Scott: Steve, you do an excellent job of articulating why The Sopranos has become so unsatisfying and "cold" for many, but I feel like what Chase has been doing with Tony's character is dramatically and morally necessary. Had the Tony we're seeing in season six been the Tony we'd seen throughout the entire series, I think the show would have been far less interesting. As you say, much of his "Jungian duality"—the ability to function as a suburban family man as well a treacherous gangster—has been eroded in recent seasons, and that's an element of the show that's certainly worth mourning. But I think it's been clear from the start that Tony cannot possibly sustain the uneasy detente between the good and evil within him, and the sum total of his actions must come at a price. Chase is far too cynical to believe that Tony could leave the life and achieve some state of enlightenment, so he's gone in the other direction, which confronts viewers with the uncomfortable reality that this conflicted man we used to care for, however perversely, is quickly receding from view. You hit the nail on the head with this statement:
In a way, it doesn't matter what happens to Tony from here—he's already dead in the sense that he no longer seems capable of growth or change.
Again, you say that like it's a bad thing. You see, over the course of the series, Tony has grown and has changed, only his soul has fallen permanently into darkness. To my mind, last Sunday's episode, "Kennedy And Heidi," may be the most important episode of the series to date, because Tony has completed his secession from the human race and he feels liberated by it, having achieved a state of bliss that's made manifest in his peyote high. He once considered Christopher a son with perhaps more affection than A.J., whose weakness and petulance always disappointed him. And yet Tony not only suffocates him, but can barely stomach the funeral rites—and not because he feels guilty over killing Chris, either, but more in the sense that he feels put out, like a kid being dragged to church in his Sunday best. Perhaps the use of music was too on-the-nose, but "Comfortably Numb" is a good way to describe how Tony is feeling right now, emphasis on the "comfortable." (Nice touch to have Chris' life end with the line "The child is grown, the dream is gone.")
There are so many great things about "Kennedy And Heidi"—including the cutaway to the title characters, whose brief exchange the critic Matt Zoller Seitz persuasively argues is the series' most significant—but my favorite may be Tony's two sessions (one imaginary, the other real) with Dr. Melfi. My mouth was agape when Tony just casually, with that cat-like grin of his, confesses his relief over Christopher's death, and how much easier it was than the other murders he's committed over the years. (In fact, my wife and I actually had to rewind the DVR to confirm what Tony said.) Of course, it's all revealed as a dream sequence, which is a tactic Chase and his writers have pulled many times before. Then, later, it turns out that the speech was just the dress rehearsal for the real thing, with all the incriminating details just barely elided. With these two scenes, Chase reveals that Tony's therapy sessions have "cured" him in the sense that they've made him a more functional sociopath, capable of identifying and compartmentalizing the pesky areas of his conscience that were holding him back. Like Melfi, Carmela is ultimately an enabler; she knows damn well what happened to Ade, and she can live with it, too, so long as she never has to confront the truth head-on, and Tony continues to provide her with material comfort. (The day Carm took Tony in exchange for a piece of real estate was the day she sold her soul forever.) And don't think that state of denial is limited to Melfi and Carmela: We, the loyal viewers of The Sopranos, have been enablers all these years, too, for continuing to look past Tony's deeds in order to see the decent man who cares so much about the fate of those ducks in the very first episode. In "Kennedy And Heidi," those ducks are buried in asbestos.
To shift from one surrogate-father/son relationship to the other, you asked about how Vic and Shane's relationship on The Shield will proceed now that Vic knows what happened to Lem. The answer is "I don't know," because I never expected their inevitable confrontation to come until the end of the season. It would seem that they have too much on each other for either one to come clean and involve the authorities, though it's possible that Shane—who killed Lem because he'd imagine himself ratting out Vic and the others in the same situation—could pull that off. At the same time, they can't continue to work with each other, can they? Since the series has another season left, we know that Vic will wriggle off the hook again, but I just can't imagine the show working without the Vic-Shane dynamic, if only because Shane provides such a great window into Vic's dark side. He's the bad son, having inherited all of Vic's worst qualities and none of his strength, compassion, or overriding sense of justice. With a season to go, the writers appear to have written themselves into a corner; it seems only natural now that Vic's day of reckoning would come sooner rather than later, since his domain is collapsing just as surely as Tony Soprano's. But I have faith in Shawn Ryan and company: If there's one thing The Shield has displayed over six seasons, it's consistency, almost to a fault. To that end, let me respond to this question:
Do you think being on commercial television has actually helped The Shield in some ways, making it quicker-paced and more plot-oriented than The Sopranos, which has a very indulgent patron in HBO?
