TV

The Sopranos: Series Finale

Marisa Carroll

A priest once explained to Carmela, "God understands that we all live in the middle of tensions." David Chase understands that too.


The Sopranos

Airtime: Sundays, 9pm ET
Cast: James Gandolfini, Edie Falco, Lorraine Bracco, Jamie-Lynn Sigler, Robert Iler, Michael Imperioli, Aida Turturro, Steven R. Schirripa
MPAA rating: N/A
Network: HBO
US release date: 2007-04-08
Website
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[Life is] all a big nothing. What makes you think you're so special?

-- Livia Soprano (Nancy Marchand), "D-Girl" (Season Two)

Our existence on this earth is a puzzle.

-- Carmela Soprano (Edie Falco), "The Sopranos" (Season One)

When the screen cut to black in the final moments of The Sopranos on 10 June, some viewers felt David Chase had orchestrated a Livia-style hit on them: in the end, it was all a big nothing.

More than a week later, fans have watched and re-watched the tense few minutes at Holsten's diner that led up to the abrupt ending, still debating the significance of the blackness. Was Tony whacked? His family too? The pursuit of meaning has led to more questions. Maybe it's more like a puzzle, closer to Carmela's worldview than to Livia's.

It's fitting, really. Throughout the series, viewers' complicated relationship to Tony (James Gandolfini) paralleled Carmela's. Although some argue that Dr. Melfi (Lorraine Bracco), as a "civilian," was the audience's on-screen surrogate, in the end she gave up on Tony while his wife stuck with him to the last second, just as we did. Carmela always suspected that Tony was guilty of horrible acts, and from our privileged vantage point we witnessed them: the lying, philandering, stealing, and, worst of all, the killing, whether by his own hands or by his decree. But no matter how much revulsion Tony's misdeeds stirred up, we remained fascinated. We knew who he was, and like Carmela, we had to ask ourselves if we "loved him in spite of it -- or because of it."

Carmela's ambivalence about her husband was established from the series' outset. After Tony suffered his first as-yet-undiagnosed panic attack in the pilot episode, his family physician sent him for an MRI, Carmela at his side, fully supportive. But their conversation soon deteriorated into an argument about Tony's relationship with his goomara and Carmela's with her parish priest.

Tony: I told you, I'm not seeing her anymore. How do you think I feel, having that priest around all the time?

Carmela: Don't even go there, all right? Father is a spiritual mentor. He's helping me to be a better Catholic.

Tony: Well, we all got different needs.

Carmela: What's different between you and me is that you're going to hell when you die!

It was a hateful thing to say (she apologized for it three seasons later), yet as the MRI table began to slide into the machine, Carmela reached out to grab Tony's hand and held on to it until he was fully inside. In this brief moment, we glimpsed the inner conflict that would trouble Carmela throughout The Sopranos. Despite her misgivings, letting go of Tony proved as challenging as staying with him.

The couple did separate briefly in Season Five, but their marriage lasted. Here and there, we learned that as a teenager, Carmela was seduced by Tony's larger-than-life qualities: his brute strength, sexual magnetism, sweetness, and sense of humor. Indeed, Tony's maneuvering within North Jersey's perilous gangland made for the most compelling TV in recent memory. But watching Carmela navigate the ethical landscape as the "princess of Little Italy" was just as thrilling.

As much as Tony recognized the material dangers inherent in his line of work, he also denied the moral implications by hiding behind the vow of omerta. Carmela's crises of conscience made her complex and also mirrored the audience's disquiet with Tony's violent behavior. In "College" (Season One), she confessed her crime of complicity to Father Intintola (Paul Schulze) while Tony took their daughter, Meadow (Jamie-Lynn Sigler), on a tour of campuses:

I have forsaken what is right for what is easy, allowing what I know is evil in my house, allowing my children -- oh, my sweet children! -- to be a part of it. Because I wanted things for them. A better life, good schools. I wanted this house, wanted money in my hand, money to buy whatever I wanted. My husband, I think he has committed horrible acts. I'm the same. I've said nothing, I've done nothing about it. I've got a bad feeling. It's only a matter of time before God compensates me with outrage for my sins.

