The cast of Mad Men (2007-2015)

SPOILERS!

Jon Hamm as Donald Francis “Don” Draper

Don Draper is easily one of the television’s seminal characters and Hamm’s towering performance that weaves charisma, vulnerability and torment into a complex portrait of a man at odds with himself is arguably the key catalyst for my care-free assumption. As the mysterious advertising executive, Hamm brings to life a character who is both a product of the American Dream and its cautionary tale – a man everybody aspires to be, yet one who secretly despises himself – a stranger in his own skin.

“I have been watching my life. It’s right there. I keep scratching at it, trying to get into it. I can’t.“

At first glance, Don Draper is the epitome of mid-century masculine allure – from his sharp suits to Hamm’s commanding presence, he easily stands out as the center of attention. Hamm embodies his public persona with effortless grace – his deep voice and measured delivery exuding authority in boardrooms and bedrooms alike. In early episodes, Hamm’s sly smiles and natural gestures craft a Don who is magnetic, a man who sells not just products, but an idealized version of himself (or the version he thinks he ought to present). This polished exterior reflects Don’s core trait: a need for control born from his traumatic past as Dick Whitman, the impoverished son of a prostitute who stole a dead soldier’s identity to reinvent himself.

“You’re born alone, and you die alone, and this world just drops a bunch of rules on top of you to make you forget those facts, but I never forget. I’m living like there’s no tomorrow, ’cause there isn’t one.”

However, Hamm’s brilliance lies in how he subtly undermines this facade. His eyes, often lingering a fraction too long, betraying some unease, hinting at the fragility of Don’s constructed persona. That same past also produced a strong need to be loved without the understanding that he himself should be the first in line for that difficult task. This tension between the public idol and the private wreck of a human is central to Don’s character. Hamm’s ability to balance Don’s outward confidence with these understated cues invites viewers to see the cracks in a man who is both the creator and the prisoner of his own myth. Especially magnificent are the moments in which the internal turmoil of the character satisfyingly betrays his facade, exposing him as just as (if not more) flesh and blood as every other human being.

Betty: “What would you do if you were me? Would you love you?” Don: “I was surprised you ever loved me.”

Don’s dual identity as Dick Whitman and Don Draper is not just a plot device, but a lens through which Hamm explores this rich character’s existential crisis. Don’s reinvention embodies the American Dream’s promise of self-creation, yet his inability to escape his past fuels his self-destructive tendencies. Hamm captures this duality with remarkable depth, particularly in his moments of vulnerability – arguably the most clearly when Don learns of Anna Draper’s death (“the only person in the world who really knew” Don) – Hamm’s performance is heartbreaking. His shoulders slump and his voice cracks as he collapses into tears before Peggy.

Hamm’s physicality enhances this portrayal. His deliberate, measured movements, wide frame and deep stare evoke the era’s stoic masculinity, which Don both embodies and struggles to maintain. Yet, as Don’s drinking and infidelity escalate, Hamm leans into the character’s unraveling a bit more, even in public places. The self-destructive behavior of the character underscores Don’s paradox: his creative genius, which allows him to craft compelling ad campaigns, is inseparable from the personal pain that drives this reckless behavior.

“You are the product. You feeling something. That’s what sells. Not them. Not sex. They can’t do what we do and they hate us for it.”

This self-destruction is not merely personal, but reflective of Don’s role as an ad man. His pitches, often drawn from his own wounds, reveal his intuitive grasp of the human desire. In the iconic “Carousel” pitch, Hamm infuses Don’s monologue with a nostalgic tinge in his baritone voice, something mysterious in his eyes – a truly remarkable moment of performing both within the show and for the audience. The performance feels so raw that it blurs the line between Don’s pitch and Hamm’s acting, highlighting Don’s ability to commodify his trauma without betraying his mystery or his vulnerability. Hamm’s delivery makes it clear that Don is selling an illusion he desperately wishes to believe, a testament to both the character’s complexity and Hamm’s stellar skills.

“Teddy told me that in Greek, ‘nostalgia’ literally means the pain from an old wound. It’s a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn’t a spaceship, it’s a time machine. It goes backwards, forwards. It takes us to a place where we ache to go again. It’s not called ‘The Wheel’, it’s called the carousel. It lets us travel the way a child travels: round and around, and back home again, to a place where we know we are loved.”

