Top Gun: Maverick

Director: Joseph Kosinki
Starring: Tom Cruise, Miles Teller, Jennifer Connelly, Jon Hamm, Glen Powell, Ed Harris, Val Kilmer, Lewis Pullman, Monica Barbaro, Charles Parnell, Danny Ramirez, Bashir Salahuddin, Manny Jacinto, Raymond Lee, Lyliana Wray, Jean Louisa Kelly
Running Time: 130 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

When the final book's written on Tom Cruise's career, it's a pretty safe bet that Top Gun: Maverick, the long awaited follow-up to his 1986 blockbuster, will be one of the primary talking points. The actor not only reenergizes familiarly nostalgic material so well you'd think he never left his rule-breaking pilot behind, but director Joseph Kosinki delivers a film that summons the spirit of Tony Scott's original. Expertly made with the sensibilities of a huge 80's action spectacle, it takes everything that was special about its predecessor and expands upon it, resulting in a pitch perfect sequel that surpasses the highest of expectations. On a technical level, there's little doubt these action scenes are superior, but what's more impressive is Kosinki's firm grasp on what was needed for this to really work, just as he previously proved with his criminally overlooked TRON: Legacy. 

The movie knows what it is and wastes no time getting there, making for one of the breezier, endlessly enjoyable 130 minutes you could spend watching a huge budget franchise movie. And while a quintessential big screen experience, it's still not hard to imagine viewers returning to it from the comfort of their own couches for a while to come. And by providing thrills that go beyond the adrenaline-fueled flight sequences, it further establishes Cruise as an expert at managing his own brand, again navigating the line that separates movie star and actor. This is the best possible combination of both, proving an ideal showcase for his talents and a welcome surprise for those understandably complaining they just don't make them like they used to.

Over 30 years after graduating from the TOPGUN program, U.S. Navy Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell (Cruise) is a test pilot whose constant insubordination and recklessness has kept him from rising up the ranks. But upon hearing that Rear Admiral Chester "Hammer" Cain (Ed Harris) is shutting down his jet program in favor of funding killer drones, Maverick responds by flying a prototype jet beyond Mach 10 and into high-hypersonic in a last ditch attempt to save the program.

Just as Caine intends to ground him for the stunt, Maverick's old friend and current U.S. Pacific Fleet Commander Tom "Iceman" Kazansky (Val Kilmer) intervenes to save his career, assigning him to NAS North Island, where he's ordered to train an elite group of TOPGUN graduates for an extremely dangerous mission. As a disinterested Maverick is tasked with leading a new team to the bottom of an enemy nation's canyon to destroy an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant, Naval Air Force Commander Beau "Cyclone" Simpson (Jon Hamm) takes a strong disliking to the cocky, headstrong pilot, based mostly on reputation alone. 

Further complicating matters is that one of Maverick's students is Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw (Miles Teller), son of his late best friend, Goose, who resents him for intentionally sitting on papers that held up his military career. He'll not only have to earn Rooster's respect, but that of the team's other pilots like flashy LT Jake "Hangman" Seresin (Glen Powell), determined LT Natasha "Phoenix" Trace (Monica Barbaro) and the unassuming oddball LT Robert "Bob" Floyd (Lewis Pullman). Struggling to let go of the past, Maverick reconnects with ex-girlfriend and bar owner Penny Benjamin (Jennifer Connelly). But he'll need to step up, as the future of the entire TOPGUN program and the safety of these pilots now falls entirely on him.

Where Maverick's head is at decades after the original's events concluded makes sense given what we've known about the character. He definitely wouldn't be a higher ranking officer given his rebellious propensities and was inevitable he'd still be punishing himself over Goose's death all these years later. But screenwriters Ehren Kruger, Eric Warren singer and Christopher McQuarrie use this as a jumping off point to inject fresh blood into the story, returning a beaten down but still highly skilled Maverick back to his old stomping grounds, as the last remaining vestige of a bygone era. 

Disrespected and underestimated by establishment loyalists like Cain and Cyclone, he's viewed as a hotheaded liability standing in the way of evolving technology. He's warned his day is coming, an ironic statement given how the film's built on honoring the past, or more specifically, repurposing the strengths of Scott's original for modern audiences. Middle-aged Maverick is still the same daredevil, but those tactics are frowned upon and whatever remains of his career depends on Iceman keeping him afloat.

Iceman gives Maverick this assignment not as some kind of favor, but because he's the right man for the job and the pilots need his guidance to form a cohesive unit. Iceman knows Maverick's his own worst enemy and their emotional scene together draws parallels between the characters' shared history,  weaving Val Kilmer's own cancer struggle into Ice's narrative in a manner that feels inspiring rather than tasteless. What Kilmer does in place of his vocal limitations makes this brief reunion soar, with the actor saying more with his eyes and facial expressions than most actors could in words. Cruise matches him beat-for-beat and the events that follow only lend more weight to a conversation that will have more than a few fans fighting back tears.

Rather than take the predictable, unimaginative way out in having Rooster blame Maverick for his father's death, the script tackles their tension from a different angle, with the mentor determined to keep a well-intentioned promise that's no longer as relevant as he thinks. The idea he's still suffering from PTSD of sorts over his best friend's death has led him to fear history repeating itself with Rooster, creating an intriguing dynamic and tension that permeates through their scenes together.

Rooster and Hangman's feud mirrors Maverick's classic one with Iceman and largely stems from their wildly different flying philosophies and hunger to be the best. Unfortunately, Rooster hasn't yet fully harnessed his capabilities and plays it safe while Hangman's showboating arrogance endangers everyone else. A well cast, mustachioed Miles Teller seems every bit Goose's son (especially in his scenes opposite Cruise) as Glen Powell channels Harrison Ford's Han Solo with a memorably charismatic supporting turn. 

The rest of the team have easily identifiable personality traits and quirks that make them easy to root for, but aren't overdone. The pilots have a job to do and the disciplined script keeps the focus there, with some well placed character moments and Top Gun call backs to compliment it. The original's campier elements are toned down, with the iconic but undeniably silly beach volleyball sequence channeled in the form of a similar football game that does a better job moving the story forward while eliminating the cringe factor.  

The Maverick and Penny romantic subplot cited by some as a weak spot is actually far from it, serving as a blueprint for exactly how such a storyline should be handled in this kind of picture. Casting Jennifer Connelly was a masterstroke, but the writers take a throwaway reference to this unseen admiral's daughter character from the original and cleverly expand upon it, correctly assuming diehards will get onboard and the uninitiated won't feel lost. That the pair already have an established shorthand and rocky history spares us an awkward introduction or feeling out process.We know just enough. 

Connelly never makes single mom Penny a Kelly McGillis replacement, but rather the only character besides Iceman who understands what makes Maverick tick having come from a similar world. As the rare age appropriate on screen love interest for the actor, she and Cruise share an effortless chemistry, now giving the long underrated, swooned over Connelly greater exposure with that elusive blockbuster hit she's deserved for decades. She also brings something completely different out of Cruise, who's probably never been this likeably human as a romantic lead before.  

The exhilarating last act utilizes practical effects along with some seamless CGI and VFX for the awe inspiring flight scenes. It probably helps that the actors are actually inside the cockpits with the cameras, and though they're not piloting the jets, were extensively trained as if they are. While the closing mission visually and narratively recalls the destruction of the Death Star at the end of Star Wars: A New Hope, it takes a turn with Maverick and Rooster relying on each other to survive what seems like an insurmountable predicament.

Kosinki and Cruise's Mission: Impossible editor Eddie Hamilton earn credit for keeping everything tight and exciting, leaving viewers hanging off their seats as they hurl toward a rousing resolution that doesn't overstay its welcome. Claudio Miranda's amazing aerial cinematography, Han Zimmer's throwback score (incorporating elements of the original's theme), and yes, even Kenny Loggins' "Danger Zone," bolster the overall package, ticking every box possible for a legacy sequel. 

