this page. To see all of Plasma Pool’s “Point-Hyperpoint” discussions, please click here.

I want to respond to one thing you said in the last response, because I think it gets at my issue with the Dick Whitman storyline and how it works on the show:

Conventional wisdom on Mad Men is that there are two sides of the main character: 1) Don, the smooth-talker who sleeps around and plays it cool, and 2) Dick, the defenseless country boy who shies away during confrontations and altogether seems weak. As I said several weeks ago, I reject the distinction. These traits can be found in both “versions” of Draper — Don rarely scolds his kids in any way that makes him seem like the bad guy, he is quite charming as Dick when around Anna Draper, etc. Parts of Dick can be seen in Don, because they are ultimately the same person, just one who has changed a lot over the course of his life. If we’re to believe that Don and Dick are fundamentally different, then we have to believe that people are able to partition of parts of their experience and entire years of their life into a separate self. Dick didn’t become an engineer or get plastic surgery when he took over Don Draper’s life — he just changed his name and screwed with a few documents.

These are ultimately semantic differences, though. When I say I dislike the Dick Whitman plotlines, what I really mean is that I think most everything connected to him could be done without making Don an identity thief. If Don were a farm boy who moved to New York, took on the persona of an old money WASP, never told his wife (or anyone else) a thing about his past, and still felt like an outsider, then how much about the show really changes? Granted, I just described something very close to the plot of The Great Gatsby, and maybe Matthew Weiner wanted to distinguish Don from a man who throws shirts at people to signify his status. But I’ve yet to hear an immensely compelling reason for the necessity of the Dick Whitman plotline.

My opinion on this is colored by the specifics of the show’s major stories. Betty and Don’s relationship has always been broken — he cheats, lies to her, and generally treats her like a child. If he were just Don Draper with no Dick Whitman lie, would this change? Is his desire to cheat really connected to his past? It’s possible to want to cheat because of a legitimately poor match, and even if he only does so because his dream life hasn’t turned out as planned, the dream wouldn’t stop being a dream just because he’s always been named Don Draper. If Dick Whitman can desire the life of Don Draper, then surely a farmboy Don could, too.

Likewise, Don’s success as an ad man is connected to his status as an outsider, not because lying about his identity makes it possible for him to lie about products. It’s quite the opposite, in fact: Don is incredibly sincere about his work — it’s one of the few things he finds true and honest. Maybe he’s kidding himself, but it’s not as if the pitch for the Kodak Carousel doesn’t ring true. His campaigns come from genuine emotion.

I don’t want to make it seem like I hate all aspects of the Dick Whitman story. While I find most of the flashbacks hokey (particularly the hobo, ugh), anything related to Adam Whitman is very touching. The scene from this season’s 11th episode in which Don shows Betty the pictures was incredibly effective — clearly, Weiner and Co. are talented enough to make this plot work. Plus, perhaps most importantly, the Whitman lie might have been necessary to ending the Draper marriage. As written, Betty is so willing to overlook Don’s faults that she could only stop if faced with a lie so huge that it would change how she views her entire marriage. Cheating wasn’t enough — it had to be something bigger. That said, it’s important to remember that the marriage failed because of lies, cheating, and a lack of love — all elements of unhappy marriages that don’t involve false identities.

What I’m really complaining about here, though, is the element of Mad Men that makes me unwilling to put it alongside the holy trinity of Deadwood, The Wire, and The Sopranos after three seasons. Despite the clear quality of their show, the creative powers that be seem to have an occasional lack of faith in the power of the show’s fundamental premise involving a ’60s ad agency and a shifting culture. So instead of digging into that premise for all its worth, they sometimes feel the need to introduce soapy elements like pop-up pregnancies and assumed identities. It’s as if they don’t trust the audience to find creative meetings about cigarette ads interesting. Never mind that critics gave the shows rave reviews before they’d ever heard Dick Whitman’s name.

That’s yet another reason I’m so excited about the show’s new direction. With Betty and Don no more, Dick can take a backseat to the basic character interactions that make the series so good to begin with. Or maybe Don will tell every woman he meets about his past, and I’ll be the unhappiest camper of all.