Carmela's self-awareness and moral clarity at that moment are startling. And before Father Intintola absolved her, she promised to help Tony on his spiritual path. At that point, she did believe he could "be a better man." It was this optimism that led Carmela to support Tony's decision to see a psychiatrist, even when her jealousy of Dr. Melfi got the better of her. "I think it's so gutsy! Psychology doesn't address the soul -- that's something else -- but it's a start." By the penultimate episode of the series, her optimism had all but vanished. When Tony insisted he had quit therapy for good (a lie), Carmela barely raised an eyebrow. "Except for the slight improvement after the shooting," she replied, "it wasn't doing you much good anyway." And as Tony regurgitated his family history to AJ's (Robert Iler) psychiatrist in the final episode, Carmela impatiently rolled her eyes, then shot him a withering look.

What happened in the intervening years to extinguish Carmela's hope and her desire for change? Though she often attempted to take the high road, Carmela grappled with her own moral failures. If Tony's reputation served her purposes, especially regarding her children's future, she worked it, like when she shook down a Georgetown alumnus to snag a recommendation for Meadow. "What, threatening?" she said with a smile. "I brought you a ricotta pie and a high school transcript so you could write a letter for my little daughter to Georgetown." In Season Four, when Tony refused to pony up money for an IRA, she stole $40,000 from a secret stash to set up the accounts on her own. And of course, she allowed herself to be placated by extravagant gifts financed by Tony's criminal enterprise: mink coats, sapphire rings, Porsches, and a $50,000 donation to Columbia University in the Soprano name, to list a few.

All the while, she complained of Tony's infidelities to the other mob wives in her circle, like Angie Bompensiero (Toni Kalem), Rosalie Aprile (Sharon Angela), and Gabriella Dante (Maureen Van Zandt).

Rosalie: It's not just us. The president of the United States, for crying out loud. Look what his wife had to put up with, with the blow jobs and the stained dress.

Angie: Hillary Clinton? I can't stand that woman.

Rosalie: I don't know. Maybe we could all take a page from her book.

Carmela: What? To be humiliated in public, then go around smiling all the time? That is so false. I would dig a hole, I would climb inside, and I would not come out.

Rosalie: All I know is that she stuck by him and put up with the bullshit, and in the end, what did she do? She set up her own little thing.

Carmela: That's true, isn't it? She's a role model for us all.

It was only after Tony's former goomara Irina (Oksana Lada) phoned the Soprano house in Season Four that Carmela finally decided to leave him. During the separation, she pursued a relationship with AJ's guidance counselor, Bob Wegler (David Staithairn), one of a string of "sensitive intellectuals" with whom she became infatuated over the years. The romance ended disastrously after Wegler accused Carmela of using him to advance AJ in school. It was then that Carmela realized she would forever be haunted by her history with Tony, whether they remained together or not: "Whatever I say, whatever I do, because I was married to a man like Tony, my motives will always be called into question." She also experienced the brunt of Tony's ruthlessness first-hand as he contaminated the pool of top divorce attorneys in the state by visiting them all before she had a chance.

When no one would take her case after learning the identity of her husband, Carmela understood her options were dire. Leaving Tony, really leaving him, meant following the advice of a tough-talking psychiatrist she consulted once in Season Three: "Take only the kids, what's left of them, and go." This decision would be the equivalent of entering the witness protection program, forsaking everything in her life up to that point and starting over with nothing. In the end, she lacked the courage (as many of us would), and she decided to take Tony back. Her asking price? $600,000, enough to "set up her own little thing": the construction of a spec house on Crestview Drive.

But it was Tony's shooting and subsequent coma in Season Six that ultimately cemented the Soprano marriage. Carmela's concerns over Tony's soul in Season One gave way to a more pressing desire to keep him alive. As the series came to a close, Carmela was consumed with worry: over Tony's safety, AJ's suicide attempt, and Meadow's upcoming marriage to the son of Tony's mob associate. A trip to Paris with Rosalie Aprile brought her crushing anxiety to the surface. Standing amidst the rubble of ancient Roman baths, Carmela revealed, "There was one night in the hospital when things were touch and go with Tony. He came out of the coma for a minute, and he said, 'Who am I? Where am I going?' At the time, I didn't know what he meant. Coming here, I feel the same way." She goes on, "We worry so much, it seems like that's all we ever do, but in the end, it all just gets washed away, it just gets washed away."

