MAD MEN: The Show People Love to Love and Hate to Hate

WHEN THE TELEVISION SHOW Mad Men, debuted on AMC last year, it was an immediate hit. Hipsters loved it for its irony-free vintageness, middle-of-the-roaders cottoned to its nostalgic representation of the late 50s-early 60s, and lefties claimed it made subtle yet powerful arguments about gender. Impossibly, all of these seemingly disparite reactions are valid (and even accurate) readings of the show.

No doubt, Mad Men's ability to "mean" on all of these different levels is one of the main reasons for its success, but its many hats also raises questions about the relationship bewteen nostalgia and interrogation. By this, I mean, can a show be both nostalgic and interrogative at the same time? Can it sentimentalize the very past it calls into question? Can a text accurately examine an era it is seduced by?

On one hand, it would seem that Mad Men--a full-on period drama that looks at the birth of big-time ad agencies on Madison Avenue in 1960--has to choose between objectively recreating an already romanticized time (and place) in American culture and asking probing questions about that time and place. And, indeed, at times this is exactly what seems to be happening. The era gets a big hug.

People relish smoking and drinking at work. There is relatively easy and repercussion-free sex in the office. Gender roles are clearly defined, and everyone knows exactly what is expected of them. And, everyone just looks so . . . not postmodern.

The structure of the show adds to this feeling. Close-ups on old school phones, comments about hair curlers, visits to the switchboard, conversations about the advances in typewriters, remarks about the prices of everything, and the unfolding of the Nixon/Kennedy presidential race reinforces at every possible moment the same mantra: this is 1960, this is 1960, this is 1960. And, it seems to do so happily, jubilantly, without hesitation.

Part of this derives from the acting, which is fabulous and completely without arch. The actors play it straight--no winks, no nods, so dramatic irony. The show seems so fully in itsself.

But, some of the darker sub-plots of the show--the unhappiness of the housewives, the fallout of infidelity, the various gender-based pressure to pass as alpha male or super female, and the pervasive racism and sexism--ultimately serve to undermine the veneer of play than animates so much of the program.

In many ways, the program is about identity--who we are and what makes us who we are. For men, it's work. For women, it's work; just a different kind. But each have their own set of rules, and, most importantly, their own sets of expectations. An inability to measure up can mean, for either gender, failure. And since there are few alternatives, failure (or the fear of failure), can mean disaster.

Critics of Mad Men claim the show wants it both ways--to passively luxuriate in a period piece and to be progressive and edgy and political. The question is, why can't a text do this? Isn't the benefit of history the carte blanche to see a text of the past through a different lens?

Ultimately, desipite all of the fun at the office, no one in the show is happy. Everyone is miserable, aware of all that they don't have. As the great American poet Wallace Stevens notes, "not to have is the beginning of desire."

It is possible that the most political project is one that so fully immerses the viewer in a time and place, they see just how restrictive the culture was, how few choices people had, and how ubiquitous social norms and mores were--enabling us, now, to see the totality of narrowness, and the dangers of exhuming it.

Has TV Paved the Way for Hillary more than Barack?

RECENLTY, SOME MEDIA CRITICS have cited the increasing visibility of African American men on TV and in films with making Barack Obama's candidacy for president palatable to mainstream America, including a short piece on NPR. Television shows like Queer Eye for a Straight Guy, Will & Grace, Ellen, brought gayness out of the closet and onto the sofas of living rooms across Middle America. Now, it's just weird if there isn't a quirky, well-dressed gay man in a sitcom. It has become almost quotidian.

With Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama as frontrunners for the Democratic nomination for president, one wonders which candidate America has been best prepared for by popular culture. The Black Man or the White Woman?

On one hand, the popular espionage series 24 allowed us to believe the impossible--that our president could also sell us Allstate Insurance. Beyond that, though, viewers were given a rare luxury: a smart, capable, ethical Black president. The charismatic David Palmer navigated the treacherous waters of terrorism, assassination attempts, and overly dramatic background music and became (much like Martin Sheen in West Wing) a far more desirable president than the one running the actual world.

That said, he didn't last long. Unfortunately for all of us, the writers of 24 had Palmer assassinated, and we were never supposed to think it was racially motivated. Now that's fantasy!

Still, a few seasons later, his brother, Wayne Palmer, became president, enabling us once again to imagine a Black Man in the White House. But, just as W is not H, Wayne was not David. Both Palmer Presidents were good men and seemed appropriate for the position, and I have to say, I loved thinking of David Palmer as my Commander-in-Chief. But, it’s hard to think of persuasive examples beyond 24.

Contrast this with the numerous examples of female presidents.

First, network television elected MacKenzie Allen to the presidency in the short-lived but good-hearted Commander-In-Chief, in which MacKenzie Allen looks a lot like Geena Davis. She may not have been in the oval office as long as George W. Bush, but she is taller.

The best thing about the remake of the sci-fi series Battlestar Galactica is the wonderful Mary McDonnell as the president of the Colonies--the metaphorical United States. She out-thinks the male Commander Adama, and her character never descends into caricature.

Most convincing, though, is the fact that the new president on 24 will be a woman! That's right, Hillary herself has agreed to star in the new season of the show, which may make her the first sitting president to hang out with Kiefer Sutherland but not the first sitting president on the Fox payroll.

Okay, so it's not true that Hillary will be the next Fox president--that goes to two-time Tony winner Cherry Jones--but it is a fact that the conservative network has supplanted a Black president with a female one. Is Fox trying to scare us? Is it all part of a larger right-wing conspiracy? Or, is imagining a woman as president now so plausible, so seemingly normal that the network of Bill O’Reilly is ready for the change as well?