As the 1960s progress, Don’s encounters with the counter-cultural figures further isolate him. In the series’ final episodes, Hamm’s portrayal of Don at a meditative retreat is both poignant and ambiguous. His serene expression during the final meditation suggests a tentative step toward self-acceptance, yet the cut to the Coca-Cola ad implies Don may never escape his need to sell illusions. Hamm’s ability to leave this resolution open-ended is very swiftly done: a man caught between authenticity and performance, a struggle that Hamm makes remarkably real.

Don: “I messed everything up. I’m not the man you think I am.” Peggy: “Don, listen to me. What did you ever do that was so bad?” Don: “I broke all my vows. I scandalized my child. I took another man’s name and made nothing of it.”

Throughout the show, Don Draper’s arc mirrors broader societal shifts, and Hamm’s performance grounds this allegory in human emotion. The performance is a testament to Hamm’s ability to make Don both specific and archetypal. His subtle gestures convey a man who is never fully knowable, inviting viewers to project their own struggles onto him. By intertwining Don’s charisma with his flaws, Hamm ensures that even at his worst, Don remains very compelling, a flawed everyman (which seems insane, but he somehow pulls it off) navigating a changing world.

Don: “I’m sorry… I have to say this, because I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.” Hershey’s executive: “What?“ Don: “I was an orphan. I grew up in Pennsylvania, in a whorehouse. I read about Milton Hershey and his school in ‘Torn Up Magazine’, or some other crap the girls left by the toilet, and I read that some orphans had a different life there. I could picture it. I dreamed of it – being wanted. Because the woman who was forced to raise me would look at me every day like she wished I would disappear. The closest I got to being wanted was with a girl who made me go through her johns’ pockets while they screwed. If I collected more than a dollar, she’d buy me Hershey bar, and I would eat it alone in my room with great ceremony…feeling like a normal kid. It said ‘sweet’ on the package. It was the only sweet thing in my life.” Hershey’s executive: “You want to advertise that?” Don: “If I had my way, you would never advertise. You shouldn’t have someone like me telling that boy what a Hershey bar is. He already knows.”

Jon Hamm delivers a masterclass in acting, blending charisma, subtlety and a staggering amount of raw emotion to create a profoundly complex character for the ages. Through nuanced expressions and deliberate physicality, Hamm illuminates Don’s eternally fractured psyche, his struggles with identity, masculinity and societal change, and his subtle path of change and possible redemption. Hamm’s performance ensures that his journey feels both intimate and epic. His work cements Don Draper as one of television’s great antiheroes, brought to life with unflinching skill and magnetic artistry.

Wendy: “Does someone love me?”

The Best Acting Moment: what Hershey means to Don S06E13

Verdict: 5

Elisabeth Moss as Margaret “Peggy” Olson

Moss’ portrayal of Peggy Olson is a gradual revelation – transforming a seemingly meek secretary into one of television’s most compelling and iconic female characters. Moss’ nuanced performance captures Peggy’s evolution from a naive newcomer to a confident creative force, embodying the struggles and triumphs of a woman navigating the male-dominated world of 1960s advertising.

“I mean, I know what I’m supposed to want, but it just never feels right, or as important as anything in that office.”

Peggy Olson begins Mad Men as a wide-eyed secretary at Sterling Cooper. Her dowdy attire and nervous demeanor marking her as an unmissable outsider in the sleek world of the Madison Avenue. Moss inhabits this “early” Peggy with a delicate mix of deference and latent ambition. Her cramped posture and hesitant speech convey a young woman overwhelmed by the exciting new world, yet also always eager to prove herself. Moss’ expressive eyes, often darting with uncertainty, hint at Peggy’s untapped potential, setting the stage for her exceedingly natural transformation.

“The thing is, I have a job. I have my own office with my name on the door. And I have a secretary — that’s you. And I am not scared of any of this.”