Delayed in post-production with multiple writers attached, few took Top Gun: Maverick seriously going in. But again we underestimated Cruise's superhuman ability to enforce quality control in his projects. He'll eventually have to move onto smaller, more character driven parts, but that he can make this feel like one of those is why we can wait. A seamless blend of action and plot, he takes us on the ultimate ride, proving his onscreen authenticity and understanding of what audiences want is what's always separated him from the pack. After watching it, that Days of Thunder sequel suddenly doesn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.                                                

Richard Jewell

Director: Clint Eastwood
Starring: Paul Walter Hauser, Sam Rockwell, Kathy Bates, Jon Hamm, Olivia Wilde
Running Time: 129 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

Early in Clint Eastwood's Richard Jewell, we're introduced to a man who behaves with absolute purpose and certainty. Someone so sure of what he's doing that nothing could possibly get in the way. Despite being mocked for his weight, called a "rent-a-cop," and generally laughed at and disrespected by everyone with whom he comes in contact, he just plows forward like it doesn't bother him at all. Of course, we later find out it very much hurts him, as it would anyone, but his loyalty to upholding the law takes precedence. In other words, Richard Jewell saved many lives in Atlanta's Centennial Park at the 1996 Olympics by doing what's he's always done: pay attention.

Despite the fact Jewell was railroaded and vilified by both law enforcement and the media to no end, there will be those accusing Eastwood of pedaling a right-wing agenda with his heroic depiction of this protagonist. And that's mainly because he fits the profile of an eccentric white male loner, as much now as even then. But if viewing the film through a political lens is eerily reminiscent of assumptions made about Jewell at the time, here's something scarier: Everyone still thinks he's the Olympic Park bomber. To this day. Well over a decade past his death. That fact alone should grant Eastwood as much creative freedom as he wishes.

Legally exonerated, but never acquitted in the public's eyes, Jewell's somehow taken this crime to his grave as its perceived perpetrator. There's a reason this movie isn't called Eric Rudolph. That eventually revealed bomber wasn't an exciting enough suspect for the media, nor was he an easy layup for the FBI. But disregarding the physical impossibility of Jewell having committed the crime and producing no forensic evidence linking him, they pushed forward anyway. So while the media and law enforcement get some rough treatment from Eastwood, it definitely isn't unwarranted. It's the director's best film in ages, but also a brilliantly told story made all the more remarkable for happening, its effects still rippling through our culture to this day.

It's summer 1996 when 33 year-old aspiring law enforcement officer, Richard Jewell (Hauser) moves in with his mother, Bobi (Kathy Bates) in Atlanta after a decade of bouncing around in various jobs such as a law office supply clerk and campus security guard. Given the chance to work security detail at Centennial Park on the eve of the Olympics, Jewell signs on, figuring that at least his mom will get a front-row seat to see her favorite singer, Kenny Rogers. Despite feeling ill the night of July 27th, Jewell reports for duty, and while chasing off some drunk teens, discovers a suspicious-looking backpack under a bench he suggests be investigated. After initially dismissing his serious concerns as nonsense, an explosives expert confirms the presence of a bomb before it detonates, injuring many and killing one.

By finding the device and helping to clear the area, Jewell is understandably celebrated by the media, his face plastered on every news program and a book deal being fast tracked. But when FBI agent Tom Shaw (Jon Hamm) suspects Jewell as the possible bomber with a "hero complex," his leaking of that info to fiesty Atlanta Journal Constitution reporter, Kathy Scruggs (Olivia Wilde) causes the security guard's life to unravel. With the FBI attempting to manipulate Jewell into confessing, he turns to an old friend to represent him, lawyer Watson Bryant (Sam Rockwell), the only person at his old supply clerk job who treated him, as Richard calls it, like a "human being". Both have their work cut out for them, as Jewell's name is dragged through the mud, devastating his mother, who still couldn't be prouder of her only son.

Adapted from Marie Brenner's 1997 Vanity Fair article,"American Nightmare: The Ballad of Richard Jewell," (a far better title by the way) Eastwood and screenwriter Billy Ray do a masterful job making a very clear distinction. This may be a simple man, but he's not simple-minded, as demonstrated in his ability to spot a threat that law enforcement officials with far more experience couldn't. And that might be the story of this guy's life, as he's constantly been overlooked and underestimated due to his appearance, weight, eccentric demeanor or the fact he lives with his mother. But for Hamm's rigid agent Shaw, those traits read as the criminal profile for a serial bomber.

Similar to the feeling of certainty Jewell exhibited in his investigation of the mysterious bag that night, Shaw's equally sure he found his man. But it's different, driven by a preconceived hypothesis about Richard that he's desperate to prove correct. It's a fascinating study in how people are falsely accused of crimes, with Shaw arranging and rearranging details in the investigation so it fits, as if he's trying to convince himself. While as confident he's doing the right thing as Jewell was, the key difference is that he's dead wrong.

Paul Walter Hauser was the ideal selection to play Richard Jewell and one of those rare, magical choices for a reality-based role that make the best case possible for why Oscars should be given out for casting as well as performances. Despite recent high-profile work as Harding bodyguard Shawn Eckhardt in I, Tonya and adult recruit "Stingray in YouTube's Cobra Kai, there's still an anonymity associated with him you just wouldn't get with any supposedly bigger name. And because Jewell's story revolves so much around us discovering this regular guy unwillingly shoved into the spotlight, anyone else would have seemed like a distraction. Aside from a considerable physical resemblance, Hauser completely disappears into Jewell as if the infamous security guard's been exhumed from a 1996 newscast. But the brilliance in his work comes when Richard calls upon the same strength he exhibited in the park scenes to hold himself (and his mom) together as public humiliation begins chipping away at his loyalty to the justice system.

Much of the action takes place in only two locations, with Eastwood first transporting us into the mileu of Centennial Park that night in July, with all the excitement and nervous energy surrounding the city on the cusp of the XXVI Olympic Games. We trail Jewell throughout, leading right up to and including the tragic event, witnessing his warnings of danger falling on deaf ears until action's eventually taken. And you could just as easily imagine brushing this guy off given that he's playing a hunch (albeit one based on knowledge and experience) that happens to end up being correct.

The rest of the action essentially takes place in his mom Bobi's apartment, which becomes Richard's own personal prison, as the pitchfork-wielding media descend upon their residence. As attorney Watson Bryant, Sam Rockwell reliably provides whatever comic relief exists in this re-telling, while also making you empathize with his blunt, straightforward character's exasperation with Jewell as a client. The honest, transparent qualities he admires in his friend are exactly what make him so difficult to represent, opening his mouth at the most incriminating times to state personal details better left unsaid. Soon, his job becomes to just simply shut Richard up before he serves himself up to the FBI on a platter.

For as much pain as Richard endures, it's his mother Bobi who seems to suffer most, earning her eventual designation by Watson as the 113th victim of the Olympic Park bombing. There are so many great, little details in Kathy Bates' performance as this proud mother whose entire reality is upended over two days. There was hardly enough time to process her son becoming a hero known around the world, fulfilling every dream she had for him in law enforcement, before he's scapegoated by the media and FBI as their lead suspect.

There's this indelible moment when Bobi's watching Tom Brokaw report on the story and asks why HE'S saying these terrible things about her son. And she means that literally, expressed with the utmost sincerity and confusion. It's as if Brokaw saying it has just made things more painfully real for her. And with just that short line, Bates conveys that Bobi is very much her son's mother, trusting and holding dear those who earn her respect and loyalty. Even if it's a TV personality. In many ways it represents the ultimate betrayal, as if this case has now officially infiltrated everything in their lives, including the trusted Tom Brokaw. If he's turning against Richard, the situation must truly be hopeless.

The Atlanta Journal Constitution's Kathy Scruggs was a real person and apparently well-respected journalist who's depicted here as sleeping with FBI agent Shaw in exchange for the info that Richard Jewell is their prime suspect. Hamm's Shaw is supposedly a composite of numerous federal agents working on the case so his character's let off the hook, while Scruggs, who passed away in 2001, is a little different in that she's an actual reporter referred to by name and shown having traded sex for tips on a story. Or did she? Whether this was some kind of exchange or they were in a relationship could have been easily distinguished by giving her more screen time that further fleshed out the character. Instead, we get a snapshot that doesn't provide a clear indication either way. And since she doesn't really warrant an expanded role in the context of the story Eastwood'strying to tell about the media, the better answer was probably just not using her name at all. It makes very little creative difference, but it sure did garner a great film the wrong kind of publicity, which is cruelly ironic in itself.

 Eastwood clearly cares very little about sugar-coating anything, and like Jewell himself, will forge ahead and do what he wants, regardless of whatever the current cultural climate dictates he should. It's hard not to respect that when the results are this good, while still recognizing why Scrugg's family would have a big problem with it. For what it's worth, Wilde plays Kathy well enough, which in this case means that she's a nasty, brash reporter who will do anything for a lead. And yet for all the controversy surrounding this real-life reporter's somewhat monstrous depiction, she went with a story from a valid source that she had every reason to believe was true, regardless of her methods in obtaining it. Eastwood never holds her to the same standard as an FBI agent who leaks classified information related to a bombing.