The scene at Holsten's created a sense of unease as fierce as the one Carmela described. The blaring music, the suspicious-looking man at the counter, the allusion to The Godfather, and Meadow's failed parallel parking all led to a seeming conclusion. But before our worries could be washed away, the action cut off, and viewers were left suspended in a dreadful thrall, much like Carmela was during her entire marriage. As a priest once explained to her, "God understands that we all live in the middle of tensions." David Chase understands that too.

8

From genre-busting electronic music to new highs in the ever-evolving R&B scene, from hip-hop and Americana to rock and pop, 2017's music scenes bestowed an embarrassment of riches upon us.


60. White Hills - Stop Mute Defeat (Thrill Jockey)

White Hills epic '80s callback Stop Mute Defeat is a determined march against encroaching imperial darkness; their eyes boring into the shadows for danger but they're aware that blinding lights can kill and distort truth. From "Overlord's" dark stomp casting nets for totalitarian warnings to "Attack Mode", which roars in with the tribal certainty that we can survive the madness if we keep our wits, the record is a true and timely win for Dave W. and Ego Sensation. Martin Bisi and the poster band's mysterious but relevant cool make a great team and deliver one of their least psych yet most mind destroying records to date. Much like the first time you heard Joy Division or early Pigface, for example, you'll experience being startled at first before becoming addicted to the band's unique microcosm of dystopia that is simultaneously corrupting and seducing your ears. - Morgan Y. Evans

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​'The Ferryman': Ephemeral Ideas, Eternal Tragedies

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Staggeringly multi-layered, dangerously fast-paced and rich in characterizations, dialogue and context, Jez Butterworth's new hit about a family during the time of Ireland's the Troubles leaves the audience breathless, sweaty and tearful, in a nightmarish, dry-heaving haze.

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If The Prince of Nothingwood will popularly be remembered for celebrating the creative spirit of its star Salim Shaheen, it is equally an important communication on Afghanistan, it's culture and its people.

"Now I am just more tired and poor. So no, I haven't changed. I'm just older and more tired," says French radio journalist and documentarian Sonia Kronlund, as she looks back on the experience of making The Prince of Nothingwood (2017).

Joining Salim Shaheen, the most popular and prolific actor-director-producer in Afghanistan on his 111th no budget feature, Kronlund documents the week-long shoot and the events surrounding it. She crafts an insight into a larger than life persona, yet amidst the comedy and theatricality of Shaheen and his troupe of collaborators, she uncovers the heavier tones of the everyday reality of war and patriarchal oppression. If The Prince of Nothingwood will popularly be remembered for celebrating the creative spirit of its star, it is equally an important communication on Afghanistan, it's culture and its people. Alongside the awareness of the country cultivated by mainstream media news outlets, Kronlund's film offers an insight into a country that can humanise the prejudice and xenophobic tendencies of a western perspective towards Afghanistan.

In October of this year at the UK premiere at the BFI London Film Festival, Kronlund spoke with PopMatters about being driven by questions rather than inspiration. She also reflected on the subjective nature of documentary filmmaking, the necessary artistic compromises of filming in Afghanistan, and feeling a satisfaction with imperfections.

Why filmmaking as a means of expression? Was there an inspirational or defining moment?

Not really, no. I have always done documentary. I used to write scripts and TV series but I only make documentaries myself for radio and television. For this story, I figured out after a while that it deserved a bigger ambition and a bigger screen and that's why I don't very much believe in inspiration. To be honest, I made this film because I had to do something. I didn't have a big project where I thought: I want to make this. I went there and I found a little money and at the end the ambition and the inspiration came along the way. But there was not an urgent necessity to make this film. It fits with a lot of things that I'm interested in, like popular culture -- What does art stand for and why do we go to the cinema? What is the purpose? This is a question I'm interested in, but inspiration, not so much.

Has The Prince of Nothingwood provided you with the answers to those questions?

