"Mad Men": Episode 8, "Souvenir"

I thought it was a fantastic touch to have Betty surprise us by speaking very good Italian without any foreshadowing at all. It's another sign that she is more cultured and better educated than her husband with the mysterious past. I'm guessing she spent part of her years at Bryn Mawr in Italia, but I love the fact that the script never did fill us in. (Do we know if Betty graduated college or did she leave early to become a model? I can't remember any specific reference to her college years prior to last week's episode.) {Reader Batutta reminds me that Betty has in the past mentioned spending time in Italy as a model.}

Betty surprises us -- a lot -- throughout their visit to Rome, and to understand her actions there you have to of course factor in the emotional rush that she's just experienced back home in Ossining. She thrown herself into the Junior League project of stopping the water pump construction plan. The connection she's made with Henry Francis of Gov. Rockefeller's office certainly fuels her passion for civic involvement, but she's also clearly engaged in working on something that is outside of her family and its woes.

The first time we see Betty she's at her kitchen table, going over residential lists and making phone calls to drum up support for their cause. This scene presents as domestic an image of Betty and Don as I can remember from this show. It's a hot summer night, she's in capris and a sleeveless shirt and pony tail, making calls while Don is getting his laundry together from his most recent Hilton-directed business trip (to Dallas -- more JFK references). She's even poured him a beer while the kids are outside trying to catch lightning bugs (presume those are what we on this coast call "fireflies"?).

Don even acknowledges her dedication to her cause by telling her she deserves to be paid for her work. She has kind of a strange reply: "I get paid enough." She actually seems content.

But then moments later when Don gets the call from Hilton that sends him to Rome, he disrespects Betty's work by jotting down his notes down on her paperwork -- not even on the margin but right on top of the info on the page she's working from. No, it's not a huge thing, she could likely live without that name and address but I found it symbolic. Don's work takes precedence over everything.

The Betty scenes that follow are Jones' best work to date. We see her getting up early, picking up packages and dry cleaning and other household chores. But then we switch to the evening and she's getting ready to go out. She's a vision of loveliness in a white summer dress that in hindsight seems a little too fancy for the occasion -- the council meeting -- but not overtly out of place. She's incredibly preoccupied by her preparations. You know she's thinking about the prospect of seeing Francis again.

Incredible wordless scene with Jones and the great Kiernan Shipka, when Betty leans into the mirror to apply her lipstick. Sally is standing there taking up most of the mirror space. Betty doesn't even look at Sally while she puts on her va-va-voom red and blots with tissue, even as Sally's eyes are searching, practically begging for recognition from her beautiful mom. What mother can look straight into a mirror with her at her side daughter and not smile, muss the girl's hair and make an inane comment like "how'd you get so pretty." Betty, that's who. (OK, Betty does gently touch Sally's shoulder as she's walking away but that doesn't count. Just ask Sally.) 

Then, the meeting. Betty sitting next to the other two concerned housewives is a sharp contrast -- one that comes into even sharper focus later when Betty articulates her suburban angst. Betty's pal Francine is pretty and shapely, but she doesn't turn heads like Betty.

Henry Francis, of course, sails into the meeting at the last minute with the big win that the Junior League needed -- a letter from the guv asking for a delay and more studies of the project. The council members can't believe that hizzoner cares about the issue but they immediately cave. Betty flashes her million dollar smile.

You can't blame Henry for kissing her after he walks her to her car -- her father's Lincoln. She calls it a good luck charm, and I think it's meant to be a show of her independence, as is the entire fight-the-water-pump project.

Again, fabulous work by Jones and guest star Christopher Stanley in these scenes. The build up to the smooch that he plants on her is so slooow and deliberate that it was no shock at all when it happened. But it was a surprise that Betty put quite so much (tongue) into it, and didn't recoil. Henry Francis is one smooth customer. So far he's played Betty just right. And I don't think it's over for them, not by a long shot.

The Betty scenes leading up to the Francis kiss are interspersed with scenes of Pete dealing with his temporary bachelorhood while Trudy is away on a beach somewhere with her sailing-challenged parents. (Oh honey, really? Your parents?)

The seg opens with Pete realizing that even his secretary has somewhere fun to go for the weekend with her friends. (While this episode belongs to Betty and Pete, it's Harry Crane who seems to telegraph the major theme by noting that while Pete is stuck in dullsville, "Those girls do whatever they want.")

