Crista Flanagan

THEY CALLED THEM MAD MEN: MARTINI-SWILLING, SECRETARY-SCREWING ROGUES IN GRAY FLANNEL SUITS.

PLAYBOY PRESENTS

A SALUTE TO THE COOLEST SHOW ON TELEVISION.

STARRING CRISTA FLANAGAN AS

STERLING COOPER'S NAIVE OFFICE GIRL LOIS SADLER

WITH A DISSENTING VIEW FROM

GEORGE LOIS

THE ORIGINAL MAD MAN

T

he buzz in town was that a great TV series about the ad game in the 1960s was about to premiere. To me, and to others savvy about watershed advertising and media events in American culture, that meant only one thing: A popular television show dealing with the explosive triggering of the legendary Creative Revolution was about to be born. In the 1960s a group of ethnic, passionate and supremely talented graphic designers and copywriters had turned the ad industry upside down, commanding the atten­tion of America and the world with bright, witty, entertaining advertising. This Creative Revolution exposed the traditional advertising world for what it was: WASP-driven, hackneyed, untalented—simply put, hacks. News of the Mad Men series was exhilarating to all of us who had played prominent roles in that defining event, but I wondered how they could do the

period justice without contacting me, the original Mad Man, for input, to consult or whatever.

And then, out of the blue, a Mad Men producer called and told me they were tracking down some "real Mad Men" (and a few Mad Women) to film some promos for the show, and every old-timer they'd contacted had blurted out something like ''You gotta get George Lois—he was the catalyst who dominated the 1960s."

"Whoa," I said to the clueless Mad Men caller. "You mean you guys are doing a TV series based on advertising in the 1960s and you never heard of me?"

"No, no," he protested. "We know who you are."

"Bullshit," I said and told him if he really wanted to know what happened in the 1960s he should read my auto­biographical book George, Be Careful: A Greek Florist's Kid

in the Roughhouse World of Advertising. "It's a blow-by-blow account of how I triggered the Creative fucking Revolution that changed the ad world," I said and hung up, plenty miffed.

The stunned producer called back a week later and said breathlessly, "Wow! We could have done a show based just on your book! That scene when you hung out a window and threat­ened to jump if the client didn't buy your matzos poster was hilarious!" I told him to kiss my ethnic Greek ass and hung up.

Gradually but surely, after the revolutionary Bauhaus move­ment and during the post-World War II period, a counterculture began with young, basically Jewish, American modernist designers, culminating in the early 1950s when copywriter Bill Bernbach began working with the pioneering Paul Rand, mentor of the New York School of Design. It was the first time two creative geniuses—one a copywriter, the other an art director—had teamed to create ads together. The experience inspired Bernbach to found the now-legendary Doyle Dane Bernbach, joining talented copywriters with visionary graphic designers, and the first truly creative agency was born. Power had been taken away from the account executives and busi­nessmen and transferred to the talented people who actually made the ads. It was an inspiring time to be an art director like me with a rage to communicate, to blaze trails, to create icons rather than cons. The times they were a-changin'.

Suddenly, in the very first week of the 1960s, as a New York School of Design wunderkind and an award-winning art director at DDB, I left Bernbach's atelier after a thrillingly

successful year and, with two copywriters as partners, started what seemed unthinkable at the time—America's second great creative agency. Papert, Koenig, Lois inspired what is revered today as the advertising Creative Revolution when a handful of other creative groups, buoyed by the instant success of our trailblazing firm, formed agencies based on the art director-copywriter team concept. Madison Avenue would never be the same. (PKL was the first ad agency to flaunt the name of an art director on its masthead, imme­diately raising the power, prestige and salaries of graphic designers throughout the industry.)

That revolutionary counterculture found expression on Madi­son Avenue through a new creative generation—a rebellious coterie of art directors and copywriters who understood that visual and verbal expression were indivisible, who bridled under the old rules that had consigned them to secondary roles in an ad-making process previously dominated by non-creative hacks and technocrats, and who became the heroic movers and shakers of the Creative Revolution. Those men and women, mostly the offspring of immigrants, bear no resemblance to the cast of characters on Mad Men.

Up to that time, when the traditional advertising agency (depicted on Mad Men as the fictitious Sterling Cooper) com­prised fools and frauds who ran ideas up a flagpole to see if someone saluted, clients were arrogantly conservative; the art director had no part in the creative process as he sat with his thumb up his ass, waiting for the talentless copywriter-account

MEET MAD MEN'S FUNNY GIRL

CRISTA FLANAGAN

A WOMAN FULL OF SURPRISES

H

er disastrous joyride on a John Deere tractor was perhaps the most memorable moment of season three (it was certainly the bloodiest), and her character's oddball antics have made her a fan favorite. As the quirky and flighty Lois Sadler on Mod Men, Crista Flanagan has gone from being a nosy switchboard opera­tor who blindly lusts after a gay man to a clueless secretary who acciden­tally lops off the foot of her company's head honcho.

