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.