Pete is wistful, and lonely. He's remembering the New York of his youth when he loved the summer nights in the city when you could "hear horses going by." It's probably a figment of his nostalgic imagination but it's real to him.

After drinking with the chipmunks, he comes home, plastered, to a dark apartment. He sits around on the couch bare chested -- something Trudy would surely frown on -- listening to jazz. You can just feel how hot it is.

He awakes to a bowl of cereal and "Davey and Goliath" cartoon on the tube. Pete the juvenile miscreant laughs where he shouldn't, when Goliath gets hurt by a stunt of Davey's. Later, after what we presume was an uneventful day around the house Pete walks a bag of garbage out to the incinerator only to discover a distraught German girl (I found her name to be incomprehensible but reader Andrew supplies it: Gertrude) trying to stuff a chiffon party dress down the garbage shoot.

Heck this would be an intriguing scene to come across for anyone -- kind of like an improv acting exercise -- but it's great to see the wheels turn in Pete's head as he learns what's going on. Again, you can feel how hot it is by looking at the girl's skin. (From the poet John Sebastian: "Hot town, summer in the city/back of my neck getting dirty and gritty....But at night it's a different world/go out and find girl...")

Interesting that the girl has no problem helping herself to her employer's closet, but she balks at Pete's weasely suggestion that she blame the wine-stained dress on the children in the family. "No. I could never." Pete's tone as he takes the dress from her is so fake-friendly that I do believe he's hatching on the spot a plot to make her indebted to him so that he can seduce her. I'd like to think that he wouldn't be so craven but...

Pete's scene in the Bonwit Teller shop as he tries to exchange the dress with the first saleswoman is vintage Pete. First he turns on the self-deprecating charm, but the instant he doesn't get immediate satisfaction he turns into the jerky-pushy Pete. It's a very effective in retail. He delivers laugh out loud line of the seg when he asks to speak to the manager. "Of the whole store?" the saleswoman asks. "Of the republic of dresses," he replies, haughtily. (Nice continuity touch in the department store scene with a Hermes display in the background.)

Lo and behold, it is the queen of the Republic of Form-Fitting Dresses who walks out the help him. Joan! There's great awkwardness between the two of them, as Pete regrets that she knows about his dress-capade and Joan clearly doesn't want the Sterling Cooper gang knowing she's working in a department store. Given that, I was surprised she volunteered the info about her husband Greg seeking a new specialty -- psychiatry (!) -- but I suppose she felt it was some explanation.

But Joan quickly reverts into her familiar fixer mode and takes care of Pete's problem immediately (which underscores how lazy the first saleswoman was). She uses that ominous line that we've heard before on this show: "Of course, this never happened" when Pete asks her to be discreet should she ever run into Trudy. The anguish she displays after Pete walks out of sight makes it clear that things haven't gotten better in her marriage.

Back in Ossining, Betty floats back home and I noticed the first thing she does is have a glass of water. The first thing Don asks her is "where's my Hilton cufflinks." Not -- "How'd it go?" but reinforcing Betty's role as housemaid in chief. She's feeling guilty about the kiss so she puts on her sweetest smile. Don finally asks about the meeting and she's so happy she does a little twist ("We won, we won, we won"). She's happy for reasons Don doesn't know but she's also happy to have accomplished something on her own -- and proud to be able to impart her new-found political savvy to her husband, who acknowledges it.

"That's real politics, Bets," he says approvingly.

(Maybe someone familiar with the area can explain Betty's comment about moving the water pump project to nearby Newburgh -- "It's already disgusting." Is that just NIMBY mentality or is there greater historical significance?)

Betty obliquely explains her middle of the night decision to go to Rome with Don when she tells him "I just want to get on the plane." She doesn't trust herself if Don were to leave her alone. After all, she knows Henry Francis did not drive back to Albany after the council meeting.

And then boom! Don and Betty strut in to the Rome Hilton like American conquerors. Betty very Jackie Kennedy in a pink Chanel (or Chanel-like) suit and Don even more smoldering-handsome than usual. They've both clearly gotten a lift by being away from their troubles and regular daily chores. Betty also has a measure of control over Don in Rome because she speaks the language and she knows some of the cultural conventions -- she knows enough to chide Don for over-tipping the bellboy. (I didn't get the significance of Betty commenting on the strange diesel smell in the hotel lobby.)

