At this point, you might only know AMC for the occasional few minutes with “The Three Stooges.” But in between heavy rotations of the slapstick trio, the channel’s also been creating some of television’s most critically acclaimed and cinematically adept series’—including “Mad Men,” “Breaking Bad” and, most recently, “The Walking Dead.”
The stylish “Mad Men” hinges on Don Draper (Jon Hamm), the creative director of an advertisement agency in 1960’s Manhattan. Between Lucky Strike cigarettes and the occasional glass of whiskey, he and his sharp, slick-haired creative team account for a golden age in ad ideas (ex. associating Marlboro with rugged individualism after the health risk is realized). Don Draper has the makings of a workaholic.
That, and he seems victim to a complex web of existential angst. Despite having what could essentially be considered the American dream family, Don is involved in a series of extramarital affairs with diverse but always strong-willed women. What accounts for his behavior? Especially for somebody like Draper, who in every way appears to be a classy, hard-working gentleman? The question isn’t always easy. But it’s always interesting, given he’s a character whose career targets the subconscious emotions and decisions of almost everybody else.
The other male characters—many of whom are involved in the same misdeeds as Draper—have a different appeal. They comprise a gender carried away by competition, in need of an outlet when they cannot measure up to their own expectations, let alone their partners’.
“Mad Men,” though, is just as much about the women and their changing roles in the society of that time. For instance, the inexperienced, prudish-dressed secretary Peggy (Elisabeth Moss) sleeps with an associate after only a few days at the office. It’s part of the seasoned advice given to her by Joan (Christina Hendricks), the office manager, who knows exactly how to “get ahead” in this job: do what your superior tells you and don’t interfere with their private affairs. While her advice proves useful, Peggy makes her way up to “creative” by taking the reins on a few female-specific products (a lipstick line and the Playtex bra). Both Peggy and Joan begin to realize their liberation through the course of the series, but each by different direction.
It’s also interesting to note that, of the series’ nine writers, seven are women.
The series also succeeds on a few technical levels. First, you won’t find a show with more style than “Mad Men;” everything, whether it be furnishings or makeup, looks perfectly in line with its reference era. Second, “Mad Men” achieves a meditative pace that I didn’t think was possible for a television series. Everything is so tactfully subtle that you’ll be surprised to recall how much has happened.
Honestly, “Mad Men,” the most prized show at this year’s Emmys, deserved every award it got.
AMC’s second original series, “Breaking Bad,” begins with Walter White (Bryan Cranston) wearing a gas mask and swerving an RV along a dirt road in New Mexico before, in his panic, taking an unintentional turn into the ditch. As he exits the vehicle, littered with two dead bodies and an array of chemicals, he puts on his green collared shirt and tucks a gun into his whitey-tighties (he isn’t wearing pants) as he hears sirens approach in the distance.
Although there are better scenes in the series, this early one demonstrates its dark direness and bleak humor.
Walt is a chemistry teacher who, on his 50th birthday, finds out that he has lung cancer and approximately two years to live. More urgent to him than his own situation is that of his pregnant wife, handicapped son, and the financial hazard they would inherit after his death (he doesn’t have life insurance). When he learns that there is a lot of money to be made by cooking meth (which, being a chemist, he knows how to do better than anyone—an “artist”), he seeks out an old student who is able to get him into the trade.
Of course, Walt’s associate turns out to be just as much an amateur as he is. Before they can even realize what they’ve gotten into, they’re involved in the risks and violence of the drug trade, even if they didn’t initiate it. As a result, the drama is always focused, since Walt is apt to always keep his humanistic aims in mind: he’s not looking to get rich, but to meet the needs of his family.
The show is raw, gritty and deviously honest in its emotion. At times, Walt is empowered by his mortal disposition. Other times, he anxiously realizes that even though death is ever near, he is afraid of it and still has needs.
Bryan Cranston is the crux of this character study; he’s won an Emmy for best lead actor for each of his three seasons in “Breaking Bad.” As long as he keeps performing this subdued character so well, I can’t imagine the series will go bad.
AMC’s latest outing, “The Walking Dead,” follows the basic character-driven, post-apocalyptic premise of its comic book counterpart (hopefully you read about the zombie series in last week’s Beacon article from Bob Latchaw).
Fans of that series will be happy to know that it retains much of the artistic spirit. Blood and gore, present in basic-cable-defying amounts, is stylized. Even its original scenes have a comic dimension to them: for instance, in a scene where two characters must cover themselves in zombie blood to divert the flesh-eaters’ attention.
Even so, the creators have made a set that has a strikingly natural look to it. In the premiere episode, there are bits of the world that are transformed: cars lined up in the streets, houses vacant or with dead inhabitants. But this world doesn’t have a dark, grainy haze over it. The set—at least the rural portions—looks very much like the world we know.
The zombies are, at least in part, frail forms of their former human selves. They make for some very tender scenes. For instance, one scene shows an undead with her legs chopped out, her innards dangling from the lower part of her torso as she drags herself along with her two arms. As the sheriff approaches her, she moans pathetically, as if tired and desperate. At that moment, he says, “I’m sorry this happened to you.”
En masse, though, these zombies are absolutely savage. In what might be the most affecting scene yet, the sheriff rides a horse into downtown Atlanta. When they encounter a swarm of the monsters, the horse is helplessly torn to bits. The scene is graphic to say the least.
There is still much to be seen with the grim series, which has already been extended for a second season. But based on the first two episodes, there’s a lot to look forward to.