Jewell's only crime was misplaced faith, perhaps guilty of being too trusting, naive and compliant. In the film's most gut-wrenching scene, we find out that his biggest fear actually wasn't what would become of him, or even his mother, but those in law enforcement who could eventually find themselves in a position similar to his on that night. And because of this debacle, opt to say and do nothing. Then 9/11 happened. As it turns out, Richard Jewell may have been on the right side of history all along, patiently waiting for the rest of us to catch up with him.

Baby Driver

Director: Edgar Wright
Starring: Ansel Elgort, Kevin Spacey, Jamie Foxx, Lily James, Jon Hamm, Eiza Gonzalez, Jon Bernthal, CJ Jones, Sky Ferreira, Flea, Big Boi, Paul Williams
Running Time: 113 min
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

For anyone ever wondering what would happen if Quentin Tarantino made a musical, Baby Driver is just about the closest we're going to get.  While it's instead directed by Edgar Wright, it's impossible to watch without thinking his fingerprints are, at least in some small way, all over it.  And that's not necessarily a bad thing, especially considering this is likely a lot less chatty and self-referential than his version would be. But the common ground they both find is in the music, which in this case is literally and figuratively driving the action forward at a breakneck pace. From the opening title sequence, during which our music-loving protagonist is lip syncing and dancing down the street to Jon Spencer Blues Explosion's "Bellbottoms," we know we're in for something a little different. And that's exactly what's delivered, as this story about a quiet getaway driver in over his head is underlined with car chase scenes that look and feel like real car chases, mostly because they are.

The astonishing contradiction within Wright's overstylized, hyped-up universe is that it's grounded in a reality that feels authentic, even when it seems ridiculous. And there's plenty of ridiculousness. But it's never boring, as its nearly two hour run time flies by, until arriving at a third act that isn't quite as inspired as what preceded it, but undeniably exciting nonetheless. The calm center of this violent storm is Ansel Elgort's charismatic but low-key performance as the title character, officially marking his arrival as a major star, but more importantly, a talented actor worth watching.

Breaking one of the key rules of a lead character, we watch as everything happens to and around him, until he realizes his survival depends upon taking action. Despite a myriad of influences, Baby Driver never feels like a replication of anything, and that's praiseworthy in itself, proving a productive soundtrack can do more than provide background noise. Here, it's the foundation on which the entire film is built. Inseparable from the first frame, the music informs the action and that action returns the favor ten-fold.

Essentially a good kid who made a dumb choice, Baby (Elgort) is a getaway driver in Atlanta, behind the wheel for a crew of armed robbers assembled by criminal mastermind Doc (Kevin Spacey), who he's indebted to after stealing one of his cars. He's also really skilled wheel man expertly helping Doc's gangs continually evade capture after some big robberies. Blasting the music from his many iPods to drown out the humming in his ears caused by a childhood car accident that killed his parents, Baby anticipates his last job may finally be on the horizon.

Being free from his his debt could offer Baby the opportunity to properly look after and provide for his deaf foster father Joseph (CJ Jones), as well as cut ties with a seedy criminal underworld of thugs like the impulsively dangerous Bats (Jamie Foxx), former banker turned robber Buddy (Jon Hamm), and his wife, Darling (Eiza Gonzalez). And it's just when he appears to be done and grows closer to friendly diner waitress Debora (Lily James), he realizes there is no "out" with Doc. Or at least until he helps pull off one last big heist. But with volatile personalities and unanticipated complications involved, he'll have to make a choice between protecting those he loves and escaping alive.

For as comical and clever the dialogue is and the amount of fun, thrilling high-speed car chases there are, it's surprising just how much of the film is driven by fear and tension. The baby-faced hero has unwillingly entered a world in which he just doesn't fit and has been thrown into for reasons we know are at least partially his doing. There's a fragility to the character as Baby silently takes in Doc's carefully orchestrated plans and his makeshift band of thugs do their best to intimidate and bully him at every turn. It doesn't work. Or does it? We're not quite sure, which is one of the more intriguing aspects of the character, who makes mixtapes out of conversations and basks in the classic R&B pumping through his earbuds . There's a part of you thinking he must be scared out of his mind, while entirely different aspect to Elgort's performance is still suggesting this kid's been through too much in his life to even care.

Wright crafts a clever backstory, sporadically shown through flashbacks, that hints at this and offers up an effective explanation for his ipod obsession, while also working really well as tech nostalgia for viewers. After making gigantic impressions in The Fault in our Stars and even Men, Women and Children, Elgort takes it to a new level here, which isn't to suggest he does anything that's over the top. It's just the opposite, as so much of what he conveys is through silence and facial expressions, with most of his talking being with Debora, as they bond over their shared musical tastes. There's an easy rapport between the two that's never too schmaltzy or eye-rolling, and while it's easy to argue Lily James is saddled with a limited girlfriend role, at least she excels at it, sharing great chemistry with Elgort and becoming more important to the narrative as the film wears on.

Jon Hamm is given his best and most substantial big screen showcase to date as the smooth but dangerous Buddy, playing way against type in a villainous role he probably couldn't wait to sink his teeth into. Jamie Foxx is suitably scary, unpredictable and intimidating as Bats, a certifiable, button-pushing lowlife you just can't wait to see get his. There's also a fantastic cameo by Paul Williams (yes, THAT Paul Williams) that should have fans of his grinning from ear-to-ear at its sheer lunacy.

While it feels strange eulogizing the career of a still living actor, there's no avoiding the giant elephant in the room that is Kevin Spacey, since this could be the last time we see him featured this prominently in a top project. Luckily, it's a good one that reminds us how skilled he is at played sleazy schemers in positions of power. Make what you will of that statement, but supporting roles like this won't be nearly as interesting without him in them. The scenes wheres he faces off with Elgort are among the most memorable and the characters' working arrangement doesn't go completely as predicted.

The real star here are the chase scenes and soundtrack highlighted by a seemingly endless stream of 70's hits and non-hits. When the plot's heists go exactly according to plan, it's a joy to watch the mechanics of it all unfold, but when it doesn't, that's when things really get fun and the excitement comes in seeing the characters scramble and improvise. That's essentially the entire last act, highlighted by a sequence in which Wright brings the same propulsive energy and seamless stunt choreography of the car chases to one that takes place entirely on foot. That's impressive, but you get the feeling that little of it would be possible without that soundtrack, which ends up not only being the co-lead and star, but so much more a part of Baby's DNA than any superficial trait a lesser filmmaker would have concocted for him.
         

Mad Men: Season 7 (Part II)

Creator: Matthew Weiner
Starring: Jon Hamm, Elisabeth Moss, Vincent Kartheiser, January Jones, Christina Hendricks, John Slattery, Aaron Staton, Christopher Stanley, Rich Sommer, Kiernan Shipka, Jessica Paré, Kevin Rahm, Christopher Stanley, Jay R. Ferguson, Alison Brie, Bruce Greenwood
Original Airdate: 2015

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

**Spoiler Warning: The Following Review Contains Plot Spoilers for Season 7 of Mad Men and its Series Finale, "Person to Person"**

It seems that whenever a beloved, long-running dramatic television series takes its final lap, a sense of urgency builds as we inch closer to the end. Our pulses quicken and our minds race with all the intriguing outcomes that could unfold, each seemingly crazier and more far-fetched than the last. And not being showrunners, most of our ideas are terrible, yet perfectly reasonable for fans caught up in the groundswell of finale hysteria. If a final season in TV is the equivalent of a freight train picking up speed and gaining momentum, Breaking Bad-style, as it speeds toward its ultimate destination, Mad Men would seem to represent the antithesis. With a structure more closely resembling a long-form novel, it was never dependent on its characters ever reaching an end point, as part of the fun was speculating the direction their lives would take after the last episode concludes.

Mad Men (2007-2015)

It's easy to envision creator Matthew Weiner stomping around the writers' room, resenting the very idea of a "series finale," arguing that no matter what he does, he can't win. To a certain extent, he'd be right. If Don Draper (Jon Hamm) only likes "the beginnings of things" as he was once told, you'd figure showrunners must love them. It's endings they hate. That's why the biggest surprise is just how much momentum this half-season builds in its last few episodes and how finale-ish its finale feels.

