Four shrinks on the season finale of The Sopranos.

Dear Glen, Peggy, and Phil,

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For 13 weeks the debate has intensified about what makes The Sopranos so compelling. With tonight's final episode for the season--which was indeed anticipated in much the same manner as the Super Bowl--we can answer the question. We are drawn to the show because it is so radical in the sense that it explores in an unflinching way some of our most troubling and deep-seated sociocultural problems.

Every society must transmit its culture from one generation to the next. Its authority rests on its ability to create meaning for its members by passing on its beliefs and values to the younger generation. In the United States, we have been suffering from a crisis of meaning for the last four decades. Reagan and his progeny on the Right have tried to deny that crisis by resurrecting the values of an earlier period--which were often fabricated on the back lots of Hollywood--and pretending that the '60s never happened. But despite demonization by the Right, the youth movements of that decade didn't cause the crisis of authority but were themselves partly a reflection of it. (And let's not forget that the current crop of Reaganites got themselves into the White House through an election that, at its core, was illegitimate.)

A basic problem facing our society is that a life of privatized consumerism--as exemplified in the well-to-do suburbs of New Jersey with their brand new mansions, home entertainment centers, Lexuses, SUVs, and pre-owned Mercedes Benzes--can't provide meaning. The constant spread of market relations with its exclusive focus on the bottom line, something the Right is perfectly comfortable with, undermines all traditional forms of value and has nothing to put in its place--except a fascination with wealth and celebrity.

Earlier in the century, Vito Corleone's authority rested on the unbroken transmission of an ethic that stretched back generations. But he already wanted Michael to get out of the Mafia and participate in the American Dream--indeed, to become nothing less than a senator. And when Michael became the don, he set out to make the family business legit.

Poor Tony is caught in the middle of so many contradictory forces, it's no wonder he has panic attacks and faints. Like Ronald Reagan, he is nostalgic for the good old days. He envies his father and Uncle Junior for having come up in a world before RICO and permissive child-rearing, when the structure of authority was relatively clear and unambiguous. At the same time, however, he wants his children to move as "far away" from his way of life as possible and to pursue respectable professions. (The transference meaning of his desire for Meadow to be a pediatrician is clear.)

And not unlike Bill Clinton--to whom he has been compared--Tony has trouble being an effective authority figure with his children and his underlings. After A.J.'s expulsion from school, which takes place against the backdrop of Jackie Jr.'s execution, Tony can't see that his son's difficulties are largely the result of the identifications that have been passed down to him. This is something Dr. Melfi tries to stress. Instead, like many a contemporary father, Tony rants about the destructive effects of a permissive society and resorts to the traditional patriarchal solutions. With the omnipresent TV airing promos for the Super Bowl and advertisements for relief from erectile dysfunction, Tony insists that A.J. go to military school. It will provide, he argues, a "highly structured environment" and "make a man out of him." Political scientists have often pointed out that when a leader's authority slips away, he often resorts to sheer power.

Tony is also losing his authority with his men. To begin with, the very fact that he goes to a shrink--thus displaying his conflicts and uncertainty--undermines his position as the don of Northern New Jersey. A leader's display of uncertainty has a corrosive effect on the group. But in tonight's episode another theme is stressed. As one of the New York mafiosi tells Paulie, "Tony doesn't respect the elderly." Not only is Tony held responsible for his difficulties with his murderously depressed and embittered mother, but he is criticized for failing to grant Paulie a sufficient share of Ralphie's booty to place his mother in Livia's old nursing home. There are also rumblings about the shabbiness of Jackie Jr.'s funeral. Ro and Uncle Junior complain that in the old days--that is, under a different don--more people would have been in attendance, and the streets would have been packed with cars brimming with flowers. But as a foreshadow of real trouble presumably to come in the forth season, Paulie, who is perhaps Tony's most loyal captain, is sounding out the New York family to see what they have to offer. As the head of the clan, Tony hasn't given this son enough psychological or material favors to retain his loyalty.

Unlike Tony, who turns to psychotherapy, Carmela still puts some stock in a more traditional solution; that is, turning to the church for guidance. But she hasn't had much luck there. The first priest she turns to for spiritual guidance comes on to her. And it is unlikely that the advice Carmela receives from her most recent confessor is going to prove to be any more effective. Furthermore, she was appalled by the hypocrisy of the Catholic school that won't suspend A.J. because they need him for an upcoming football game.

But we see with Meadow--who, having left home for the wider world of Columbia University, drinks cosmos rather than the traditional sambuca--there is no way back to the course of tradition. After being confronted with the fact that her childhood friend and former lover Jackie Jr. was executed, she can't tolerate Uncle Junior's performance of a song from the old country. While everybody else in the place is on the verge of tears, she countermands Tony's authority and runs out of the restaurant, almost getting herself killed in the process. She knows too much to be tempted by enormously an appealing piece of nostalgia.

Kafka said that psychoanalysis provided a means for secular Jews to try to orient themselves in the modern world. Tony is in the same position as the newly secularized Jew was of Kafka's time. The traditional solutions don't work, and the best place to turn to get one's bearings is some form of psychotherapy. Therapy certainly can't provide the certitude and the consolation of traditional religions. Like life itself, it is an imperfect process practiced by imperfect people, and we shouldn't pretend otherwise. And while Dr. Melfi has come in for her share of criticism at our hands, she has turned out to be one of the most constructive figures in Tony's life. At times, it seemed she wouldn't make it through this treatment. But she persisted, battling her own demons along the way. And now--psychologically speaking--we'd have to say that Tony is in a much different position than he was when he first walked though her doors three seasons ago. Whether he is at the same time politically weakened as a Mafia don is another story.

Joel

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