Pretty much every
single TV show in existence has been plagued by one common thing: diminishing returns.
Inevitable, really. Natural. Some of the most dedicated and short-sighted of us
might not even notice that nobody gives a damn anymore. Face it. The screenwriter
has developed a drinking problem, the director said ‘fuck it’ and actors fail
to turn up.
Curtains. Curtains! Will
anyone draw the fucking curtains?
Mad Men, however, is something else. Come to think of it, this might be the
only TV drama of note that is not reliant on murders and drugs. Don Draper’s
infidelity aside, there’s no shock factor to overshadow the writing and the characters.
It is just this beautifully crafted world that is by turns cynical, nostalgic,
stylish, moving. And still going strong, even if it’s just for seven final
episodes.
I will watch them
with breathless dread. And then, when all is said and done, I won’t stop
thinking about Pete (who could well be the most fascinating character created
for modern television), about Betty smoking on the school bus (Eat your candy!) and that unforgettable
episode where Don spends a day with his daughter and she says she loves him and
the car door slams shut and you hear “This Will Be Our Year” from that most unforgettable of 60’s albums.
