The Chris Moeller Archives

The journey as reward

Major Spoiler Alert (Do not read if you choose not to know what happened on the final "Sopranos"): David Chase's 86th and final installment of "The Sopranos" was an artistic masterpiece. The last scene, despised, it seems, by a surprisingly large number of people, encapsulated every thing that made the series great-- in particular, the heightening of tension and a stubborn refusal to fall into any category that has come before. The episode, entitled "Made In America," is destined to accomplish that which is the most difficult thing to achieve in the visual arts-- reward progressively more with each subsequent viewing. If it wasn't your cup of tea, I take no pleasure in informing you that you've just witnessed the future of television.

Much of America wanted the long-running narrative of the Soprano family to come to an end last night without any loose ends. (Blogger Ken Levine is still hoping that Carmela and her father will get the construction bid for the new Yankee Stadium, and that Junior will become a presidential advisor .) Instead, it concluded decidedly perfect in its imperfection. In terms of conveying Chase's ultimate message, the A.J. Soprano character carried the ball over the goal line. Anthony and Carmela's son experienced an existential crisis during the series' final season. Following his uncle Bobby's funeral Sunday, he chided his dinner companions for "watching these jack-off fantasies on TV," with the words boaring through television sets across the North American continent, "You people are fucked. You're living in a fucking dream!" By the end of the hour, though, Che Soprano was dead-- bought off by his parents, and forsaking a dangerous, but meaningful career in the military as a liaison officer for a position on the film crew of Little Carmine Lupertazzi's next splatter-fest, "Anti-Virus." The cycle of destruction continues.

Even the multitude of viewers who say they enjoyed the final episode seemed to miss the point. The series didn't end on an ambiguous note so that it might one day be primed for revival or film adaptation. You heard it here first-- "The Sopranos" is gone for good. It's history. The series never existed for its creator as a matter of commerce, the only conceivable purpose for keeping it alive. That was the beauty of it. It's something damn near impossible to achieve in this country, actually. There were never any sponsors or advertisers to risk offending. It's timing was such that it became bigger than its network. Chase had complete artistic freedom from his distributor and financiers, and the complete faith and confidence of his employees. For David Chase, it was what every artist dreams of having, but rarely achieves.

As a loyal viewer with high expectations, I found plenty of tiny bows to wrap on Chase's monumental gift to the world Sunday night. In fact, I find there's very little uncertainty that still exists in my mind about the fate of these characters. It's quite obvious, you see, that Tony is being shot dead in the final moment by the man who disappeared into the bathroom, an homage to Michael Corleone and "The Godfather." The deafening silence that greeted our post-"Sopranos" existence echoed the conversation Tony had had with his brother-in-law in the first episode of this final season, and was recalled in the penultimate episode last week-- the one about never hearing the gunshot when your time arrives. I welcome any dissent on this hypothesis.

Among the other highlights and poignant swan songs of Sunday night, there were: Tony and Carmela beginning a new and obviously fruitless effort to resolve their personal and marital woes through psychotherapy, validation, I believe, for Dr. Melfi's ultimate abandonment; Meadow's struggle to parallel park her BMW in the closing moments, symbolizing her future problems reconciling her desire to defend the defenseless with her motivation to right the perceived wrongs toward her father, himself an oppressor; hideous justice for Phil Leotardo, and for his wife as well, who I never much liked; and a job promotion for Paulie Walnuts, who, if we can trust that mischievous cat, looks to be in for exactly the justice he deserves as well. The cat was a thing of beauty. If it's a body reincarnated, its staring at the picture of Christopher at the Bing implies that it may be Adriana , or better yet-- Christopher, himself, driving Paulie to distraction and self-doubt--- or best of all, Big Pussy taking a literal form.

In the waning moments of the series, I cherished the expression on Carmela's face when she found out what her daughter's starting salary would likely be if she caught on at a prestigious law firm. The look was equal parts pride and disbelief that she was finally getting what she wanted for her daughter all along, perhaps more than she deserved as her mother. (Edie Falco might just be the best actor we've got.) The most poignant scene was the one between Tony and Uncle Junior. It was so obvious, in retrospect, that the final two-part season would end with a nod to the incident that started the final charge. When Tony, letting down his guard, asked his father's brother, if he remembered Johnny and Junior "running all of North Jersey," I came the closest to tears all evening. The Johnny Boy Soprano character hung like a dark cloud over the entire series. He was the greatest cipher of them all, and I'm glad his image crystallized again so late in the series' final hour.

Finally, I applaud the selection of the final song, "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. I doubt the song is David Chase's or Steven Van Zandt's favorite, but it is exactly the song that Tony would select on the juke box at the given moment, and undeniably moving if you belong to a certain 25 year demographic range. The given song, at that moment, belongs to the characters, as the concluding scene was edited too suspensefully for the audience to linger over the words: Some will win, some will lose/Some were born to sing the blues/Oh, the movie never ends/It goes on and on and on and on. Not only are the lyrics fitting, but so is the name of the band.

R.I.P. Tony Uncle Johnny.

posted by CM @ 2:44 PM