I cannot stand Mad Men.
There, I said it.
I’m sorry, Jonno. Sorry, Jocko. Sorry, most of America’s cable subscribers, but the show drives me crazy, and frankly, I have enough crazy-inducing stuff in my life without fictional characters adding to the mix.
I’ve tried to get into it–really tried. I was a huge fan of The Sopranos, so I’ve given Mad Men countless chances. But instead of the nuanced, engaging characters and stories we got on The Sopranos, Mad Men comes across as a flat, disaffected period piece full of clunky writing and a plot that can be summarized as follows:
It’s the 60s! People smoke! A lot! Also: they drink! A lot! Women aren’t treated well! Neither are black people! The ones we see anyway! It’s the 60s!
And so on.
I mean, half of the drama comes from us, the viewers, saying to ourselves, “Did people really think like that? If these folks only knew what was coming! Ho ho!” A history lesson does not a TV series make.
It reminds me of that French and Saunders sketch, “The House of Idiot”–the one that pokes fun at films that are art directed to within an inch of their lives, but forget to offer any substance:
On the upside, Adult Swim is especially good on Sunday nights, so I’ll still get in some quality time on the sofa. Huzzah.
sturtle [dot] com 