One week ago, Mad Men ended with the image of Don Draper smiling into the camera. On the other side of the screen my face, as two ancient Greek theater masks facing each other, was rather the opposite: the face of disappointment. What a lacking finale –if not a complete disaster–, to the point that our own Homecoming Queen, who actually confessed to like the episodes, preferred to discuss the latest Penny Dreadful episodes over the series finales of a series of the relevance of Mad Men. This fact made look back to this year’s fiction and wonder: are we having a bad year?
Elevators are no-places; spaces where we just pass through such as halls, subway stations, airports, spots that do not mark our memory nor catch our attention, perishable. Awkward spaces that, by definition, bother and unsettle us. Of course, it is when we are located within one of them that we show something hidden about ourselves, a little tic, perhaps, or a original way of responding to some stimulus. Elevators become, thus, revealers of human nature.
Contemporary television, as the great study of human psychology that it is, has taken good note of this, and many relevant TV series have made of elevators a great narrative device.