It was always assumed the ending would be more Sopranos than Breaking Bad. Not the culmination of a story with a concrete beginning, middle and end, but something more polarizing, sure to be open for varying interpretations and poured over for years. Knowing Weiner's history as a writer on The Sopranos, we suspected he had that kind of finale in him and my fingers were always crossed that he'd give it to us. And for a show that's mostly had its characters sidestep direct brushes with history like the Kennedy assassination, the Civil Rights Movement and the Moon landing, it managed to keep a big surprise up its sleeve for the final twist. Forget about whether Tony Soprano died, the new question is whether Don Draper really did change. Or rather, whether anyone ever really can.

The 60's are over and we've jumped in time to 1970, where there's no eleventh hour save for Sterling, Cooper and Partners. And no rabbit Don can pull out of this time to rescue the agency. Bert Cooper (Robert Morse) is dead and Roger (John Slattery) made a deal in last year's "Waterloo" that may have saved Don's job, but guaranteed the firm's eventual demise, albeit slower and more mercifully than expected.

The ax falls on Sterling, Cooper and Partners

Lulled into a false sense of security, they've been swallowed whole by McCann Erickson and even Don's idea to salvage the Sterling Cooper name with a smaller California branch seems like a desperate hail mary. His pitch to McCann honcho Jim Hobart (H. Richard Greene), while well executed, falls flat because he's so used to selling big. It's all over, and these remaining episodes explore how that carries a very different meaning for each character.

Despite Hobart talking a good game and repositioning the takeover as an exciting opportunity for all involved, the reality is far harsher. We know the expendable Joan Harris (Christina Hendricks), who even in her best moments was never taken seriously because of her looks, will last only a matter of days in a corporate culture of sexist pigs at McCann, with Hobart and his sleazy right-hand man Ferg Donnelly (Paul Johansson) leading the charge. It turns out one-eyed Ken Cosgrove (Aaron Staton) was right about these guys, even if he's no longer around to gloat about.

Roger will continue to coast along like he always has while Pete Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser), Ted Chaugh (Kevin Rahm) and Harry Crane (Rich Somer) should sadly fit in just fine. Peggy Olson (Elisabeth Moss) is the wildcard, with every experience she's had over the course of her decade-long career preparing her for this shift. And by procuring Don, Hobart has finally caught, in his own words, the "Moby Dick" he's been chasing since he placed his then-wife Betty (January Jones) in a COCA-COLA commercial as a bribe to switch agencies. But we know Don doesn't like to be owned by anyone.
                                                                                                                                                

Don with mysterious waitress, Diana

Talking about the final seven episodes is really talking only about the last four. The season is built on "Time and Life,""Lost Horizon," "The Milk and Honey Route" and "Person to Person." The rest, while still as solid as Mad Men's ever been, is the preamble. But for a while there, it was easy to worry the series was spinning its wheels rather than gathering steam. Don's obsession with mysterious waitress Diana (Elisabeth Reaser) is really just an obsession with himself, albeit a far more depressing and less charismatic version. Having abandoned her family and living a lie, he mistakenly thinks he can save her, not realizing he's hardly the first man to be swallowed into her self-destructive vortex.

Joan's somewhat controlling new lover, Richard (Bruce Greenwood) is the series' latest and last representation of her struggle in choosing between life and career during a time where it was thought impossible for a woman to have both. On this show, characters always frustratingly come and go as they would in real life, and while quibbles can be made about introducing them this late, it's not purposeless. And you have to wonder if their presence wouldn't be judged as harshly if this were any other season but the last. It's also a fair trade-off since for every Diana or Richard, there's a long-time supporting character getting an expanded role, like Don's ditzy but extremely competent secretary Meredith (Stephanie Drake) and the aforementioned Ken, who finds a new way to continuously torment Roger and Pete. What I can't defend is the the time wasted on Megan's (Jessica Paré) family, and that's coming from a huge Megan fan.                     

Arriving at what looked to be some kind of epiphany after his tap dancing vision of the late Bert Cooper, you'd figure the second half of Season 7 would find Don in a better place, back doing the job he does best. Instead, it seems as if little has changed at all. Still mostly absent from his kids' lives, the drinking and womanizing continues as the material facets of his life are systematically stripped away in the closing episodes. Empty apartment. Empty Sterling Cooper offices. His divorce with Megan is finalized in a rare, caring moment of self-reflection and regret. But Don at McCann is a stranger in a strange land. This isn't him and he doesn't want to do it anymore.

Don looks to the skies for something more in "Lost Horizon"

The episode "Lost Horizon" (named after the 1937 film Don was watching in last year's premiere, "Time Zones") is the turning point and where all the fan theories start coming home to roost. Will he jump out the window like the falling man in the opening credits? What's with that plane Don's fixated on during the beer meeting? Will he become D.B. Cooper? Of course, we should have known these theories were crazy since Mad Men's just not that kind of show. And Matthew Weiner knows that, but it doesn't mean he still can't have fun subverting those expectations. Don would rather be anywhere but at that meeting surrounded by COKE bottles, so he just walks out. Only this time there's reason to suspect it could be for good.

Weiner also toys with expectations by redeeming who was possibly the most irredeemable character in Betty Francis (January Jones). And he does it while delivering a hilariously shocking conclusion to one of the series' weirdest storylines. The return of a nearly unrecognizable, 18-year-old Vietnam bound Glen Bishop (Marten Weiner) to finally follow through on his creepy, 10-year plan to bed Betty may as well be Weiner's version of Richard Linklater's Boyhood, but on acid. It seems like  only yesterday when Sally's (Kiernan Shipka) weird little friend from down the street was stealing a lock of her mother's hair, causing his ban from the Draper's Ossining household.

The fact that the childish, immature Betty resists Glen's advances is actually kind of a breakthrough for her, sparing Sally the indignity of walking in on a horrifying sight that would put to shame anything she's ever seen her father do. I know many don't like Weiner's son as an actor, but this entire storyline wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining with a trained professional in the role. His awkwardness and stilted delivery make the whole thing painfully, almost embarrassingly real in the most cringe-worthy way possible.

Glen puts the moves on Betty

The look of disgust on Sally's face as she watches both her parents bask in the attention paid to them by her smitten friends is priceless, as is her statement that they just "ooze" at the adulation that comes with being at the center of every room they enter.  It's so spot-on, as is most of Shipka's performance throughout the series, in which she always found ways to subtly convey through Sally the best and worst of Don and Betty's mannerisms and behavior.

With all the smoking and drinking that's taken place since the show's inception, it was almost a given that at some point a major character would die, but few guessed it would be Betty, or that her terminal lung cancer diagnosis would prove to be both Betty and January Jones' finest hour. As it turns out, the icy, detached qualities that made the character so frustrating serve as a source of strength and grace under the worst of circumstances. Betty's quiet acceptance of her fate and determination to take complete control of her own passing is evident in entrusting Sally to carry out her final wishes.

For once, Betty acts selflessly, refusing treatment to spare her children the prolonged trauma of watching her suffer. While Betty was never strong enough to handle her parents' death, she's now strong enough to manage her own, and realizes, as we have, that Sally's capable of handling anything. That she must comfort her usually stoic and stable stepfather Henry (Christopher Stanley) when he delivers the devastating news speaks to this. As is her putting Don in his place when he unreasonably expects custody in the first of many phone calls that take place during the finale. If there was ever a Mad Men spin-off, a coming-of-age drama centered around Sally in the 70's would be the only one worth watching.

A dying Betty's final instructions for Sally

Betty smiling as she hauls her books up the stairs, physically struggling, but determined as ever to make it to class is how we'lll now remember her. But the true mark of the character's transformation might just be her amusement at the other students' referring to her as "Mrs. Robinson." It's a sign that the vain former model no longer takes herself quite as seriously, and that Weiner and Jones' have taken our least favorite character and made her somewhat heroic, without betraying any of the qualities we disliked in her to begin with. Jones has rightly been regarded as the cast's most limited actress, but even her harshest critics would be forced to admit she really brings it in these final two episodes.

If his ex-wife's unexpected death sentence wasn't enough to pull Don back home to be with her and the kids, you have to wonder if anything would. Maybe the problem is that Don's still trying to figure out where "home" is and what it means. A stop in Alva, Oklahoma during which he fixes a COKE machine and attends a veterans' fundraiser, sees him again uncomfortably confronting Dick Whitman's actions during the Korean War that caused the death of his C.O., the real Don Draper. With him gifting his car to a young con artist, he's now completely rid himself of everything.

