…it’s our world, not the future, that we relate to most.
Or, if you prefer…
…it’s about a father, not the robot, finding himself.
…it’s our world, not the future, that we relate to most.
Or, if you prefer…
…it’s about a father, not the robot, finding himself.
Like most red-blooded American males, I think Mad Men is one of the finest shows on television. It’s a time capsule brought to life, a nostalgia-tinged journey through the Sixties. The costumes, the attitudes, and the smoke — the smoke! — create a world both alien and familiar. And it has some of the best writing on the planet.
Only one thing gets me, and I wonder if the writers knew what they know know about the show’s success, would they do things differently? It has to do with Don Draper’s back story. For those of you unfamiliar with the show, Don is the hard-drinking, hard-smoking tough-as-nails creative director of the ad agency. He’s the star of the show, and he’s far from perfect. Donald Draper is mesmerizing that the show suffers whenever he’s not on camera. It’s precisely because of his flaws that he becomes such an intriguing character. Gifted, brilliant, and capable of self-destruction — if his iron will ever cracks.
Don harbors a secret which was there from the beginning. I’m going to tell it to you, so avoid reading further if you plan to watch the series from scratch, but I’m really only spoiling a few episodes of Season One.
Don Draper is not this man’s real name. He is actually Dick Whitman, a deserter from Korea, who managed to steal the identity of another fatally wounded soldier and create a different life for himself on Madison Avenue. Don/Dick is haunted by his past, and it informs several episodes with different plot lines.
But the series didn’t need it.
I suspect that the show’s creators really didn’t know what they had. The stolen identity angle sounds like an idea for a series pitch meeting, something to provide a bit of intrigue, when what you’re really selling is the mystique and flavor of a lost period of Americana. A show set in an office building probably doesn’t sound too dramatic on paper. Like the characters in their story, the creators needed an idea to suck people in. In this case, TV executives.
Once the show found its tone and hit its stride, the Dick Whitman plot just seems superfluous. Mad Men is at its best when it showcases Don, Roger, Pete, Betty, Peggy, and Joan struggling to keep clients, navigate relationships, generate the next new idea. A thriller mystery thread just diverts attention from the real action.
It’s not that the Dick Whitman back story is poorly executed. It just doesn’t fit as well as everything else. And I think this pertains to all back story. In the end, only what’s happening to the characters right now really matters. The rest belongs on the cutting room floor.
So it’s been awhile for you loyal readers, and I have to admit this blog is still casting about for its true identity. This blog is like Jason Bourne. There’s a killer idea somewhere inside it, but first you have to sort through the jumbled memories and the missing passports and a sinister Brian Cox. And why do I always get him mixed up with Brian Dennehy? Did the world really need two grumpy old character actors named Brian?
What I’d really like to do is talk about is the art of crafting a good story. As a writer, it’s a subject I find endlessly fascinating. So many tunnels to explore. So many hidden passages. So many dead ends. My life is one big exhibition hall for this topic. I come into contact with stories every day, either things that I watch or read, or things that I’m writing myself. It seems there’s a lesson to be learned in all of them.
Take Star Wars. It has a reputation as an action movie, but it actually takes its time to develop. In the first hour, there are only a handful of sequences that can be considered action. An opening space battle, good. Ben cuts off a guy’s arm. Han shoots Greedo, then later blasts some troops as they take off from Mos Eisley.
When it comes to conflict, mortal danger is one of the most extreme situations a character can find him or herself in. So far, Luke and Han haven’t really seen a lot of action. But once on the Death Star, consider this escalating series of events, each of which puts our heroes lives on the line:
That’s a lot of potential death scenes. Ben didn’t even make it out alive. And they come at you one right after another. Boom! Boom! Boom! What started as a search for lost droids on a sleepy desert planet has suddenly turned into Die Hard on a Death Star, and I think it’s a big reason why fans fell in love with the movie. It put the characters in a series of escalating conflicts, in which one wrong move could end them.
What strikes me is that none of these action scenes is especially imaginative. Big pit, deadly snake, troopers with guns. The setting makes them unique, but there’s nothing we haven’t seen before (the magnetic shield that causes the ricochet laser blast comes closest). What makes them fun is how one follows another, without letting up. Once this action sequence kicks into high gear, you don’t get a breather until the heroes are on their way to Yavin, to prepare for the final battle.
I think the lesson here is that you don’t have to always invent new ways to endanger your heroes. You just have to keep your foot on the gas.