Moss’ greatest strength is her ability to trace Peggy’s growth without losing the character’s core vulnerability. As Peggy transitions from secretary to copywriter, Moss subtly starts to shift her physicality and delivery. Her straightener posture and firmer tone reflect a newfound confidence in her first step-up in this, yet slight hints every-so-often betray the lingering fear of overstepping. This balance is central to Peggy’s character – a woman who defies gender norms of the time, but remains acutely aware of the personal costs (at least at first). Moss’ performance makes Peggy’s ambition palpable, grounding her rise in a quiet resilience and masterful authenticity.

Peggy: “I look around and I think, I want what he had. You have everything and you have so much of it.” Don: “I suppose that’s probably true.”

Peggy’s journey unsubtly mirrors the feminist awakening of the 1960s, and Moss’ acting underscores this cultural shift. Her interactions with male colleagues, reveal Peggy’s struggle for respect in a patriarchal industry. In The Suitcase, Moss delivers a tour-de-force performance during a heated argument with Don. Her clenched jaw and tearful yet defiant eyes as she demands recognition beautifully capture Peggy’s frustration and strength to stand her ground in-front of Don’s absolute authority. Moss makes Peggy’s defiance feel earned, reflecting her evolution from a girl who once sought approval to a woman who wants to be a master of her own fate.

Don: “It’s your job. I give you money, you give me ideas.” Peggy: “And you never say thank you!” Don: “THAT’S WHAT THE MONEY IS FOR! You should be thanking me every morning when you wake up, along with Jesus, for giving you another day!”

However, Peggy’s ambition comes with sacrifices, and Moss excels at conveying their emotional toll. Peggy’s decision to give up her child is a pivotal moment of her character development, revealing her prioritization of career over traditional expectations of womanhood. This choice defines her as a woman who rejects societal norms, but grapples with the isolation that follows. Moss’ ability to portray Peggy’s vulnerability without sentimentality is quite remarkable. Zero kitsch.

Don: “Mohawk is going to insist on a regular copywriter.” Roger: “Someone with a penis.” Peggy: “I’ll work on that.”

As I already said, Peggy’s arc reflects the broader feminist movement, and Moss’ performance grounds this allegory in palpable emotion. As the 1960s progress, Peggy challenges the era, from enduring sexual harassment to asserting her creative voice. Moss subtly shifts. In the finale, when Peggy finally embraces her role at McCann Erickson and finds love with Stan, Moss is as radiant as ever – suggesting a hard-won balance between professional success and personal fulfillment. Her expressive face throughout the entirety of the show conveys a woman who is never fully at ease and an actress with serious ambitions inviting viewers to empathize with her character’s fight for self-definition. By intertwining Peggy’s ambition with her vulnerability Moss ensures that her victories feel hard-fought and her setbacks resonate deeply.

Stan: “There’s more to life that work.”

Through subtlety and transformation, Moss brings to life a character who fully embodies the feminist struggles of the 1960s (basically a symbol). Through thought-out physicality and emotional depth, Moss captures Peggy’s evolution from a timid secretary to a climbing creative to a determined and confident leader and finally to an ambitious woman who found her balance, illuminating her sacrifices and resilience in equal measures. Similarly to Hamm, Moss’ performance is also both specific and universal – cementing Peggy Olson as a TV feminist icon, but as also so much more than that.

Don: “What do you see for the future?” Peggy: “Well, ah… is that on there?” Don: “No. I’m just curious.” Peggy: “I’d like to be the first woman creative director at this agency. [Don smiles] Is that funny to you?” Don: “No, I’m impressed that you know exactly.”

The Best Acting Moment: the Glo-Coat argument S04E07

Verdict: 5

Vincent Kartheiser as Peter Dyckman “Pete” Campbell

Vincent Kartheiser’s portrayal of Pete Campbell emerges as a masterfully layered performance, as he is able to transform a seemingly unlikeable junior executive into a complex figure, at times loathsome, at times tragic, at times funny, at times inspirational and at the end even admirable in the way he navigates his ambition.

Pete: “Why can’t you give me what I want? I’ve earned this job. I deserve it.” Don: “Why? Because your parents are rich? Because you went to prep school and have a $5 haircut? You’ve been given everything. You’ve never worked for anything in your life.”

