Television Review: New Amsterdam (Mad Men, S1x04, 2007)
New Amsterdam (S1x04)
Airdate: 9 August 2007
Written by: Lisa Albert
Directed by: Tim Hunter
Running Time: 46 minutes
The American Dream, that enduring national mythos which promises that anyone, through sheer grit and determination, can ascend the social ladder, has always been more fiction than fact. America, despite its foundational rhetoric, was constructed upon a bedrock of entrenched divisions—not merely those of sex, race, religion, or ethnicity, but perhaps most persistently, class. As the contemporary phenomenon of Hollywood “nepo babies” starkly reminds us, it has always been profoundly more advantageous to possess talent, determination, and the right set of parents than merely the former two. This uncomfortable truth was not some hidden scandal in the WASP-dominated world of 1960s America depicted in Mad Men; it was the accepted, often unspoken, machinery of social mobility. The series’ fourth episode, New Amsterdam, written by Lisa Gilbert and directed by Tim Hunter, tackles this very issue head-on, using the pathetic, striving figure of Pete Campbell to dissect the brutal realities of privilege and the hollow nature of self-made manhood.
Pete Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser), by this early stage in the series, has firmly emerged as the narrative’s closest approximation to a villain. His villainy, however, stems from a particularly modern form of toxicity: a ruthless, entitled ambition that wildly outstrips his demonstrable talent. New Amsterdam meticulously unpacks the source of this disconnect. The episode opens with Pete reluctantly escorting his young, beautiful, and visibly adoring wife, Trudy (Alison Brie), around the Sterling Cooper offices. Trudy’s ostensible lunchtime visit quickly reveals its true purpose: she whisks him off to view a luxurious Manhattan apartment she desires as their new home. Pete’s immediate, pragmatic objection—that the deposit alone would consume a year of his salary—is effortlessly batted away by Trudy. She counters that their parents, who don’t have these worries, would happily provide the necessary funds. This simple exchange establishes the central conflict: Pete’s desperate desire to be seen as a self-made success, akin to his idol Don Draper, is perpetually undermined by the very safety net of familial wealth he claims to despise.
His aversion to the apartment is deeply rooted in this fragile self-image. Relying on what he perceives as charity wounds his pride. This internal struggle is exacerbated by his interactions with his own family. His father, Andrew (Christopher Allport), a successful lawyer, dismisses Pete’s professional concerns with a patronising detachment, reinforcing Pete’s sense of inadequacy within his own lineage. In stark contrast, his in-laws, Tom and Jeanie (John O’Connor and Sheila Shaw), are thrilled at the prospect of bankrolling their daughter’s move to a better postcode, their enthusiasm highlighting a different, more transactional view of family and class advancement. Pete is trapped between a father who withholds respect and in-laws whose financial support comes with implicit strings, eroding his fantasy of autonomous achievement.
Professionally, Pete’s frustration manifests in a clumsy, ethically barren gambit to elevate his standing. The agency is courting Bethlehem Steel, America’s largest steel producer, a client of immense importance. When the gruff executive Walter Weith (Randy Oglesby) rejects Don Draper’s initial campaign idea, Pete seizes an opportunity. He orchestrates a “night on the town” for Weith, involving copious drink and the company of attractive women he euphemistically refers to as his “cousins.” In this compromised setting, Pete -pitches his own slogan. Weith, initially resistant to mixing business with pleasure, is sufficiently lubricated by alcohol and flattery to adopt the idea, believing it to be Pete’s own. The following day, when Weith praises “Don’s” concept, Don (Jon Hamm) is visibly stunned. Recognising the immediate threat to a lucrative account, Don plays along, but his subsequent fury is volcanic. He demands Pete’s termination for undercutting him and jeopardising client relations through unprofessional conduct.
