One of my favorite Season One Mad Men episodes was "Marriage Of Figaro," the bulk of which took place in and around a Saturday afternoon birthday party at the Draper home, as Don got bombed on beer to deal with the soul-crushing nothingness of another inane weekend in the 'burbs. There was a strong note of "Figaro" to the sublime opening 20 minutes of "Three Sundays," which splits its attention between how three of our regulars spend their last day of rest before another work-week rolls around. Don and Betty, getting back into the groove after last week's collaboration on saving the Utz account, spend the day fooling around, drinking cocktails, attempting some lackadaisical parenting and listening to Bing Crosby on the hi-fi. ("He makes everything sound like Christmas," Don notes, not entirely approvingly.) Peggy sweats her way through mass, then chats up the charming young priest when he comes over to her folks' place for Sunday dinner. And Roger has a meal with his wife, his grown daughter, and her fiancé, whom Roger is trying to convince to have a traditional wedding.
The episode takes its time explaining how all these pieces fit together into the larger story. For the most part, they're just presented as little slices of life, in which the small gestures–Roger pining for the old ways, Peggy taking pride in the way her career aspirations impress an unattainable man, Betty getting cranky over her son's bumbling–resonate based on what we already know about the characters, while also deepening our understanding of them. It's all so masterfully restrained. It's the kind of storytelling that made me fall in love with Mad Men in the first place: prepared, and confident in what it's selling.
The "Three Sundays" of the title doesn't just refer to the three employees of Sterling-Cooper, but to three actual consecutive Sundays. On the second Sunday–Palm Sunday, as it happens–Don and Peggy are back at the office, working on an accelerated pitch to American Airlines, while Roger dallies with a prostitute. And then the third Sunday, Easter…well, that's what gives this episode its beautiful button, so I'll get back to it a minute.
So what's going on here? In terms of the overall narrative arc of this season, this episode is all about American Airlines. The pitch meeting gets pushed up, the whole of Sterling-Cooper comes in on a weekend to get their ducks (and their Duck) in a row, and then, on Good Friday, they get the worst news the world has seen since the first Good Friday: their liaison at American has been fired, and now their pitch is being heard largely out of courtesy. Even worse, for we the home viewers: We don't get to hear Don's pitch. (And based on the teaser he gives us while standing in his leisure clothes in the middle of the bullpen, it was going to be a pitch for the ages.)
In terms of the themes of this season though, "Three Sundays" picks back up on the concept of what it means to grow up and take responsibility. For Don, it's all about how he'll answer Betty's persistent charge that he discipline their lying, accident-prone son. Don's reluctance drives Betty nuts, until she flat-out asks him, "Do you think you'd be the man you are today if your father didn't hit you?" And of course the answer is, "No." But since Don isn't always that comfortable with the man he is today–aside from the web of lies he's woven, which he apparently thinks is a tradition it's okay for his son to carry on–he doesn't necessarily want to be the monster his father was.
(In further Draper progeny news, Don's daughter is still mixing drinks for the adults; and after a long Sunday of watching her pop take charge down at the office, she serves herself a cocktail and sacks out on the couch. More bulletins coming on this as events warrant.)
For Roger, the notion of being a responsible adult male has to with taking chances and taking charge. "I want everything I want," he says to his paid escort–which is an easy thing to say when you've got the money to back it up. And after the American Airlines pitch goes pear-shaped, Roger gives Don a little speech about how failure matters less than the attempt, because it's daring great things that makes us feel alive. "Don't you love the chase?" he smirks at Don. Again though–an easy thing for him to say when he can get "everything I want" with a wad of cash. How much thrill is there in that chase?