Pete Campbell enters the show as a young, privileged account executive, his blue-blood background and egotistical demeanor marking him as both ambitious and insufferable. Kartheiser captures this early Pete with a pitch-perfect blend of arrogance and insecurity. His smirking delivery and slicked-back hair exude a calculated charm, but Kartheiser’s darting eyes and nervous tics betray Pete’s desperate need for validation – he desperately wants to be like Don, thus he seeks his approval. This is a man whose entitlement and anger issues mask a deep-seated fear of inadequacy, rooted in his dysfunctional family and overshadowed status at Sterling Cooper.

“My mother can go to hell and Ted Chaough can fly her there.”

“It’s an epic poem for me to get home!”

“Why does it have to be like this? Why can’t I get anything good all at once?”

Kartheiser’s physicality enhances this portrayal. His energetic and erratic movements convey Pete’s restless ambition, as if he’s perpetually on the verge of proving himself. He craves power, but is haunted by his fragility with which he is far too much in touch with for the world he has chosen as he work-space. Kartheiser’s ability to balance Pete’s bravado with these subtle cues makes him simultaneously infuriating and pitiable, drawing viewers into his intriguing mind-set.

Pete’s relentless ambition drives much of his arc, but it comes at a profound personal cost, and Kartheiser excels at conveying this toll. Pete’s hunger for status leads to moral compromises (cheating, manipulating, betraying) yet Kartheiser ensures Pete remains human. When Pete confesses his love to Peggy and learns she gave up their child, Kartheiser’s performance is devastating; the same goes for when he admits to Don that he has nothing. This is a man whose pursuit of success has left him emotionally adrift. His ambition alienates those he longs to connect with, a theme Kartheiser renders with exceedingly palpable rawness.

“Why were we even having a fight at work? This is an office. We’re supposed to be friends…I have nothing Don.”

Pete’s petulant tone and rapid-fire delivery early on reflect his immaturity, but as the series progresses, Kartheiser softens his cadence, signaling Pete’s gradual maturation (aside of many other subtle changes through the run of the show). Kartheiser’s ability to portray Pete’s descent without caricature makes his pain resonate, grounding his flaws in a universal human longing. As a product of privilege, Pete initially embodies the patriarchal entitlement of the 1960s, seen in his dismissive treatment of women like Peggy or his wife Trudy. Kartheiser’s sneering delivery in early seasons reinforces this, but as Pete encounters more of the world, learning to respect those around him first and only later expecting respect in return, Kartheiser introduces subtle shifts. Kartheiser’s softened gaze and quieter tone of the last seasons so beautifully create the feeling of maturity and personal growth around him – an achievement on its own in the complex tapestry of Pete’s multiplex of character development. When Pete reconciles with Trudy and accepts the job in Wichita, Kartheiser’s relaxed posture and genuine smile convey a rare moment of contentment for the character who rarely experiences anything, but the exact opposite of that, for one reason or the other.

“I was offered a job tonight. Because its origins were supernatural, I realize its benefits might be as well. I want you and Tammy to come with me. I want you to relocate to Wichita, pick out a house and be my wife and family again.”

Pete’s arc resonates as a critique of the American Dream (as so many other characters on the show), and Kartheiser’s performance grounds this allegory in very visceral emotion. Pete’s entitlement and insecurity make him a flawed everyman (like Don, but with other nuances and development), embodying the era’s anxieties about success and search for identity. Kartheiser’s ability to make Pete both repellent and sympathetic, invites viewers to see themselves in his struggles – gradually moving from judgment to acceptance for the only character on the show that is always absolutely honest about himself to himself.

“How is it that some people just walk through life dragging their lies with them, destroying everything they touch?”

Through precise physicality, vocal shifts and immense emotional vulnerability, Kartheiser realizes Pete’s ambition, insecurity and evolving masculinity, making his journey one of a kind search for himself in a world of contradictions. To not even mention his receding hairline.

The Best Acting Moment: Pete is going to be a father S04E04

Verdict: 5

Jared Harris as Lane Pryce

In Lane Pryce, Harris delivers a haunting masterpiece, crafting a character who is arguably the show’s most tragic figure. As the British financial officer turned partner at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, Harris imbues Lane with a mix of stoic dignity, quiet desperation and fleeting moments of joy, realizing his downfall at its most subtly devastating.