In Rome, Betty is treated like a princess. She even gets to drink delicious sparkling water -- no mere tap water. None other than Conrad Hilton has instructed her to put the hotel through its paces and avail herself of all its facilities. This is her invitation to get dolled up and decked out as we have never seen her before. She looks tawdry, frankly, but as she and Don flirt over cocktails later, it becomes clear that looking tawdry -- a bit of creative role-playing -- was the point for both of them. And of course, she's a little extra turned on by the attention she gets from the guys at the next table before Don arrives.

The sexy dialogue between Don and Betty as they sit in front of a fountain amounts to "La Dolce Mad Men." ("I'm only in Rome for one night. I won't have my heart broken." "You think I'm shallow because of the way I'm dressed.")

When Conrad Hilton joins them he drinks in Betty and tells Don that he's "an indecently lucky man" -- continuing a theme this season of people telling Don how fortunate he is, usually at times when he's feeling anything but.

The bedroom scene after she and Don return to the hotel, a little more than tipsy, is the sexiest we've ever seen on this show, thanks to Jones' natural gifts. In this encounter and the one the next morning, I think she's completely focused on Don -- she's not substituting him in her mind for Henry. And Don is actually looking at Betty as a person for a change. "You're tiny," he remarks. It's an offhand comment as they prepare to steam up the sheets, but it's telling. So is Don's comment the next morning about how he likes sleeping on the other side of the bed. Everything is different for them on this trip -- for the better.

Ah, but their euphoria is short-lived. As soon as they're back home Carla mentions Sally's anger-management issues and the stress of daily life comes roaring back. Betty coos to her infant son -- the only one in the house she can completely control. 

Meanwhile, in Pete's world, he's proving the old adage about how to make an instant asshole: Just add alcohol. He gives the girl the new dress, and she's grateful ("Sank you. Sank you, Mr. Peter") but she resists his advance because she has a boyfriend. A few hours later, when Pete is stumbling drunk, he's more demanding and makes his way into her bedroom. He's not violent but he's beyond out of bounds. She does not put up an explicit fight, but she may be cowed by the fact that he's drunk and could be volatile. It's a very confounding way to play this scene.

When Trudy comes back -- after Pete has gotten the knock-it-off warning from his neighbor -- the exchange between them is priceless. For all of his upper-crust upbringing, he's a bundle of of emotions and can't hide his feelings as Trudy tries to get frisky the moment she walks in the door.

Alison Brie steals the last Pete scene when he comes home that evening and she's rambling on about salads and fruit and her shopping excursion. She's ready to pretend it never happened and move on, but Pete stops her short, determined to address the elephant at the dinner table.

"I don't want you to go away anymore without me," he says severely. Trudy pauses, looking like she's not sure if she wants to scream or cry. We see her making calculations in her head on how to respond. Finally, she says: "Good. I won't."

Suddenly everything's OK. Pete regales her with a story from the office about Paul Kinsey developing a way to shoot balloons across the office. Which the chipmunks then filled with ketchup. Isn't that kinda sick in light of the blood splatters and foot remains that were mopped up from the office barely a month before??

Back in Ossining, Betty is very obviously avoiding the elephant in her living room -- the fainting couch that is so horribly out of place with the rest of the decor. She brings Sally down for a heart to heart about the report from Carla that she kissed Francine's Ernie.

"You don't kiss boys; boys kiss you," Betty instructs. "The first kiss is very special. It's where you go from being a stranger to knowing someone, and every kiss with him after that is a shadow of that kiss."

Her amorous thoughts have drifted back to Henry now that they're back in the real world. Francine's prying about the details and her musings about the romantic week she spent sans kids with her husband only sets Betty off. Heck, she even made lasagna to be exotic and the kids didn't like it. Sigh.

By the time Don later surprises with a charm in the shape of the coliseum, she's up to her old self-centered tricks.

"I hate this place. I hate our friends. I hate this town," she whines. After Don gives her the charm, she flummoxes him by whining some more. "I can have something to look at when I tell the story about the time we went to Rome."

Betty doesn't want to be Francine. Betty doesn't know who she wants to be, but she knows who she doesn't want to be.