As Don sits at a bus stop on the side of the road in the closing seconds of the penultimate episode, "The Milk and Honey Route," it's hard not to be reminded of Walter White sitting on the side of the road at the end of "Ozymandias," waiting for his ride from the disappearer. But Walt's final destination was always crystal clear. Where exactly Don would end up at the end of this series was always murkier, with his eventual transformation destined to be more ambiguous.

Don at a crossroads in "The Milk and Honey Route"

Would it be New York or California? That was always the big question in regards to Don's destination. Ironically, it's Don's (last?) phone conversation with Betty in the highly emotional series finale, "Person to Person" that moves the needle west, as the shattering truth that he's never been there for his kids cuts him to the core. Conceding defeat and acknowledging the only constant has been his absence, Betty's demand for his his limited parental involvement for consistency's sake makes sense even to him.

Weiner made the right move having Don's journey take him To California given that some of the show's most creative moments have spurned from the jarring juxtaposition of transplanting the straight-laced Don into the laid-back, free-wheeling 60's counterculture. I nearly jumped out of my seat realizing he'd spend the final episode trapped at a hippie spiritual retreat in Big Sur since Weiner's handling of this kind of material has continually captivated me over the series' run. And it's only natural he'd use the trip to visit his "niece" Stephanie (Caity Lotz), the last thread connecting him to the real Don and the only person who truly knows him as Dick. Their relationship has always been an odd, uncomfortable one since she isn't his family, even as his own deep seeded guilt continuously convinces him otherwise.

Seeing what rock bottom looks like for Don Draper is scary, but what's more revealing is who he calls once he's hit it. Sloppily dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans, he calls Peggy in an utter state of hopelessness and despair, immediately needing a metaphorical lifeline to bring him back to shore. In the episode's first fan service moment, and harkening back to the famous Season 4 episode, "The Suitcase," she must attempt to get through to him with the same stern, no-nonsense approach he's taught her. And in the midst of a full-fledged panic attack, she has good reason to be concerned, as Don's arrived at such a dark place that the possibilities of him dropping of a heart attack or jumping off the side of that cliff no longer seem like fan fiction.

The kiss the world was waiting for

Peggy's most important phone conversation in "Person to Person" may not be with Don, but Stan Rizzo (Jay R. Ferguson), whose increased appearances over the past few seasons have consistently emerged as a highlight, as this frequently stoned and impressively bearded comic character has slowly gained considerable depth through their friendship.

Sure, their declaration of love for one another over the phone reeks of fan service and is easily the most bizarre scene in the finale, but the fans are right, and damn if Moss and Ferguson don't absolutely crush it. Having to guess, I'd say it's unlikely Weiner had this pairing in the cards from the beginning, with Moss and Ferguson's chemistry together necessitating the decision. And I'm convinced Stan's the only character who could be dropped in present day with absolutely no adjustment, wardrobe and all, and work just as well.

For all of Peggy's talk, she could never leave advertising and the very idea of her going into business with Joan feels like the spin-off I wouldn't watch and thankfully won't have to since Weiner probably realized the pair would be clawing each others eyes out within minutes, mutual respect or not. But it was generous of him to throw it out there. Advertising runs through Peggy's veins whereas Joan has faced too much sexism and discrimination to not take advantage of an opportunity to start over, minus a man.

Peggy knows how to make an entrance

There were worries our last glimpse of Peggy would be when her rollerskating through the vacant Time Life offices or arriving at McCann with a cigarette dangling from her mouth and Bert's octopus porn painting under her arm. The latter might be my favorite single shot in the shows' history, perfectly encapsulating just how far Peggy's come since the pilot when she started as Don's mousy secretary. We're left with the impression that McCann will be eating all the Sterling Cooper alumnus for dinner. Except one. It's not possible to love Peggy or Moss any more than when we see her walking down that hallway like a bad ass, magnificently paying off what's been a ten-year journey for the character.

Even the smarmy Pete finds some level of redemption when the even smarmier Duck Phillips (Mark Moses) reenters his life with a potential job offer he can't refuse, try as he might. And he does he ever try since it's always hard to take the drunken, desperate dog abuser Duck at face value. Pete's building realization that he needs to reconcile with Trudy (Alison Brie) and actually be a real father to his daughter gives the viewers some degree of hope that he's finally taken the right path. His kind words of praise and encouragement for Peggy also signal what must be viewed as some kind of personal growth. But this is Pete Campbell we're talking about so it's impossible to underestimate the number of ways he could still screw everything up.

As Pete, Trudy and Tammy board their Learjet to start over in Wichita looking like the Kennedys boarding Air Force One, it's yet another reminder of how much time the hilarious Pete, played brilliantly by Kartheiser, spent trying to be someone else. Namely Don. There was a better man in there somewhere and maybe a total change of scenery with the only person who could ever tolerate him will help bring that guy out. But no more falling down the stairs, "Not great, Bob!" "California Campbell," or "The King ordered it!" Of all the characters, the endlessly gif-worthy Pete might be the most missed, if for entertainment value alone.

Roger watches Peggy skate through the Time Life offices

Having already suffered two heart attacks during the course of the series, Roger Sterling may have been high on everyone's "death watch," but the actual send-off Weiner gives him actually had me wishing for that scenario instead. Just about the only aspect of the finale I couldn't get on board with was that Megan's monstrous mother, Marie Calvet (Julia Ormond) was given any screen time in it.

Roger's had his issues with arrested development and serial womanizing so there's little doubt the need to pair him a strong woman is reasonable. But having him ride into the sunset with the show's most annoying recurring character doesn't seem like the answer, even if I'll just continue believing the relationship ended right after the final credits rolled. And one would hope fans who have unjustifiably complained about Megan's continued presence would be ten times more appalled by her mother returning to eat up any of the series' remaining minutes.

The need for Roger to mature enough to be with someone who accepts him for who he is was important, but not as important as his scenes with Joan and taking responsibility for his illegitimate child. Unfortunately, the latter was somewhat overshadowed by the Marie nonsense and it's arguable that him repairing the relationship with his estranged daughter should trump both. Then again, with only an hour and twenty minutes to fill, that reconciliation may be too much. But if it's okay, I'd like to pretend our last glimpse of Roger is him bonding and drinking with Peggy amidst the ruins of the Sterling Cooper offices two episodes earlier.       

A broken Don embraces "Refrigerator Man" Leonard

A character who does earn his few minutes of screen time, and proves to be anything but minor, appears in the controversial closing minutes of the finale. It's not Peggy reprimanding Don to "come home" to work on the COKE account that finally gets through to him, but a stranger at the retreat named Leonard, briefly and powerfully played by character actor Evan Arnold in a role Weiner has called the "most important in the series." And that statement feels fair.  Breaking down as he shares his emotionally devastating story of feeling as if he's on a shelf on a refrigerator, ignored and unloved by everyone in his life, Don is shattered as he gets to see and experience his story through the lenses of an unknown.

While Don's gotten love from many in his life (Peggy, Sally, Betty, Megan, Roger, the list goes on and on) he's never recognized it or felt deserving, pushing all those people away and leaving him as lonely as Leonard in the refrigerator. When he lets go and hugs this crying man, he's finally embracing and forgiving Dick Whitman, emotionally purging in a public display that would be considered shameful for men during this era.  Born in a brothel, raped by a prostitute, abused by his father and having stolen a dead man's identity, Don realizes, seemingly for the first time, he isn't alone. It goes without saying Hamm and Arnold are incredible in the scene and you have to wonder whether this is the episode that finally nets Hamm the Emmy. If this doesn't, nothing will.

It's while chanting and meditating on the hilltop that a bell goes off and a giant smile comes across his face, signaling his ultimate creation: The groundbreaking 1971 "Buy The World a Coke" ad. Of course, this leads to the big question of whether Don has even changed at all. Did he just take this life-altering experience and commodify it? Was this the moment hippie culture went mainstream and became commercialized? That's a very cynical reading, but when you consider details like the girl with the red ribbon braids at the front desk eerily resembling a girl in the commercial (more ingenious work from costume designer Janie Bryant) and the ubiquitous presence of Coca-Cola throughout the series and especially this season, it's one that can't be outright dismissed. But all it really proves is that Don came up with the ad, hardly explaining his thought process or intentions in doing so.

"People just come and go and they don't say goodbye?"