“I understand that all men are dizzy and powerless to refuse you, but consider me the incorruptible exception.”

Lane Pryce arrives at the beginning of the third season as a reserved Englishman, tasked with overseeing Sterling Cooper’s finances for PPL. Harris embodies Lane’s archetypal Britishness with impeccable restraint – from the upright posture to the dry wit, exuding a courteous professionalism. Harris’ measured, articulate delivery and subtle smirks convey a man who thrives on order yet is perpetually out of place among the brash Americans. This stoicism reflects Lane’s character – raised in a strict London household by a domineering father, Lane is bound by a sense of duty that defines and confines him.

Harris’ brilliance lies in revealing Lane’s inner turmoil beneath this composed facade. His incredibly expressive eyes hint at a sort of longing for acceptance – e.g. when Lane drunkenly revels with Don, Harris’ loosened posture and gleeful laughter capture a rare moment of freedom, making Lane’s usual restraint all the more poignant; the same exact feeling of joyful freedom is when he receives a resignation from his employer in Britain in the season three finale. This is a man who yearns for connection, but is often trapped by his own rigidity – though he slowly seems to loosen and give into the exciting atmosphere of the Madison Avenue (he even fancies himself as an account man, until “HIS!” account is lost which leads into the hilarious fight between him and Pete; the absurdity of the moment is made so much greater by the absolute seriousness of Harris’ actions – an electrifying moment of a rebellion from the stoic character).

Lane: “Saint-John, how are you?“ Saint-John Powell: “What in God’s name is going on over there?” Lane: “I think at this point it should be very clear.” Saint-John Powell: “You’re fired. You’re fired for costing this company millions of pounds. You’re fired for insubordination. You’re fired for lack of character!“ Lane: “Very good. Happy Christmas.”

However, Lane’s arc into tragedy is a slow descent. Started by the financial strain that begins in season five and punctuated by his universal want to connect with his colleagues. The pivotal moment comes when Lane forges Don’s signature on a check to cover his debts. Harris’ performance as Don confronts him about that and demands his resignation is a masterclass in emotional range. His initial defiance gives way to shame as his shoulders slump and his voice cracks, then to anger and then to heartbreaking acceptance. Harris makes Lane’s refusal to ask for help feel inevitable, a fatal misstep driven by his fear of humiliation. Lane’s pursuit of the American Dream ends in ruin. His financial acumen keeps the agency afloat, yet he reaps no rewards. Sacrifices expose his cost of ambition.

Don: “If you needed it so badly, why didn’t you ask?” Lane: “Why suffer the humiliation for a thirteen-day loan! That was my money!” Don: “I’m going to need your resignation.” Lane: “Uh, uh… just a moment. I’m sorry, and I am remorseful. I don’t know how it came to this. But the company’s in ship-shape. And I will make good by Easter, even if I have to pull my son out of school…” Don: “You embezzled funds, and you forged my signature.” Lane: “I apologize deeply for involving you. I suppose I picked you because you’ve always been the most decent to me.” Don: “I’m doing the most decent thing I can possibly do, Lane. I’m letting you resign.” Lane: “I have never been compensated for my contributions to this company, including my role in its very existence! Who’d’ve dreamt of the word ‘Jaguar’, hmm? I took away nothing from PPL while you lined your pockets, and I have operated on loss for 3 years!…Please reconsider…” Don: “I’m sorry…I can’t trust you. I’ll cover the money that you owe.” Lane: “Because $7,500 is nothing to you… Do you know how the rest of us live? And in the end, who’s been harmed really, hmm?”

The restrained physicality and the expressive nuance of Harris’ performance, made Lane Pryce one of the show’s most intriguing characters, while his immeasurable range realized his likeability in battle with duty, isolation and unfulfilled dreams, making his downfall both inevitable and absolutely shattering for the viewer.

Mrs. Pryce: “You had no right to fill a man like that with ambition.”

The Best Acting Moment: Don demands Lane’s resignation S05E12

Verdict: 5

John Slattery as Roger H. Sterling Jr.

