Though I'm some seventeen years missing the bus, my post-work routine for the past few months has been to come home, eat dinner, and sink my teeth into some Sopranos sfogliatelle. I expected most of the show to fall in line with my tastes going into it; I've always been a fan of mafia fiction, so surely there'd be at least some gabagool that grabs my interest. I ended up with a six-course meal of delectable Italian angst and action.
I had come into the show already a fan of "corkboard and thread" stories. I really enjoy crime, conspiratorial and noir fiction a la the Yakuza franchise, The Crying of Lot 49 and The Batman; watching a web of character relations double back upon itself as some heretofore unknown connection arises mid narrative satisfies me more than manicotti. This is an element that came across very well, I felt. Throughout each of the six seasons, the characters are plagued by a persistent air of pining. There was always a bigger house with greener grass even when times were good, like Christopher getting made and the "Class of '03" entering the picture again. This would then motivate some stunad to take shots at another on behalf of a third in hopes of getting in good with another capo. By the fifth and six season, there was a spider's web of temporary alliances and hidden allegiances. In order to draw any kind of dividing line between the many different outfits, you'd need a fairly invested eye to follow and I was happy to lend a pair.
This corkboard characteristic was effectively doubled by the show's premise as a depiction of both the depraved and domestic. In addition to all the aforementioned politicking of that thing of theirs, each mafiosi was a forty-something father and husband who had concerts and college applications to negotiate with. Domestic tensions were at times even stronger motivators for many of the characters than anything Mob related: here, I'm thinking of Tony and Ralph over Pie-O-My, Vito's... lifestyle, and of course Junior and Livia. This forced me to view each character necessarily as multilayered. Was that whacking because the shooter wanted to get in bed with New York, or did he just not like the guy? The show opened itself up to many-angled analyses. Every character was at the precipice of an enormous crossroads, all the time.
I strongly vibed with the show's portrayal of the long, slow death of the Cosa Nostra. We were told very early on that the time for the mob has come and gone: Tony shares his anxieties and fears very early on in therapy that he feels like he's getting deep into the mafia right at the very end, long after the good times had rolled. Television and radio broadcasts constantly reaffirm this as pundits come on seemingly every episode to offer their own opinion on how crime is no longer in style. Current mafiosi are repeatedly shown to be without heirs because of either death-- the Bevilacqua meatball-- or parental denial-- think Tony not wanting AJ in the family. For an overwhelming majority of the show you're presented with these slow but steady indicators that there won't be any reversal of fortune for the garbage collecting goombahs.
It is only in the last season where the breaks fall off these crashing trains. With the Jersey-New York war in full swing, we see representatives of every generation of mobster meet a grisly end. The more distinguished and classier old heads like Junior and Johnny Sack were often used throughout the show as stand-ins for those fantastical good old days very visibly waste away and decay. Those who would inherit the family either go the way of Jackie Jr. by never making it in. Or, they crack like Chrissy and throw away what little of their life remained after the famiglia shot it all up. No matter if you look either forwards into what comes next, or back into what has been, the mafia is screwed both ways from Sunday.
If both the future and the past are left dying or dead, where does that leave the man of the mafia's current hour, Anthony Soprano himself? Eating onion rings with his family, waiting for everyone to show up, before...
Before something happens, be it Meadow walking in the door or a millimeter of steel widening Tony's dome. We're not given the privilege of finding out what exactly that something is. We're left on the edge of our seats with this deep anxious feeling that something terrible might occur. This wide-eyed, twitchy feeling of panic is likely what drove Tony to first visit Dr. Melfi in the first place, and it is clearly the note he will live the rest of his day(s) with. In my eyes, it never really mattered whatever came next at the diner. Only the feeling that came right before.
Now listen closely, because I won't have this conversation again. In this house, Tony Soprano got what he deserved. End of story.