After being the architect of this moment in history, we're to assume Don returns to McCann. And it's quite possible he returns more or less exactly as he left. Slipping right back into his old patterns of neglecting his kids, drinking and sleeping around. That this supposed enlightenment only served as the catalyst to create the greatest campaign in advertising history and little more. That's what the show's about. No one ever changes. It sounds good and the facts support this reading, but the big problem is that our instincts don't.

As much as I want to get behind the cynical interpretation of this series' closing moments, it operates under one huge fundamental flaw: That advertising is evil and Don returning to do what he loves is somehow manipulative, or a return to the dark side. Don wasn't a bad person because he was in advertising. That had much more to do with the choices he made and the people he hurt, most of which stemmed from his crippling insecurity and guilt.

If anything, advertising was Don's salvation and most of the time the only thing that kept him from falling off the deep end. That bell noise we hear could easily be the light bulb going off in his head as he comes up with the Coke commercial, but I prefer to imagine it as the sound right before the elevator doors open and Don returns to McCann to give the pitch of his life, with Peggy by his side.

Don's moment of enlightenment

Unlike Don's infamous Kodak Carousel pitch in the first season built on a lie or the Hersheys presentation in the sixth season that exposed his past and torpedoed his career, this one won't be coming from a place of despair. That's the difference. He's been through too much to just simply walk away from that retreat unchanged. The change may be minimal, but it's hard not believing something clicked that went beyond the idea for that commercial, as monumental as it was.

During the Coke commercial I half-expected the camera to pull back, taking us into the McCann offices during the presentation until realizing Weiner's way too smart for that. He had to leave doubt and intrigue. If The Sopranos' finale was offensively ambiguous to the point of clobbering audiences over the head with a jarring stunt, this open ending is more thoughtful and measured. Like all great conclusions, it allows us to project what we want onto it, telling us as much about ourselves as the characters whose fates we've been so invested in.

The legendary 1971 Coca-Cola Commercial

Don's reluctant acceptance of Betty and Sally's wishes and his moment with the "refrigerator man" suggest a man who may be starting to come to terms with himself. It's a process, but undoubtedly the series finale is the closest he's come to the true convergence of Dick Whitman and Don Draper. The question is now whether it can be maintained, echoing the position all the main characters find themselves in when the show closes. Their lives continue as our viewing ends, perhaps slightly changing us all for the better.                                      

Million Dollar Arm

Director: Craig Gillespie
Starring: Jon Hamm, Aasif Mandvi, Suraj Sharma, Madhur Mittal, Bill Paxton, Lake Bell, Alan Arkin, Pitobash Tripathy, Rey Maualuga
Running Time: 124 min.
Rating: PG

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

It's entirely possible you've seen or heard Disney's Million Dollar Arm being described as "Jerry Maguire meets Slumdog Millionaire." While that's understandable, a better comparison might be to feel-good throwback sports movies such as The Rookie, Miracle, Remember The Titans, Invincible, and yes, maybe even The Blind Side. Of course, the big worry going into something that wears its heart this proudly on its sleeve is that it will come off too syrupy or more closely resembling a Hallmark movie of the week than a legitimate entry in the sports film genre. I can't claim this completely avoids that, but it's smart and enjoyable enough to make us fondly remember when these types of pictures were released regularly and the public actually went out of their way to see them. Lately, it appears they're having a bit of of a resurgence, as this, along with the slightly more cerebral Draft Day, deserves mention alongside the better ones. It's also well anchored by an actor few would expect to see in a Disney project, marking a highly anticipated big screen transition with his first leading role.

Big shot Los Angeles based sports agent J.B. Bernstein (Jon Hamm) has recently fallen on tough times, having gone out on his own with partner Ash (Aasif Mandvi) to form their own fledgling agency. A dearth of clients and a failure to sign star football player Popo Vanuatu (Rey Maualuga) have left them bleeding money and in search of a game-changing idea. That idea comes to J.B. one night when flipping channels between cricket and Britain's Got Talent. Identifying an untapped market for baseball in India, J.B. comes up with the plan of holding a talent competition there called "Million Dollar Arm," in which contestants are scored on the speed and accuracy of their pitches, with the two winners receiving prize money and a trip to the U.S. to be trained as major league prospects.

But when eventual winners Rinku Singh (Life of Pi's Suraj Sharma) and Dinesh Patel (Slumdog Millionaire's Madhur Mittal) are flown to America to train with USC pitching coach Tom House (Bill Paxton), J. B. realizes he has a near impossible task ahead of him in both preparing them for the big leagues and helping them adjust to their new surroundings. With his business continuing to tank, he skirts responsibility on the latter, leaving his chatty tenant Brenda (Lake Bell) as their only moral support. With the deadline to have them ready fast approaching, J.B. may have to start realigning his personal and professional priorities, for both his sake and that of these kids.

Having limited familiarity with the true story from which Tom McCarthy's script is based, it's hard to say just how far it veers from the facts, but there was never really a moment where I was shaking my head with incredulity at the unfolding events. The movie wisely doesn't try to pretend these young guys are superstars in the making who happen to be "discovered" via the competition. They can basically throw a couple of wild pitches at a little over 80 miles per hour and that's it. They're pretty terrible and actually remain so throughout the film, seemingly struggling to grasp basic mechanics even as they put in as much effort as can reasonably be asked of them. This is a relief since it's apparent early on that this will achieve its PG Disney movie status with tone and presentation rather than concocting an unrealistic fantasy out of a true story.

Everything is sanitized, but not insultingly so, deserving credit for not ignoring the fact that these two kids are being taken from poverty and will experience extreme culture shock upon their arrival. Some of these moments are played for laughs (not knowing how an elevator works) while others (a party gone bad) are treated a little more seriously, with director Craig Gillespie skillfully alternating between the two. The meat of the story is not only Rinku and Dinesh learning to come into their own and succeed in an unfamiliar world, but J.B. morally evolving enough to actually think about some other than himself and his company's bottom line. These are obvious messages, but well delivered nonetheless. And for those wondering, J.B's extreme narcissism, womanizing and somewhat similar profession do invite modern day Don Draper comparisons. There's just no way around it, which isn't necessarily such a bad thing for the film.

Hamm has always seemed like a movie star despite only appearing primarily on TV, and that charismatic  quality is only magnified by the very essence of the character he plays on Mad Men. With that series winding down, the notion that he'd be making the jump was already a foregone conclusion so we may as well just prepare ourselves for the inevitability that none of the material he's given moving forward will contain the depth and complexity we've been spoiled with over the past 8 years. We get one of the better scenarios here, with leading role that plays to his strengths as a performer, while giving moviegoers who haven't seen the show a good inkling of why he's a big deal. Hamm can probaly do this in his sleep, but it's a credit to him that he doesn't and finds ways to constantly keep us interested in his character's rather obvious arc.

One actor who actually does give a performance in his sleep is Alan Arkin,who plays a grumpy, aging major league scout constantly dozing off during try-outs. Considering how often he's been sleeping through this grumpy old man role lately it was nice to see him just go ahead and literally make it official. But his presence only belies the fact that this cast is deceptively stacked with talent, as both Sharma and Patel are extremely likable in the face of mostly unfounded criticism about this being another Hollywood story of a white guy coming to the rescue. They mostly prevent that hijacking each time they're on screen. While Lake Bell's Brenda is blatantly being set up as the quirky, free-spirited love interest for Hamm's character, it's hard coming up with another actress who would have been as enjoyable a fit. She makes it something and isn't underutilized, despite the standard girlfriend role being more than a few levels lower than she deserves. Amit Rohan steals some scenes as the kids' interpreter, working as comic relief that's more amusing than irritating, at least when taken in small doses.

Interestingly enough, ESPN's polarizing Bill Simmons is listed as a producer on the project and as much as it looked from its trailer like the kind of movie he would mock on his podcast, it isn't. And he does know sports films, so his involvement, no matter how limited, could have only been a plus from where I sit. Despite sharing a setting, an actor and even a composer (A.R. Rahman) with Slumdog Millionaire, it didn't really remind me of that as much as it did of the story behind the making of it, with poverty-stricken kids being uprooted from their home country and being thrown into the fast-paced lifestyle of America without preparation. It's still mostly mainstream fluff,  but it's good fluff that gets little things right and doesn't insult our intelligence. Disney has this uplifting sports movie formula down pat, but it's a rare case where predictability can be somewhat comforting.

