The last time I wrote about the Sopranos Final Season, it was over a year ago, and on our friend Covington Jim's blog.
And now, tomorrow night really is the final episode.
Sure, the production schedule for the Sopranos was maddening, because you never knew whether you would get a new season on time, or not. And what the fuck? We got a season spread over 2 years? 8 episodes per year?!
Certainly, I have heard from some folks that the Sopranos's last season was a disappointment, that nothing really happened.
I didn't think so.
The thing you have to remember about this show, and its importance, is that it broke the rules of television, and not just because of sex and violence: It broke the rules of television because it could not be neatly fit into consumable bite sized episodes, or seasons, for that matter. While it is true that shows have ran with extended story lines-none, save for Soap Operas, have attempted something so vast, and did it so artfully, as the Sopranos.
What David Chase went for was the reality of these gangsters, not the surface: They are fucked up, flawed humans, whose are often mundane. It is in the mundane, inane, trivialities that we become attached to these characters, that they transcend TV, and enter something that is typically reserved for literature, film, and the Simpsons: Cultural Cache.
To say that nothing happened last season is false, because everything happened last season. Each and every medium shot of Christopher Moltisanti, as clausterphobic as a sniper's scope, told you what was going to happen. Every moment Tony dodged disaster leads to this finale.
I was, am, riveted, though a little sad. I've watched this show since it debuted, and have fallen in love with the idea of well written television, which is something sorely lacking on network TV.
And here's another thing that makes the Sopranos great, related to the storyline: The writing has been inventive, nuanced, and almost invariably fantastic. They broke the rules by making writing the most important thing. Each episode is a crucial piece of the puzzle, and each piece must fit. Episodes could go from poignant to hilarious to vicious, and the whole time, keep you entranced. For that hour, from the iconic theme music to the credits, you lost yourself, as with any good literature or film. Every lose yourself during "According to Jim"? (Actually, I did once: Then I sobered up, and felt dirty afterward.)
Television, long labeled the "vast waste land" has found itself nearing terminal velocity in its downward trajectory since the first television writers strike begat Reality Television, and the only break in this has been the cable series, with HBO leading the pack. It's not that network television can't do what cable does; it won't. Network television, and its "shows" are nothing more than a bland diversion from the blander products it is designed to shill. I'll pay up front, P &G, and get something with substance.
Well, salut Sopranos devotees. Television's vast waste land just got a lot more wasted.
UPDATE: Of Shenanigans, Duality and the Duplicitous Auteur...
I, like many, screamed, or texted, "Shenanigans!!!" at the conclusion of the Sopranos Series Finale, feeling cheated at not having a real chance to say farewell to the characters and milieu I had grown so fond of this last 7 years. I was with friends, all of who were fans, and everybody was baffled, then pissed.
I watched it again later on HBOW, and tried to remove all the expectations I had, stripped away my feelings that come my personal investment in these characters, and watched it as I analyze any text, again, looking and listening beyond plot points.
My new verdict: I no longer feel that it is absolute shenanigans...in fact, I no longer feel any sense of shenanigans at all, except for the shenanigans that any author (or auteur) brings to their work. The Deacon sends an article that may help clarify.
The abrupt ending is likely the death of Tony, and what is confusing is the sudden point of view jump: As viewers, we are used to a certain omniscience, in that we are watching, from a safe distance, the action in the frame. For the whole series, apart from the music, which may comment on the action, or may be a counterpoint, or may not even be in the world of the character (but part of our understanding of that world), we have been outside, looking in: Tony is a character that we watch, watch his actions. Why would the action suddenly switch to Tony's point of view?
I think the answer, to some degree (and certainly open to speculation, on its meaning, at least) is Tony entrance into the diner, which is a relatively long take. As Tony (still in black leather jacket)looks around, presumably for a booth, suddenly,right in the middle of the diner, he sees himself, having already arrived, waiting for his family. the next thing we see, is a tight shot of Tony already having sat down.
Of course, this isn't the first time there has been multiple Tonys; Tony as Kevin Finerty (or, as Covington Jim pointed out yesterday morning, Kev-InFin-erty), who plays out the action at the beginning of sixth season, all while the reality of Tony occasionally interrupts in the form of helicopter spotlights, and strange, disembodied voices. This twist fit well into the duplicitious nature of the characters, who were, in a very real sense, multiple people, depending who was in the room.
This still, however, doesn't really explain the two Tonys in the same plane, except that, as the shot unfolds, and we recognize and zoom in on the sitting Tony, something has to account for this sudden jump? If the two Tony's are reconciled by, in fact, being just one Tony, then why would Chase, in this scene in which many people come into the restaurant, take off their jackets, and sit down, have Tony suddenly sitting down, jacket off, like he'd been there a while? Hincty...
I think, ultimately, we have to deal with the two Tony's; one partially omniscient, watching the action from outside himself while still participating in it, and the Tony is fully participating in this scene, and thus, when the screen goes black, because you don't hear the shot that kills you, as alluded in "Soprano Home Movies", Tony as observer, as our eyes, in this scene, go black as well. Tony Soprano is dead, killed in a diner, interestingly, wearing the shirt he wore in the pilot.
What we are left with, still, is the usurping of classical tragedy, which Mafia movies are generally steeped in, because we are left without a denouement, or a cathartic experience. This is because we are complicit in this action as spectators, we know too much. The duplicity that is at the heart of the this show, and criminality generally, extends to the auteur himself: Chase has been lying to us the whole time, and, because we are complicit, and Chase is the duplicitous auteur (a Boss of the narrative, if you will), when the scene goes black, and we reflect about all the clues we have been given, perhaps it is not Tony who gets whacked, but we, who believed Chase, Boss, wouldn't do this to us. But hey, Chris probably didn't think Tony would do that, either.
In short, we got killed, folks.
Bravo, Mr. Chase, Bravo.
Update to the Update: David Chase tells us...nada.
