Created by The Sopranos writer Matthew Weiner, Mad Men is an exceptional, superb study of the American landscape in the mid-20^th Century, conveying the subtle conflict between old school attitudes and contemporary idealism as the home develops into modernity as a leisure, affluent society.

Set in ‘60s New York, Mad Men follows high-flying ad executive Don Draper (John Hamm), the dashing prince of Madison Avenue, his family and the clients and colleagues who surface in the halls of the agency, Sterling Cooper.

The show might lack the strong, universal dramatic scope of The Sopranos (the characters are often so cruel that the series could easily be accused of emotionally impenetrability), but it so beautifully made and well researched that the program’s sense of quality cannot be denied.

Cinematographer Phil Abraham has beautifully reconstructed the austere, ascetic world with cold, muted colour saturation, smoothly communicating the simmering, festering anxiety that underscores the American workforce. The meticulous, specific set design and costuming is not simply picturesque backdrop (although they are stunning), but also contribute to the series’ intense, claustrophobic authenticity; Mad Men is a show about how we create our own worlds, and that we can be stifled by our own creations (especially the seemingly triumphant Draper and his lovely young family). 

Inspired by Ernest Lehman’s classic screenplay, The Sweet Smell of Success, and Richard Yates’ seminal Revolutionary Road, Michael Weiner’s heightened, elevated dialogue subtly conveys the understated, simmering tensions between men and women with an intricate complexity. In particular, there is a powerful antagonism between Draper and loathsome, obnoxious junior executive Peter “Pete” Campbell, whom Draper rightly admonishes in the opening episode for its distasteful, misogynous attitude (Don’s own adultery lends the speech with an intelligent, ironic texture common in so much of Weiner’s writing).

The series finds its intense, indecipherable mystery in John Hamm’s appealing, fascinating portrait of Don Draper who is alternatively both warmly sympathetic and coldly indifferent. Although personable to his colleagues and playful with his children, Hamm’s darkly inscrutable face effortlessly essays Draper’s slow disconnection from his reality with Clooney-esque charisma and Cary Grant-like magnetism. Elsewhere, Elisabeth Moss skilfully conveys modest, dull secretary Peggy Olson’s growth into power and influence. The dashing, silver-haired John Slattery is also fine as the agency’s senior partner Roger Sterling, as is the Grace Kelly-like January Jones as Don’s delicate, dejected wife, Betty. Don’s spiteful, domineering colleagues are not as interesting as these central figures (Don does not seem to have any time for these jerks), but they help build upon the series’ powerful, vivid storytelling, in which the character’s experiences slowly emerge in strange, unexpected ways. 

Ultimately, there is something detached and indifferent about the whole endeavour- although the characters are endlessly fascinating, there is ultimately something cold, distant and oppressive about this world. Man Men is like a great Henry James novel- a rich, novelistic tableau that stimulates the mind, but not the heart.   

Season four will premiere in the States later this year.

Andrew Moraitis