Mad Men: Season 7 (Part I)

Creator: Matthew Weiner
Starring: Jon Hamm, Elisabeth Moss, Vincent Kartheiser, January Jones, Christina Hendricks, John Slattery, Jessica Paré, Kiernan Shipka, Robert Morse, Kevin Rahm, Ben Feldman, Rich Sommer, Aaron Staton, Jay R. Ferguson, Christopher Stanley, Harry Hamlin, James Wolk Allan Havey 
Original Airdate: 2014

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)


             **Spoiler Warning: The Following Review Contains Plot Spoilers For This Season And Previous Seasons of Mad Men** 

With so many questions going into the seventh and final season of Mad Men it almost seems cruel of AMC to make the controversial call to give the series a Breaking Bad send-off, splitting it in two halves and forcing viewers to wait a year for the resolution. While it was obvious how milking the season monetarily benefits a network looking to fill a void left by two of television's all-time greatest dramas, less clear was how it would creatively affect the series, hamper pacing or compromise showrunner Matthew Weiner's vision for its end. At the risk of stating the obvious, Mad Men isn't Breaking Bad. It's a much slower burn, with a character-heavy focus that rewards viewers who watched from the pilot. And that number, as Nielson figures indicate, has dwindled considerably. Despite all the seasons streaming on Netflix, it's unlikely to enjoy the eleventh hour popularity surge BrBa did. But the faithful who are still hooked know that the show's gotten better as it headed into the more compelling historical backdrop of the late 60's, only strengthening our ties with characters we already feel a long-term connection to. This may only be a half-season, but a lot happens to set the stage for the end.

Megan's memorable entrance in Ep.7.1, "Time Zones"

When we last left selfish, womanizing, alcoholic ad man Don Draper (Jon Hamm) he appeared to have lost everything. After picking exactly the wrong time and place to come clean about his impoverished childhood as Dick Whitman, he gives a disastrous Hershey's pitch that cause the other Sterling Cooper partners to send him packing. While Don's not officially fired, it's clear his services are no longer needed and the majority of the season will focus on him trying to crawl and scratch his way back into the company. He's also attempting to repair his marriage to Megan (Jessica Paré), who fled to California for acting opportunities when it became clear he wouldn't be joining her. Straddling both coasts without a job and barely a marriage we see the character as we've never seen him before. Not as a slick ladies' man or anti-hero, but defeated and desperate. But more importantly, humbled.

We saw signs of this newly humbled Don at the end of last season when he felt comfortable enough to give both his kids and co-workers a brief glimpse into his real past. It was also evident when he sacrificed a California relocation to Ted Chaough (Kevin Rahm), potentially destroying his marriage so a friend could have shot at saving his own. Even the terms he must agree on to return to the agency is something the Don Draper of the first six seasons would never go for. Without work, he's completely lost, still attempting to repair not only his fractured marriage, but his relationship with daughter Sally (Kiernan Shipka), who's still emotionally traumatized after walking in on his extra-marital affair.

Don's still married as we start the season, but barely, as he and Megan are not just on opposite coasts, but orbiting different planets entirely, as she throws herself into a bohemian hippie lifestyle that's definitely not in his wheelhouse at this point. The penthouse apartment they once shared doesn't even look the same, taking on a cold, deserted quality that's far removed from Megan's "Zou Bisou Bisou" days.  He can't even bring himself to drink as much, or even cheat on her (with guest star Neve Campbell nonetheless). Desperate enough to get back in the game, he's hired a now clean and sober Freddy Rumsen (Joel Murray) to secretly pitch his ideas and most of them prove he's still got it.    

Don visits with Pete "California" Campbell

For all the focus on the agency having a bi-coastal presence it's kind of surprising just how little that aspect plays into the season. Sterling Cooper and Partners is an East Coast outfit and always will be since this has quintessentially been a New York series from day one. Excursions to L.A. have proven to be just that: Excursions. If the idea of all the action (or even half of it) moving out there was a red herring, don't try telling that to Pete "California" Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser), who enjoys a fake reinvention of sorts with a new preppy wardrobe and a hot blonde realtor girlfriend, both of which fail to conceal his collapsed marriage with Trudy (Alison Brie) and the fact his daughter literally has no idea who he is.

Joining Pete out there is Ted, who's not only become a non-entity this season, but is apparently depressed and suicidal enough to draw comparisons to the late Lane Pryce, who's referenced quite a bit, especially in relation to Don, who ends up occupying his office. While that development  provides mileage for those already convinced the opening credits hint at a Don suicide jump, after this somewhat hopeful half-season, that already far-fetched theory seems unlikelier than ever. The obvious lack of screen time for Pete and Ted might be the only true disappointment of these seven episodes, even if certain agency developments promises a return to form for both soon. Especially Pete. 

If last season's finale promised Peggy Olson (Elisabeth Moss) rising to prominence and even poised to take Don's seat at creative director, this one sees her crashing back to Earth, reminded at every turn that even as good as she is, she's still very much viewed as a woman in a man's world. Still distraught over Ted, her personal life's a mess, it's sole highlight a 10-year-old neighbor who comes to watch TV in her lonely apartment. To add on to the insult of being the most qualified passed over for Don's suddenly vacant position, it's filled by an incompetent moron who never met a pitch or client he wasn't apathetic toward. A terrible boss and an even worse creative mind, cardigan wearing Lou Avery (Allan Havey) is really just holding Don's office until he returns, but it's still fun watching his ridiculously pathetic behavior in the meantime.

Lou Avery's "Scout's Honor" sketch

Havey's performance as Lou is one of the best things of the season, with the veteran comedian expertly skirting the line between an out-of-touch, uncool relative you avoid at parties and that annoying superior who can't help but be insultingly offensive to everyone in sight. His treatment of Don's star secretary Dawn (Teyonah Parris) is reprehensible while his aspirations of becoming a cartoonist (with his "Beetle Baley"-inspired "Scout's Honor"comic strip) would probably seem noble if anyone else but him had them. Peggy loses more than a few steps working for someone who couldn't care less.

With an office not only been split into two coasts, but two warring factions, Roger Sterling (John Slattery) is losing control of his own company to nemesis Jim Culter (Harry Hamlin, in full smarmy villain mode). Roger's been phoning it in for a while now and this season is no different, opening with him in a similar state of arrested development and serial womanizing. But now he's finally forced to step up. Between scheming to get Don back into the fold, attempting to rescue daughter Margaret (Elizabeth Rice) from a hippie commune and forge meaningful relationships with both his grandson and illegitimate son with Joan (Christina Hendricks), he might finally be beginning to outgrow his mid-life crisis and come to terms with his absenteeism as a parent. The coup he stages at the end of this half-season only proves that when Roger's on and motivated, few are smarter.

Joan's having issues of her own, aside from a mean streak and nastiness that's developed from getting the least respect (and money) of all the partners, she's in her late thirties slumming it with her overbearing mother in a small apartment trying to raise an infant son. To an extent, things begin to change at the office as she's given her own accounts and a voice in important company decisions. One of the most interesting developments of last season was her friendship with the mysterious corporate suck-up Bob Benson, brilliantly played by James Wolk. He unfortunately only appears in one episode this go-around, but it's important in conveying the pressures facing a closeted gay man in the 60's and what Joan is willing to sacrifice for her own happiness. But her coldness and greediness really shine through this season, especially in her interactions with Don.

A 2001-inspired shot from Ep. 7.4, "The Monolith"

One of the nagging questions from the 1968-set Season 6 was why Weiner and his writers made no mention of that year's release of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Even amidst incorporating The Planet of the Apes and Rosemary's Baby, it seemed odd they'd miss an opportunity to reference one the greatest films ever made or put it into some kind of historical context with these characters. Now we have our answer: He was saving it.

The idea of computers taking humans' place in the workforce is just the latest example of these characters being left behind in an era that's rapidly changing and outpacing them. Those who can adapt and roll with this change buy themselves some more time. Like Harry Crane (Rich Sommer), the office goof who's now suddenly invaluable. Those who can't will be left behind. Of course, we now know that computers didn't replace people in the workforce (at least not yet), but there was a huge shift, and back then no one had any idea what would happen with those giant, noisy IBM machines.

Cutler and Avery's dismantling of "creative" was bound to adversely affect everyone, but it's Michael Ginsberg (Ben Feldman) who's sent off the deep end. Stifling the creative energy of someone wrestling with mental issues is like playing with fire and it's Peggy who ends up getting burned when he finally loses it. And by losing it, I'm not just talking about his mind, but also his nipple. Ironically, the precipitous for this bizarre event is a clever nod to 2001, in which Ginsberg reads the lips of his conspiring superiors, just as HAL 9000 did before he snapped. He theorizes that the new computer is turning everyone gay but unless by "everyone"  he means Bob Benson, then yes, he's going crazy.

