Don of a new day

When Mad Men debuted in 2007, the show's appeal seemed relatively straightforward. Faced with the feel-bad reality of the Iraq war and the U.S. government's staggering debt load, American audiences could bask in the nostalgia of a show about a New York ad agency set in prosperous 1960 a more innocent time when it was copacetic to smoke at work, grope secretaries behind closed doors and have five-martini lunches.

Thanks to its period costuming and impeccable production design, Mad Men soon became a cultural phenomenon, spawning countless blogs and even a Simpsons parody. Timed with the launch of the show's third season, Banana Republic recently introduced a Mad Men fashion line, while BMW created a Mad Men-inspired car ad. (In yet another tie-in, the New York Mets recently hosted a "Mets Gone Mad!" night, where baseball fans could win fedoras and sip on cocktails during the game.)

But the genius of Mad Men is that, from the get-go, it has never been that superficial the show might feature plenty of sleek, shiny surfaces, but it was always more concerned with the mess that lies beneath. That idea is distilled in Mad Men's central character, suave ad man Don Draper (Jon Hamm). With his suburban home, flourishing career and model wife, he is the embodiment of the American Dream. His personal philosophy is best encapsulated in a soliloquy from the first season: "Advertising is based on one thing: happiness. And do you know what happiness is? It's freedom from fear, it's a billboard on the side of the road that screams with reassurance that whatever you're doing, it's OK. You are OK."

As we've seen, Don and the characters that surround him are far from OK. Mad Men is a masterful study of the emptiness behind manufactured images the ones that ads, as well as people, often rely on to succeed. Don, for one, has an alternate life filled with mistresses, and suffers from flashbacks to a terrible childhood, a dubious stint in the Korean War and a stolen identity. But fear stimulates his imagination, and hisclever use of words, coupled with his guarded air, have helped him become the most prized employee at the Sterling Cooper ad agency.

The first two seasons emphasized Don's marital troubles, but in season three, what seems most in jeopardy is his career. In a sly nod to our present economic climate, this season is about a corporation in flux. Sterling Cooper has been taken over by the British firm Putnam, Powell and Lowe, and a third of the company's American staff has already been laid off. Two junior ad men, Pete Campbell and Ken Cosgrove, are given promotions to the same job, a move meant to pit them against one another.

In the second episode, Don's bosses ask him to make a characteristically smooth pitch to win the business of the developers of New York's Madison Square Garden which he does (see sidebar above). Don returns to the office only to learn that London has killed the account. This new dynamic raises the stakes considerably for everyone at Sterling Cooper, who will either thrive or perish under "British rule."

It's no coincidence that Don is the character with the greatest flair for advertising, since he knows good copy is all about false fronts Lucky Strike cigarettes might be poison inside, but people will buy them if the shiny label says "It's Toasted!"

But the recent developments at Sterling Cooper could pose the biggest threat to Don. In trying to outrun his personal demons, he has always found refuge in the workplace, where his identity wasn't questioned, and where his innate gift for spin was amply rewarded.

Recent episodes hint that Don may not be as forward-thinking as he first appeared. For example, his firmly held belief that ads based on male desire can sell products to women seemsout of touch. By contrast, Don's ambitious young protg Peggy could be on to something when she suggests a fluffy diet cola campaign modelled after Bye Bye Birdie is "phony" Peggy's sensibility seems more in line with the changing social mores of 1963. Mad Men appears to be edging towards a moment when members of Sterling Cooper's old guard including Don could be supplanted by the new.

In the past, Don's gift for crafting flowery speeches out of thin air has enabled him to talk his way out of many a jam. But season three places him on shaky new terrain, standing a little closer to the dread he privately voiced in season one: "I have nothing. I am over and they're finally gonna know it."

According to Don, advertising is about selling happiness. But as Mad Men devotees already know, the show is at its finest when depicting the opposite: the American everyman in freefall.

Mad Men airs Sundays at 10.

Lee Ferguson writes about the arts for CBCNews.ca.