Her deft portrayal of the dim-witted Lois is hardly surprising —Flanagan is a pro when it comes to funny, having honed her comedic chops on MADtv and in such parody films as Disas­ter Movie and Meet the Spartans. The actress spoke with us about learning to drive a tractor and her decision to bare all for playboy, playboy: How did you end up landing the part of Lois?

Flanagan: Mad Men hadn't aired yet. It was a brand-new show and I didn't know much about it, but I got an audi­tion. I went in, and it was great—but I did not get the part. They called me back two weeks later for a different episode and a different role, and it worked out because I was so much more excited about this role and what I would get to do over time. playboy: How did you find out about the John Deere episode? Flanagan: I got a phone call from the Mad Men production office, and I hadn't seen the script and had no

idea what I was doing. They called and said, "You have tractor rehearsal on Thursday." I honestly had to stop and say, "What show is this?" because I thought either they'd gotten the wrong number or it was a different show I was recurring on. I said, "A tractor? I need to drive a tractor?" I'd actually driven a tractor, so I thought it wouldn't be too hard. But I'd forgotten it would be a 1 963 tractor—it was much trickier. playboy: What do you like most about playing Lois?

Flanagan: I know that if they're writing something for me it's probably going to be crazy. I get to do the funniest things ever, and I just say the dumbest stuff. Lois misses the mark so badly, and I love that. I know I'm going to step out on a limb or something and get it wrong, and that's pretty fun. playboy: What made you decide to pose for playboy?

FtANAGAN: Part of the reason was because it scared me, and I thought it was excit­ing that something still scared me. playboy: So how did it go? Flanagan: I was really nervous about it, and then I thought the only thing that would be embarrassing would be if I hated my body. But everybody was so great. I got there and they had a little area for my wardrobe, and I felt okay when I walked in and saw all the beau­tiful shoes. I was like, "Oh good, I'll get good shoes," which is pretty funny because I hardly got to wear shoes.

executive team to deliver copy for him to form into a traditional uninspired lay­out: committee group-grope reigned and lawyers restrained—all resulting in insipid, brutally dull and/or obnoxious TV and print campaigns that contaminated the American scene.

That mind-numbing mediocrity was more typical of the 1950s than the 1960s (and it still exists today). Mad Men mis­represents the advertising industry by ignoring the revolution that changed the world of communications forever. That mortal sin of omission makes Mad Men a lie. Matthew Weiner, creator and show runner of Mad Men, rejects my opinion of his show, stating that "George Lois is a legend...but Sterling Cooper is not cutting-edge; it's mired in the past" and calling his characters "dinosaurs." Huh? In creating a popular TV show based on an ad agency, the producers go whole hog to depict the scum of the industry rather than the upbeat world of culture-busting creativity. Mad Men has given the world the perception that the sca-tology of the Sterling Cooper workplace was industry-wide. In their advertising, the show's creators have the balls to proclaim that "Mad Men explores the Golden Age of Advertising," but they surely know they're shoveling shit. Their show is nothing more than a soap opera set in a glamorous office where stylish fools hump their appreciative, coiffured secretaries, suck up martinis and smoke themselves to death as they produce dumb, lifeless advertising—oblivious to the inspiring civil rights movement, the burgeoning women's lib movement, the evil Vietnam war and other seismic events of the turbulent, roller-coaster 1960s that altered America forever. (After hours, when the Sterling Cooper stiffs are screwing their staff, we athletes at PKL were playing ball on the best ama­teur softball and basketball teams in New York City. To each his own.)

The more I think and write about Mad Men, the more I take the show as a per­sonal insult. So fuck you, Mad Men, you phony gray-flannel-suit, male-chauvinist, no-talent, WASP, white-shirted, racist, anti-Semitic Republican SOBs!

Besides, when I was in my 30s I was better-lookina than Jon Hamm.

"IN THE 1960S A GROUP OF ETHNIC,

PASSIONATE AND SUPREMELY TALENTED GRAPHIC DESIGNERS

AND COPYWRITERS HAD TURNED THE AD INDUSTRY UPSIDE DOWN."

—GEORGE LOIS

See a gallery of swinging Sixties Playboy models at playboy.com/60s.

I

"A TRACTOR?"

SHE ASKS.

"I NEED TO

DRIVE A TRACTOR?"