Ginsberg is stretchered away in Ep. 7.5, "The Runaways"

The events leading up to Ginsberg being stretchered to a mental hospital features some of Elisabeth Moss' finest acting work on the series, which is really saying something. The same goes for Ben Feldman, who often popped in and out of the show with little regularity. Now it's easier to fully appreciate what he brought within the confines of that, much of it uncomfortably piercing the surface during this sequence. Even the usually stoned and jovial Stan (Jay R. Ferguson) turns deadly serious, deeply concerned for the health of his good friend.

If the changing culture is passing anyone fastest, it's Don, who returns to an agency not at all the same as he left it. It's the rare chance to see him, not only powerless, but nervous and zapped of confidence. The idea that he'll have to work for his former protege Peggy is just an added slap in the face. Having to eat crow and like it, it's of little surprise that it takes him about a week in show time to violate the ridiculous terms of his agreement, which the partners knew he had no chance of upholding.

If not for Roger, Don really would have been completely out of a job. He's certainly short a wife, as his on again, off again marriage with Megan appears to finally be off for good, though you could argue it was really off the second she left advertising and decided to (unsuccessfully?) pursue acting full-time. No longer under his control, the distance and generational gap between the two only grew, to the point that neither was worth the others time anymore, with Megan now shooting an attitude back at him just as good as he gives it. When not even a three-way with her friend can entice him back into this marriage you know there's trouble. Has he ever looked more bored?

A jealous Megan buys off Don's pregnant "niece" Stephanie

The last connecting thread between Don and his past as Dick Whitman rears its head when Anna Draper's niece Stephanie (Caity Lotz) returns as a pregnant, homeless hippie. Her abrreviated reentry into Don's world ends up being the death knell to his marriage with Megan, as she'll never know the "Dick Whitman" side of Don as intimately as Stephanie does, even if nothing ever happened between the two. Realizing that he lives to be the protector, she takes revenge the only way she can. By writing a check and condescendingly sending her on her way before he tries to again assume that responsibility.

It's interesting to observe how Mad Men portrays hippies. Stephanie's a real one while Megan's clearly an actress attempting to live a hippie lifestyle despite being extremely well off. Almost out of necessity, the usually likable Megan is the most unlikable she's been, as the fights with Don give Pare probably the heaviest acting to do of any season in which she's appeared. It remains to be seen whether she'll be on the show at all for the final episodes, or shuffled off to the sidelines in favor of more pressing developments once she's officially divorced from Don. If nothing else, Megan at least has to stay around long enough for the Manson murders, which are almost literally right around the corner. The extent of her involvement is still a question mark but her dancing with a Charles Manson lookalike certainly hasn't done much to dispel speculation.

The idea of family, or the evolving definition of it, could easily be considered the theme of the first half of this final season. With the entire country gathered together and transfixed by the moon landing, Don has to consider who his family is. The good news is that he's slowly repairing his relationship with Sally by simply telling the truth and her realizing that while her father isn't the man she thought he was, at least he'll never come close to inflicting on her the long-term psychological  abuse Betty (January Jones) has. And now it's being repeated with her brother Bobby, further solidifying her incompetence as a parent. It continues to astonish just how much of Betty and Don's mannerisms Kiernan Shipka works into her performance as Sally, especially when putting her obnoxious mom in her place.

Even Betty seems sick of herself at this point, gradually realizing that she went from being a trophy wife to a political trophy wife, as she's required to dutifully and silently stand by her husband Henry (Christopher Stanley) as he attempts to further his career. It turns out he's just as controlling as Don, only in a more passive-aggressive way. A basketcase not the slightest bit cut out for marriage or motherhood, Betty discarded her own life and identity for a white picket fence so how she handles coming to that painful self-realization could make for an interesting closing arc for a character who  still has some gas in the tank story-wise.
 

Don and Peggy slow dance to Sinatra in Ep. 7.6, "The Strategy"

The family Don is left with may be a dysfunctional one, but it's still a version of the real thing. One of the most touching moments of the half-season (and possibly the series) sees Don circling back around to Peggy and guiding her, finally comfortable enough to take on the role of mentor and encourage her success. After a rocky professional reunion, the two realize there's no sense fighting the fact they're cut from the same cloth. That their relationship isn't romantic and most likely never will be somehow makes it the purest connection on the series, stretching all the way back to their Season 4 classic, "The Suitcase." Peggy's pitch to fast food chain Burger Chef rivals Don's infamous Kodak Carousel presentation from the first season in terms of how the show uses advertising to not only reflect cultural shifts in society during that time, but make us think about how those shifts have carried into the present day.

Seeing Don, Peggy and Pete reunited as a family of their own at a Burger Chef table is a reminder of just how far removed each of those characters have been from ever being apart of what the outdated Lou Avery describes as the "nuclear family" of the 40's, 50's, or 60's. By the late '60's all of that was coming to an end, and the Apollo 11 mission represents possibly the last time Americans gathered together in a way reflecting it. The notion of the American family was certainly changing with women now working and meals being enjoyed at a Burger Chef table instead of a dining room. It's carried on to this day, making the pitch Peggy delivers as timely now as it was then. And that's why the image of the three (Father, Mother, Son?) eating at the table as the camera pulls back is one of the most enduring images the series' has given us. Here are people who couldn't be more different, yet know more about each other than maybe anyone else ever will. It's the new definition of family.

These rapidly changing times are solidified in the mid-season finale "Waterloo," with the death we've been prepared for, but didn't exactly envision playing out as it did. For many, the character of Bert Cooper outlasted his usefulness at Sterling Cooper a while back, popping in occasionally to make ignorant, old fashioned, and sometimes even flat-out racist observations. If anyone, aside from Don, had become a walking symbol of a bygone era it was Bert. And yet there was always a certain warmth and humor actor Robert Morse brought to the character in even the smallest doses that made him likable. Only beloved Bert would have the timing to die minutes after watching the moon landing. And it's special seeing Morse given a fitting series send-off with a crazy, afterlife musical number that proves the 83-year-old star of How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying hasn't lost a step.

Bert Cooper says goodbye in Ep. 7.7, "Waterloo"

We've seen Don hallucinate and even "see dead people" before but him hunched over and teary-eyed as he imagines Bert (clad in his trademark argyle socks) singing "The Best Things in Life Are Free" definitely takes the cake. Yes, it's ridiculous, but also really moving and joyous, emblematic of the biggest moments this show always nails. In terms of what it means for Don, maybe he can finally breathe a sigh of relief knowing that his personal and professional stresses have subsided and it's time to appreciate that the best things in life, like his children and friendships, are free. Bert's death hits him. All at once. And Hamm is ingenious in silently conveying that.

Breaking Bad changed the rules for final seasons by proving that a series finale doesn't necessarily have to be the greatest or most important episode. It just has to close the deal. And most of the work should be done before that. But that series was telling one story with a finite number of ways it could have ended given Walter White's situation. With Mad Men, that number is practically unlimited and it's easy envisioning more than a few of them being letdowns. This show doesn't have a definitive end point since it could reasonably keep going, following these richly drawn characters into the 70's, 80's and beyond if Weiner wanted to go that route and AMC let him. But that's not how things work, and as comforting as the show's been, it's the right decision to bow out while it's still creatively strong.

How this split season would impact the parsing out of plot was a question mark, but by the finale, it becomes clear Weiner had a game plan: Tear Don down before redeeming him, while also tying up all the loose business ends at Sterling Cooper and Partners. But sticking the landing will be tricky. With Don suddenly facing a more hopeful future and SCP business taken care of, what's left? Will he fall back into a downward spiral or successfully reconcile his two identities? Will he continue mentoring Peggy? Will Stephanie return or have we really seen the last of Dick Whitman's past?

The gang sits transfixed by the Moon landing

With Woodstock, the Manson murders and the '69 Mets right around the corner, there's also the big question of what era the show will end in, with many assuming 1970 was always set to be the cut-off. While that still may be true, if any finale situation ever lent itself to a massive flash-forward giving us a glimpse into the characters' futures, it's this one. As we get closer to the end, it's hard not to think back to Matthew Weiner's comments about tying the show and its events to the present day. It's a worthy goal, but also one you can argue the series may have already reached.