"Where's my arc?"
Another clever episode, this, and probably the
closest this programme has ever come to skirting with the fourth wall. Christopher, a minor character, thug and thicko, has an episode of angst about the fact he's just a minor character, a Rosencrantz or a Guildenstern, and not destined to be the deepest or most developed. Him being a bit of a prat, this consists of his failing to write (or spell) a film script, digging up a body and shooting a baker in the foot because he has to wait. Even his possible depression is made to look shallow in a discussion with Tony, a proper character. And the end shows all to be cured by him getting his name in the paper. Pillock.
There’s more fun with the fourth wall as we finally spend some time with Dr Melfi’s wealthy, educated yet dysfunctional family- and they morally disapprove when Jennifer lets slip the nature of her latest client. This leads, though, to her pompous husband pontificating about the Mafia-dominated depiction of Italian-Americans in the media. The irony of this being said in The Sooranos is not, I’m sure, lost on anyone.
This is all very fun, but we’re also reminded of the morality of what Tony and others do- Christopher is haunted by dreams of the Czech gangster he killed, and is reassured that it gets easier the more he killed. And, when Tony is told by Dr Melfi that he must pay for the session he missed, his scary reaction forces her to confront what he is- not evil, as that isn’t a grown-up concept, but perhaps someone she should keep at arm’s length. Will she keep him as a client? Perhaps the damage us done, though. Livia has told Junior that Tony is seeing a psychiatrist.
Ultimately this episode is full of foreboding. The FBI are said to have indictments ready to go and people are jumpy. Tony’s house is searched just after the evidence has been hidden at Livia’s. and they know about Junior. So what next?
This is superb episode- fun, metatextual but full of ill omen...
Showing posts with label David Chase. Show all posts
Showing posts with label David Chase. Show all posts
Thursday, 12 December 2019
Monday, 30 September 2019
The Sopranos: Pilot
“Here comes the Prozac...”
If you suspect that I’m starting The Sopranos mainly because I need some brain food to go alongside the not-exactly-intellectual Batman and Robin movie serial, you’re right. I’m only going to do the first season for now and then pause, but it’ll be enjoyable. I’ve seen this season, and this season only, before- on BBC2 in 1999, in my bedroom in my parents’ house, when I was 22. I suppose, prior to 1999 and HBO coming out with this, we Brits, while consuming a lot of American telly, considered it, on average and with many obvious exceptions, to be more lowbrow than our telly with its formulaic, 22 episode seasons. The Sopranos, and its ushering in of the golden age of American telly through which we’re living, changed that forever.
It’s an impressive start with the titles, a splendid tune, and spectacular views of the New Jersey turnpike, and then we begin- with Tony Soprano, in a shrink’s waiting room, looking at a statue in a scene which pretty much exists to show us, by being artily directed, that we are to expect cleverness. And so we have the early awkward exchanges as Tony and Dr Melli size each other up, he relating how he came to have his recent panic attack- we learn about his failing marriage with Carmela, his son Anthony being (as we see) a bit of a dick and a rather epic row between Carmela and their daughter Meadow. But there is also, of course, his other “family”, the family business of “waste disposal” and the rather hilarious juxtapositions of violent scenes and narration such as “we had coffee”. Dr Melfi, of course, knows. But she doesn’t “know”.
Worse than this, though, are the looming crises. Tony’s mother, Livia (an interesting name of one happens to have recently blogged I, Clavdivs) is the mum from Hell- dramatic, judgemental, hypocritical, resentful, with a degree in passive aggressiveness. And then there’s Junior, Tony’s uncle, the older brother of his late father, a proud and prickly old man who resents To t being boss and not him. Then there’s his arrogant dick of a nephew, Christopher. All this in a world where the Mafia is in decline, being squeezed by the law, and living in the glories of old movies, its future bleak and the old code of Omertà no longer a given. Oh, and Tony is having an affair with a trophy girl while Carmela is hanging around with a handsome priest who, to his credit, at least prefers the first Godfather movie.
There’s lots of wit but the fourth wall is never quite broken- I love that Junior (an absurd “name” for an old man!) is going to “whack” “Big Pussy” at the restaurant of Tony’s friend, ruining his business- the main A plot of the episode, solved by a judicious bit of arson, and Tony says “You think he’s gonna fuck with Big Pussy? My pussy?”... All is player straight, of course. And James Gandolfini is incredible, portraying real depth and subtlety.
We end, though, with a menacing exchange between Junior- a stupid old bigot who resents the old days of “the crazy hair, and the dope” and now whinges about that old ‘90s battleground of “fags in the military” and Livia, as “things may have to be done” about Tony.
This is simply superlative television, from the very start. I’m going to enjoy this.
If you suspect that I’m starting The Sopranos mainly because I need some brain food to go alongside the not-exactly-intellectual Batman and Robin movie serial, you’re right. I’m only going to do the first season for now and then pause, but it’ll be enjoyable. I’ve seen this season, and this season only, before- on BBC2 in 1999, in my bedroom in my parents’ house, when I was 22. I suppose, prior to 1999 and HBO coming out with this, we Brits, while consuming a lot of American telly, considered it, on average and with many obvious exceptions, to be more lowbrow than our telly with its formulaic, 22 episode seasons. The Sopranos, and its ushering in of the golden age of American telly through which we’re living, changed that forever.
It’s an impressive start with the titles, a splendid tune, and spectacular views of the New Jersey turnpike, and then we begin- with Tony Soprano, in a shrink’s waiting room, looking at a statue in a scene which pretty much exists to show us, by being artily directed, that we are to expect cleverness. And so we have the early awkward exchanges as Tony and Dr Melli size each other up, he relating how he came to have his recent panic attack- we learn about his failing marriage with Carmela, his son Anthony being (as we see) a bit of a dick and a rather epic row between Carmela and their daughter Meadow. But there is also, of course, his other “family”, the family business of “waste disposal” and the rather hilarious juxtapositions of violent scenes and narration such as “we had coffee”. Dr Melfi, of course, knows. But she doesn’t “know”.
Worse than this, though, are the looming crises. Tony’s mother, Livia (an interesting name of one happens to have recently blogged I, Clavdivs) is the mum from Hell- dramatic, judgemental, hypocritical, resentful, with a degree in passive aggressiveness. And then there’s Junior, Tony’s uncle, the older brother of his late father, a proud and prickly old man who resents To t being boss and not him. Then there’s his arrogant dick of a nephew, Christopher. All this in a world where the Mafia is in decline, being squeezed by the law, and living in the glories of old movies, its future bleak and the old code of Omertà no longer a given. Oh, and Tony is having an affair with a trophy girl while Carmela is hanging around with a handsome priest who, to his credit, at least prefers the first Godfather movie.
There’s lots of wit but the fourth wall is never quite broken- I love that Junior (an absurd “name” for an old man!) is going to “whack” “Big Pussy” at the restaurant of Tony’s friend, ruining his business- the main A plot of the episode, solved by a judicious bit of arson, and Tony says “You think he’s gonna fuck with Big Pussy? My pussy?”... All is player straight, of course. And James Gandolfini is incredible, portraying real depth and subtlety.
We end, though, with a menacing exchange between Junior- a stupid old bigot who resents the old days of “the crazy hair, and the dope” and now whinges about that old ‘90s battleground of “fags in the military” and Livia, as “things may have to be done” about Tony.
This is simply superlative television, from the very start. I’m going to enjoy this.
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