It has, and I hope it helps people to think about this question. It tells you that there is an urgent need to make images, to make films, even during war,and even if you don't have the money. And even if the films are not very good, they will find somebody who will like them. So something is going to happen, and I think that's very touching. I don't like Shaheen's films, I hardly watched them -- I paid somebody to watch them. But I'm very moved by all these people that do like his films, and it makes you think about the value of art and the purpose of why we make cinema. I used to study aesthetics in London, so it was one of the questions I had and while the film is lighter than this, that's what was in mind.

The film uses Shaheen as a doorway, beginning as a story about one man which becomes a story about Afghanistan, its people and culture.

Yeah, but it's not so much about Afghanistan and it's not my purpose is to say things about the country. There's one guy like him in Iran who makes cowboy movies in the Iranian desert and there's also a guy like that in Tunisia. I mean you have this person with an urgent need to film whatever they have under their hand and since it's war, then it tells you something about the war. But it's not so much interested in him.

There was a lot of editing, 148 hours that you haven't seen [laughs]. Making a documentary is really telling a story and I don't have any idea of objectivity -- it is my point of view on Shaheen. Some people say to me that they would like to show his films, that they really want to see his films, and I say: "You don't see how much I have edited. I show you the very nice parts of his films." People think he's a great filmmaker and that's the story I wanted to tell -- but I could have told another story.

To my mind, objectivity is a human construct, a falsity that does not exist.

Except mathematics maybe, and sometimes physics.

The purist opinion of documentary as objective is therein built on a faulty premise. From the subjective choices of the filmmakers that bleed into the film to the subjectivity of the subjects, it's not purely objective. Hence, it calls into question the traditional dividing line of the objectivity of documentary and the subjectivity of narrative fiction.

Totally! It's the editing, and why you chose this guy, how you film it and what you show, or what you don't show. It's not only subjectivity, it's storytelling. Not many people ask me about this, they take it for granted that it's the real Shaheen. But I'm not lying, I'm not saying things that aren't true, but I am telling a story, a fictional story out of what I filmed. I took scenes that happened one day and I put them with another story that happened three months later and that's why we had seven months of editing with three editors. So it was a lot of work.

One of the striking aspects of the film are the light and comedic moments offset by a darker and heavier sensibility, which include moments when, for example, Shaheen talks about arranged marriages.

We made 70rough cuts and there was one version we tested and you couldn't believe you were in Afghanistan. People would say: "Oh this is too funny. You don't see Afghanistan, it's just a bunch of crazy guys." I then said: "Let's put in a little more darkness." You then have to strike a balance and to me, if it's not perfect, I'm happy.

Shooting the film in a dangerous and volatile part of the world, was the approach that once you had enough footage you then looked to shaping the film in the edit?

It's not when you feel you have enough, it's finding a balance between security and artistic concerns. That's it. You have a plan and you have an agenda. There are things you want to do, but it has to be balanced with security concerns. The real story I was going to tell about Shaheen I found in the editing room and in the end, I only kept five days of the shoot. The whole film takes place in Bamyan (Province), nothing in Kabul, although I had weeks and weeks of footage there that I had to take away.

There's a moment when Shaheen asks if you are scared, which sees him verbalise our silent recognition of your boldness and courage to bring this story to the screen.

It's very difficult and it's not like you are walking in the street and there's a bomb. This is not what's difficult. The difficulty is to cope with your fear and to have rules and to follow or to not follow those rules. There are many foreign people that never go out at all in Kabul -- it is forbidden. You have British diplomats who do not even drive their car from the airport to the embassy -- they will take an helicopter that costs £2,000 each way. Then you have foreign people who walk in the street without a scarf -- these girls get kidnapped.

In between these you have Shaheen, who is telling me all the time that I'm too scared, because it's a man's value to be brave and he's a brave guy, there's no question about that. He was in an attack two weeks ago. There was a bomb in a Shia Mosque and he helped to carry out the bodies. So there's no kidding about the fact that he's a brave guy and he has to be because he's been fighting to make his films. But you are in the middle of this and I'm not a brave person at all and I don't think being brave is a very important question. It is, but I'm not brave, I'm very scared and so in the middle of all of this stress it's enough just to manage to not go crazy, or to not drink too much [laughs].

Salim Shaheen and Sonia Kronlund (courtesy of Pyramide Films)

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