Yes and no. Yes in the sense that one of The Shield's chief assets has been its urgent, purposeful storytelling; there's hardly been a pause for breath throughout the entire series, and the drama just pops each and every week. HBO is the only imaginable home for a show like The Sopranos, because it's the only network that can support its high budget, extreme content, and artistic indulgence. But couldn't you also wish The Shield, great as it is, could benefit from a little indulgence? There are so many cool narrative flourishes in The Sopranos—rhyming plotlines, dream sequences, standalone episodes like the classic "Pine Barrens" from season three—while The Shield, when stripped down to basic story mechanics, is really just another cop show, isn't it? A great cop show, granted, thanks to first-rate work by everyone involved (please, please someone recognize Walton Goggins' brilliance), but not one that's going to surprise you with subtle narrative or tonal grace notes.
Okay, I'm sure you'll have plenty to say in your next transmission, but don't forget to answer the big question: How does it all end for Tony and Vic? I have some theories on both fronts, but I want to hear your predictions first.
Steven: Scott, I wish season six of The Sopranos played as well as you describe it. For instance, I think your take on Carm is really fascinating; it would be nice if Chase were as interested in exploring her character as you are. Lately, Carm, along with countless other core characters, seems to come and go like a guest star. The Sopranos has become The Soprano; all Tony, all the time.
"How does it all end for Tony?" is obviously the central question at this point; it's just too bad it's the only question. Chase and his writers no longer spend any real time on secondary storylines or peripheral characters. I know there are a lot of characters to contend with—I appreciated the Artie cameo after a long absence in "Kennedy And Heidi"—but the non-Tony-centric storytelling has been distressingly shoddy of late. It's like, "Oh, A.J. is engaged to that girl from the construction yard! And he has silly facial hair! Oh, now they're broken up and he's pouring battery acid on some kid's foot!" While I agree that The Shield could benefit from more Sopranos-style flourishes, The Sopranos would benefit more from being a leaner, meaner narrative machine. Telling new stories while moving the overarching storyline along is something The Sopranos no longer does very well. On The Shield, the constraints of being "just another cop show" has forced Shawn Ryan to make every scene, character, and plot development count. Vic has been so busy trying to outfox the forces converging on him that there hasn't been much time for the navel-gazing Chase often mistakes for depth, but the psychological rot setting in around him is always tangible.
Maybe it isn't the direction of season six that bothers me, but the execution—like Tony, I'm numb to the bludgeoning ponderousness of these concluding episodes. A pet peeve of mine is when season six defenders accuse critics of being kill-hungry meatheads averse to the artsy-fartsy "psychological" stuff. Let's not give Chase too much credit—he ain't exactly subtle. In fact, he can be gratingly obvious. In case you don't get the first "Comfortably Numb" reference in "Walk Like A Man," he'll be sure to beat you over the head with it (literally) in "Kennedy And Heidi." In case you don't get that doom for all involved is approaching, he'll have one of the characters come out and say so.
When Chase decided to rest for two years after season five—a move that clearly hurt the show's creative and commercial momentum—I wonder how close he came to packing it in, because I don't think he has anything left to say other than "goodbye." The driving force behind Tony's nihilism seems to be the end of The Sopranos, not what's happening in any of the actual storylines. It reminds me of the Star Wars prequels—The Phantom Menace and Attack Of The Clones were basically a preamble to the only movie people really wanted to see, Revenge Of The Sith. Season six has turned into a waiting game: What's gonna happen? Like I said before, I don't think it really matters, because Tony is already dead inside. And that is a bad thing, because we still have three episodes to go!
You want my prediction anyway? Here it is: The show will end with Tony sitting alone in his mother's house. Cut to his hand, where a housefly sits. All of a sudden, we hear the disembodied voice of Nancy Marchand: "Oh, my Tony, he wouldn't hurt a fly." Then Chase will superimpose an image of Livia Soprano over Tony's face. The transformation from son to mom will be complete. And in case you don't get the reference, Chase will play the Psycho theme over the credits.
Okay, I'm kidding. But I do expect an open-ended, low-key finale heavy on philosophical pontificating and dream sequences. No jail or death for Tony, in other words. As for Vic's fate, I'll plead the fifth for now. There's too much other stuff to hash out in the meantime: How will he handle Shane? Will he stay on the Strike Team? Will Dutch figure out that Shane killed Lem? Will Ronnie go to IAD to get away from Vic? The Shield still has plenty of life left; The Sopranos is hopefully due for a proper burial.
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