Roger Sterling (John Slattery), ever the pragmatic partner, agrees. The episode’s masterstroke, however, arrives when Don and Roger are summoned to the austere, Japanese-art-filled office of senior partner Bertram Cooper (Robert Morse). Bert calmly acknowledges Don’s justifiable anger but delivers a crushing, pragmatic verdict: Pete cannot be fired. The reason is pure, unadulterated nepotism, elevated to a corporate strategy. It is revealed that Pete’s mother is a descendant of the Dyckman family, an old, influential New York lineage. Bad blood with the Dyckmans, Bert explains, could slam shut important political and business doors throughout the city. Talent, professional ethics, and even basic competence are rendered irrelevant in the face of ancestral connections. Don is forced to swallow this bitter pill, a vivid lesson in how the game is truly played. Roger, with characteristic cynicism, then twists the situation to his advantage. He approaches the despondent, freshly humiliated Pete and shamelessly lies, claiming it was Bert who wanted him gone and only Don’s merciful change of heart saved his career. This manipulation further binds Pete to Don in a debt of gratitude, all while obscuring the grim reality that his job security hinges entirely on his mother’s maiden name.
The personal and professional strands coalesce in the denouement. Professionally neutered and stripped of his illusion of self-determination, Pete capitulates on the domestic front. The episode ends with him granting Trudy her wish, walking into the opulent new apartment. As he stands silently, overwhelmed, Trudy chirpily brags to the real estate agent about Pete’s “famous family,” the very thing he has just learned is the sole foundation of his career. The irony is devastating. His struggle for independence has failed utterly; he remains a “momma’s boy” in the office and a husband beholden to his wife’s (and her parents’) social aspirations at home.
Running parallel to this central narrative is a subplot involving Betty Draper (January Jones) and her neighbour, Helen (Darby Stanchfield). This storyline, representing the writing debut of Lisa Gilbert, aims to inject a note of nascent feminism. Betty, stifled in her perfect suburban prison, attempts to befriend Helen, who represents a different, more bohemian life. The execution, however, is notably heavy-handed. Helen’s virtue is signposted primarily through her volunteer work for John F. Kennedy’s 1960 presidential campaign, positioning her on the “right side of history” in a manner that feels didactic. The subplot takes a bizarre turn when Betty babysits Helen’s son, Glenn (Marten Holden Weiner, creator’s son). The child’s behaviour—stalking Betty to the bathroom, making intense, uncomfortable demands—is profoundly strange. While perhaps intended to show the unsettling consequences of a broken home, it plays as shock for shock’s sake, and more cynical viewers might well interpret Glenn as a serial killer in the making. This tonal inconsistency undermines the subplot’s thematic ambitions, making it the episode’s weakest element.
Thankfully, the episode regains its footing when focused on the corporate machinations of Sterling Cooper. The portrayal of Pete’s insecurity is brilliantly nuanced. Vincent Kartheiser excels at conveying the petulance and deep-seated immaturity of a man who believes the world owes him success but lacks the skill or character to earn it. The revelation that his position is a direct result of his mother’s pedigree is the ultimate humiliation, exposing the fragility of the meritocratic facade.
Casting is another area of strength. Alison Brie is a revelation as Trudy. She portrays the character with a luminous charm and warmth that makes her ambition seem less calculating and more innocently aspirational. Her performance creates a fascinating dissonance: she is clearly more vibrant, effective, and popular than the slowly awakening Betty, the strategically manipulative Joan (Christina Hendricks), or the struggling Peggy (Elisabeth Moss). This casting choice deepens Pete’s later infidelities, making them seem not just morally repugnant but astoundingly stupid and callous, further cementing his status as a man who fails to appreciate the assets he actually possesses.
Historically, the episode is anchored by its use of Bethlehem Steel. The choice is poignant and prescient. In 1960, the company represented the mighty engine of American industrial might. By the time Mad Men premiered in 2007, Bethlehem Steel had long since ceased operations, a symbol of the deindustrialisation that reshaped the American economy and contributed to the political and social upheavals to come. This layer of historical irony adds depth, connecting the personal failures of Pete Campbell to larger, national narratives of decline and shifted foundations.
Mad Men excels in its superb and fascinating recreation of the past and its fascinating characters. New Amsterdam is a prime example of this strength. While it may lack the propulsive plot of later episodes, it serves as a crucial thematic cornerstone. It dismantles, with cold precision, the myth of the self-made man in a society where bloodlines and bank balances have always been the ultimate currency. In doing so, it proves itself not merely a period drama, but a timeless examination of the illusions we sustain to navigate the brutal hierarchies of class.
RATING: 6/10 (++)
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