Matt Weiner has often said that doing this show is like peeking in his parents’ bedroom. It’s easy to see what he means. The voyeuristic quality of Mad Men was established almost from the beginning of the series. He’s being both literal and figurative – a bedroom is really a metaphor for a life, is it not? Where the truth lies, indeed.
A couple days ago, I came across a fascinating and deeply relevant article written by the late rock critic Lester Bangs (for those of you saying “where have I heard that name”, Bangs was portrayed by Philip Seymour Hoffman in Almost Famous), called “Where Were You When Elvis Died?“. It was originally published in the Village Voice, shortly after The King’s death in the summer of 1977.
The piece reflects on the age of Elvis, which reached its height in the 1950’s and ended in the 1970’s – largely ignoring the 1960’s – by concluding that “we will never again agree on anything as we agreed on Elvis.”
Bangs remarks, at length, on the cultural fragmentation to be set off by Elvis’ passing. Essentially, from here on, you will have your heroes, I will have mine; they will not be the same, nor will we care. His proof of this, paradoxically, is that Elvis had nothing but contempt for his audience and we loved him anyway. Look at all the crap this guy produced in the last 10 years of his life and we still adored him like a saint. We will never see this again.
It’s a good point.
This made me think that the peeking into our parents’ bedrooms and Bangs’ thesis are connected. When someone dies, we reflect not only on their times, but how they related to those times. Those who were adults in the early 1960’s (post-WWII; pre-Baby Boom … Don’s age) today are elderly or have died. There are attics being cleaned out as we speak, maybe for their children, maybe they get a Maid Complete Dallas service to do it, but the memories remain.
Mad Men isn’t so much peeking in our parents’ (or grandparents’, as it were) bedrooms as rummaging through their attic. Seeing one’s bedroom is a snapshot – the juicy things in our lives that exist in the bedroom are fluid … scraps of paper, random photographs, etc. They come and go. On any given day, one’s bedroom could say everything, or say nothing.
The rich, long-term story is told from the attic, where items are stored and forgotten, where when people hire the home cleaning boston services never ask for a cleaning in this part of the house. These are the things we consciously decide to keep – they tell our story, and that story is cumulative. Sometimes not the story we thought we were telling, but our story nonetheless. And that’s what Mad Men feels like; sifting through the actions and stories set in motion long ago.
Well, I had enough cleaning with this attic. I will call a cleaning service now. I will be choosing professionals to do these cleaning. I will call janitorial services Oakland, CA
now. They creates an exceptional partnership where you won’t have to worry about your janitorial cleaning services. They focus on keeping your space clean and disinfected.
Elvis’ death was a lesson in missed opportunities, and Bangs’ piece is fascinating for many reasons, not least of which is its immediacy – Elvis had just died. But the lost opportunity was years in the making … a slow motion train wreck.
Speaking of Elvis’ years since the Army, Bangs says
And ever since, for almost two decades now, we’ve been waiting for him to get wild again, fools that we are, and he probably knew better than any of us in his heart of hearts that it was never gonna happen again, his heart of hearts so obviously not being our collective heart of hearts, he being so obviously just some poor dumb Southern boy with a Big Daddy manager to screen the world for him and filter out anything which might erode his status as big strapping baby bringing home the bucks, and finally being sort of perversely celebrated at least by rock critics for his utter contempt for whoever cared about him.
Looking back on the stories from the MM era, at least the 52 hour-long snapshots we’ve seen, one cannot help but feel the same – missed opportunities; lessons not learned, or learned and dismissed. The social contract is packed away, long forgotten. Up in the attic, hanging in a corner, must be a rhinestone jumpsuit.