Razor-sharp wit, roguish charm and quiet pathos of Slattery’s delicate creation of Roger Sterling are able to weave life into a character who is both larger-than-life and deeply human. As the silver-haired partner at Sterling Cooper, Slattery’s Roger is a hedonistic relic of the 1950s, navigating the turbulent 1960s with a mix of boyish bravado and deeply hidden vulnerability.

Roger: “It’s a mistake to be conspicuously happy.” Don: “No one thinks you’re happy. They think you’re foolish.”

Roger Sterling is introduced as the quintessential ad man – wealthy, charming and unapologetically witty and indulgent. Slattery embodies him with an utterly effortless charisma, his sly grins and smoothly delivered one-liners exuding the confidence of a man born into the world of advertising (and in privilege). He is irresistibly entertaining. His relaxed posture and ever-present cigarette or drink position Roger as a carefree aristocrat of the Madison Avenue.

Yet, Slattery’s brilliance lies in hinting at the cracks beneath this polished exterior. Roger’s privilege masks a deep insecurity about his relevance, a fear tied to his reliance on inherited wealth and his diminishing role at the agency. Slattery conveys this through clever subtle and weaponized unsubtle cues, particularly in scenes where Roger is overshadowed by Don’s creative prowess, Pete’s accounts or when his ex-wife’s new husband comes to his mother’s funeral. He is a bon vivant whose charm conceals a gnawing sense of purposelessness, brought to life by Slattery’s masterful balance of swagger and unease.

“Remember, Don. When God closes a door, he opens a dress.”

“Who knows why people in history did good things? For all we know Jesus was trying to get the loaves and fishes account.”

“We’re conquistadors. I’m Vasco de Gama, you’re… some other Mexican. We’re going to land, buy whatever they’ve got for the beads in our pockets. Our biggest challenge is to not get syphilis.”

Roger’s arc is shaped by his confrontation with aging and mortality and Slattery excels at portraying this existential reckoning. Early in the series, Roger’s hedonism reflects his refusal to face time’s passage. Slattery’s breezy delivery and playful physicality masterfully capture Roger’s Peter Pan-like denial. However, the two heart attacks in the first season mark a turning point. Slattery’s performance in the hospital scene is raw; his pale face and trembling voice as he gasps, convey a visceral fear, stripping away Roger’s bravado to reveal a man terrified of how little he made with his life.

Roger: “Don…do you believe in energy?” Don: “What do you mean? Like the thing that gives you get up and go?” Roger: “No. Like a human energy. I don’t know, a…a soul?” Don: “What would you like to hear?” Roger: “Jesus. I’ve been living the past 20 years like I’m on shore leave. What the hell is that about?” Don: “It’s living. Just like you said.” Roger: “God…I wish I was going somewhere.”

This vulnerability deepens in later seasons – though it is usually masked by an even more bombastic aloofness (similarly to Don, Roger’s moments of self-discovery are quickly discarded (for the most part) in a cycle of pain and pleasure). Still, Slattery’s nuanced acting grounds Roger’s quiet search for meaning – e.g. during the LSD trip, Roger confronts his regrets and mortality. Slattery’s wide-eyed wonder and shaky laughter as he hallucinates make the scene both comedic and poignant, reflecting Roger’s rare moment of self-awareness. The experience pushes Roger to seek authenticity, seen in his renewed bond with Joan and his efforts to secure accounts like Chevrolet. Yet, Slattery ensures Roger’s growth is uneven; especially his unbroken search for young love, shows a man still clinging to his old ways. This tension, between progression and regression, makes Roger’s character arc compelling, and Slattery’s performance such a delicate beast.

“One minute you’re drinking at the bar and they come and tell you your kid’s been born. Next thing you know, they’re heading off to college.”

“No more Sterling Cooper, and no more Sterlings. Margaret is the only daughter of an only son of an only son.”

Roger’s relationships with women, especially Joan and his daughter Margaret, further illuminate his complex masculinity. Slattery’s brash tenderness toward Joan reveals a genuine love that challenges his playboy persona, while his exasperation with Margaret’s hippie phase shows his struggle to accept that his daughter found the freedom he so desperately craves. By the series’ end, Roger’s decision to marry Marie Calvet and secure a trust-fund for his son with Joan suggests a tentative embrace of responsibility. Slattery’s relaxed smile in his final scene conveys a hard-won peace, though his wry humor hints at Roger’s enduring mischief – the silver fox can never fully change the essence of his existence.

