...but at least he's got manners

Somehow, I got sucked into “Mad Men.” I almost didn’t want it to happen. The AMC drama had become so popular that it had arguably crossed the threshold into trendiness, and I’ve got a deep-seated aversion to most overly trendy things; I’ll make exceptions for Batman movies and whiz-bang products that make it easier to cook eggs. Beyond that, I’ve always felt that a trend was like a cold: It spreads, it consumes people’s lives for a while, and then when it disappears, nobody misses it. Neon windpants, anyone?

But with less time in recent months to devote to full-length movies, I’ve started filling up my Netflix queue with hour-long dramas to kill those odd stretches of single-guy nothingness. “Mad Men” was well-reviewed, and its star, generically handsome Jon Hamm, had somehow become a popular actor in the last couple of years, slowly and unnoticeably becoming a household name with the quiet stealth of a slow gas leak. So I thought, “To hell with it.” It was either that or back-to-back episodes of “Charles in Charge.”

Lo and behold, I was hooked. It’s good stuff. There’s something interesting, though, about Hamm’s character, the heavy-drinking, womanizing Donald Draper: He’s slowly becoming the epitome of the “anti-hero,” the guy you so love to hate that you end up loving him again. He boozes, he cavorts, he smokes like a raging barn fire – and yet, when crappy things happen to him, we feel bad about it. We sympathize with a guy who’s essentially a bastard. He could throw a small dog through a department store window, and when the cops give chase, there’d be a part of us going, “Run, Don! Be free! It was just a Shih Tzu!”

Draper is far from the first of these anti-hero types to command our grudging affection. The TV-and-film landscape is practically littered with them now, nudging the whole concept closer to the realm of cliché. It’s getting harder and harder to find a good guy who’s actually good; most of them are meaner than a rum-drunk carnie with a bad attitude.

That’s a dramatically different landscape than the one captured on film 50, 60 years ago.
Back then, in the age of trenchcoats and sultry secretaries, even the hard-edged heroes were virtuous. Take the legendary repertoire of Humphrey Bogart, who remains cool despite his lack of hair gel and an effective drop-kick. Bogart’s most famous role is that of Rick in “Casablanca,” and on first glance, Rick’s not the kind of dude you’d want behind you at the ATM at three in the morning. He’s coarse, his eyes are suspicious and wary, and his diet consists primarily of Lucky Strikes and vodka martinis – traits that would nowadays land him on the hot seat opposite Dr. Phil. But by the end of the movie, he pulls off a gesture so stunningly noble that we the audience, in full aw-shucks mode, castigate ourselves for not seeing his virtues sooner. There were plenty of tough guys in 1940’s cinema, but every one of ‘em had a heart of gold. Which probably explains why they were able to live so long despite starting each day with a bowl of bacon fat and a half-gallon of gin.

I’ve gotta wonder what Bogart would think of Walter White, the protagonist of AMC’s “Breaking Bad.” Played by the awesome Bryan Cranston (in a role that’ll make you forget he was ever the dad on “Malcom in the Middle”), White is one of most interesting characters on television – a high school chemistry teacher who, after finding out he has terminal lung cancer, comes up with a unique payment plan for his chemotherapy treatments: Using his chemistry skills to manufacture crystal meth. (Amazing how they keep recycling these tired old storylines, right?)

There’s no heart of gold in this man’s chest. Walter White is the end result of decades of change in who the “heroes” are in popular fiction. It used to be a prerequisite that a protagonist be moral, honorable, or at the very least able to take a pie in the face with relative good grace. Now we root for killers and troubled drug pushers. The only thing redeemable about White is that he looks good in a fedora, which is no small feat for a bald man. I know.

They’re a double-edged sword, these anti-hero types. They’re fascinating character studies, and burrowing into their strife-addled minds reveals a mine field of turmoil and angst – the stuff that makes us nibble our nails to the quick when things get tense. But are we drawn to these characters because we recognize our own lesser qualities in these rough-hewn scoundrels? Does art imitate life? Am I asking too many rhetorical questions?

I’d hate to see these jerks disappear altogether; they’re too interesting, and effective as the fulcrums in these morality plays. But it would almost be a relief to find a little balance – a Forrest Gump for every Don Draper.

“Well-Meaning Nerds of the Northeast,” starring yours truly? I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.