Roger: “Look, I want to tell you something because you’re very dear to me and I hope you understand it comes from the bottom of my damaged, damaged heart. You are the finest piece of ass I ever had, and I don’t care who knows it. I am so glad I got to roam those hillsides.” Joan: “Stop it.”

Through hilarious sly humor, subtly electrifying physicality and fleeting moments of raw vulnerability, Slattery constructs Roger’s hedonism and reluctant growth, for both entertainment and poignancy. His arc critiques the fading privilege of the old guard, and Slattery’s performance makes him a flawed yet relatable figure. His wit and charm embody the seductive allure of 1950s excess, while his vulnerabilities mirror universal fears of obsolescence. The great performance ensures Roger is both a product of his time and a timeless study of human frailty, his quips and tears inviting empathy despite his flaws.

“When a man gets to a point in his life when his name’s on the building, he can get an unnatural sense of entitlement,”

The Best Acting Moment: Roger on LSD S05E06

Verdict: 5

Christina Hendricks as Joan P. Holloway Harris

Joan is a mesmerizing blend of calculated poise, growing strength and insightful vulnerability, as Hendricks creates a character who navigates the sexist landscape of 1960s advertising with intelligence and resilience. As Sterling Cooper’s office manager turned partner, Joan is a magnetic presence and Hendricks’ nuanced performance elevates her into a deep exploration of feminism through the challenging transformation.

“If they’ve tried to make you feel you’re different from them, you are. That’s a good way to be.”

Joan Holloway enters Mad Men as the epitome of 1960s glamour – curvaceous, impeccably dressed and exuding supernatural confidence on par with her male co-workers. Hendricks embodies Joan with a commanding physicality – her deliberate strides and raised chin establishing Joan as the office’s unofficial queen. Her sultry voice and Mona Lisa smile convey a woman who understands her power, using her beauty and wit to manage the chaos of Sterling Cooper. Yet, Hendricks’ brilliance lies in revealing the effort behind this poise. She fully realizes Joan’s awareness of the precariousness of her position in a male-dominated world, a tension that becomes central to her character.

“No matter how powerful we get around here, they can still just draw a cartoon. So all you’ve done is prove to them that I’m a meaningless secretary and you’re another humorless bitch.”

Hendricks’ performance captures Joan’s strategic navigation of these constraints. As the office manager, Joan maintains order while subtly manipulating the men around her. She gives sharp, but polite rebukes (if her temper is not messed with) and Hendricks’ measured tone of the delivery conveys a palpable authority – without ever trying to diminish her Venerian allure. This balance reflects Joan’s core trait: her ability to thrive within a sexist system while quietly subverting it. Hendricks’ ability to project strength while hinting at Joan’s underlying vulnerability makes her formidable, but also quite relatable.

Joan’s pursuit of agency comes with profound sacrifices and Hendricks excels at portraying this emotional toll. Early in the series, Joan’s confidence masks her personal struggles – her unfulfilling marriage to Greg and her longing for a stable future. Hendricks is able to masterfully betray her usually stoic confidence for greatly invigorating moments of anger, e.g. the reveal of her date of birth, the outburst on Jane after she fires her or the outburst on the insubordinate employees all show how brittle her facade is. This is a woman who internalizes pain to preserve her carefully crafted image.

[to Peggy] “You want to be taken seriously? Stop dressing like a little girl.”

The most harrowing moment of Joan’s arc comes when she agrees to sleep with a client to secure the Jaguar account and a partnership. Hendricks’ performance is very quietly gut-wrenching; her face is jumping from encouragement to fear to humiliation without any clear lines. The scene encapsulates Joan’s tragic pragmatism – she sacrifices her dignity for power – a choice shaped by the world she lives in. Hendricks’ ability to portray Joan’s strength in this moment of vulnerability ensures the scene is not exploitative, but a powerful commentary on her resilience.

Pete: “It turns out he wanted something we weren’t prepared to give. Something very unorthodox. …What would it take to make you a queen?” Joan: “I don’t think you could afford it.”

Early on, Joan embodies a traditional femininity, using her sexuality to navigate the workplace, as seen in her flirtatious relationship with Roger. Hendricks’ smiles and languid movements highlight Joan’s mastery of this version of her role. Yet, as the feminist movement gains traction, Joan begins to challenge these expectations. As a partner she firmly stands her ground with the others – just like Peggy, Joan actually yearns to be a master of her own fate (not to be trapped in a marriage as she usually says).

“They just want you to be as miserable as they are. I say let them have it.”

Hendricks delivers a captivating performance – embodying a character who navigates the colorful landscape of the 1960s with a sharp intellect and quiet sacrifice. Through her poised physical presence and surprising emotional depths, Hendricks brings to life Joan’s quest for autonomy, her intricate femininity and her subtle transformation. It is a characterization that defies expectations, subtly changing its tracks in each new season, until the inevitable transformation is achieved in the subtlest of ways.

The Best Acting Moment: Don’s message S05E11

Verdict: 5

Robert Morse as Bertram “Bert” Cooper

Bert Cooper is a delightful and poignant creation, as Morse infuses the eccentric co-founder of Sterling Cooper with quirky charm and surprising depth. Morse’s Bert seems to inhabit a world of his own, his barefoot office adorned with Japanese art and his cryptic musings setting him apart from the cutthroat ad world. Morse’s unique grin and lilting voice are utilized for everything from exuding a childlike wonder to subtle threats and poetic musings, making Bert an endearing oddball. Yet, Morse’s subtle shifts in expression in moments of calculated precision hint at Bert’s sharp business mind. Bert seems to be a man whose whimsical exterior masks a savvy pragmatist and Morse’s playful physicality and delivery bring this complexity magically to life. His nostalgic love for the past grounds Bert in a fading era, yet Morse’s warm, friendly tone makes him universally likeable – a mentor whose enigmatic wisdom inspires many characters on the show.

“She was born in 1898 in a barn. She died on the 37th floor of a skyscraper. She was an astronaut.”

Beneath Bert’s quirkiness lies surprising depth, and Morse’s performance, culminating in his poignant exit, cements him as a poetic and inspirational figure. Despite his eccentricity, Bert’s loyalty to Sterling Cooper and his quiet moral compass shine through – a man of manners. Morse’s stern gaze and measured cadence reveal Bert’s integrity, while his wistful references to pre-war America evoke a man out of step with the 1960s. His off-screen death, watching the moon landing, is heartbreaking, yet equally whimsical due to the surreal musical number of “The Best Things in Life Are Free“, where Bert performs for Don. The scene is a masterstroke – his lovely dance and tender smile offer closure for us (nostalgia and hope) and a reflection for Don. Morse ensures that Bert’s eccentricity and depth resonate, making him a endearing, mysterious, poignant and playful reflection of a bygone era and a testament to the enduring power of strange dreams.

The Best Acting Moment: “The Best Things in Life Are Free” S07E07

Verdict: 5

Kiernan Shipka as Sally Beth Draper 4.5

Alison Brie as Gertrude “Trudy” Campbell 4

Jay R. Ferguson as Stan Rizzo 4

Rich Sommer as Harold “Harry” Crane 4

Aaron Staton as Kenneth “Ken” Cosgrove 4

January Jones as Elizabeth “Betty” Draper Francis 4

Ben Feldman as Michael Ginsberg 4

Kevin Rahm as Edward “Ted” Chaough 4

Harry Hamlin as Jim Cutler 3.5

Rosemarie DeWitt as Midge Daniels 3.5

Jessica Pare as Megan Calvet 3.5

Michael Gladis as Paul Kinsey 3.5

James Wolk as Bob Benson 3.5

Julia Ormond as Marie Calvet 3.5

Mark Moses as Herman “Duck” Phillips 3.5

Chelcie Ross as Conrad Hilton 3.5

Joel Murray as Frederick “Freddy” C. Rumsen 3

Melinda Page Hamilton as Anna Draper 3

Allan Havey as Lou Avery 3

Maggie Siff as Rachel Menken 3

Christopher Stanley as Henry Francis 2.5

Bryan Batt as Salvatore “Sal” Romano 2

Marten Holden Weiner as Glen Bishop 2

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