Timothy Noah chatted with readers about The Sopranos on June 7. Read the transcript here.
Dear Jeff,
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StumbleUponI don't know how The Sopranos will end. I don't want to know how The Sopranos will end. I want The Sopranos to just ... happen.
If we accept Norman Mailer's formulation that The Sopranos resembles a great novel, which I certainly do, then why treat it like it's the stock market or the Oscars or the presidential primaries? In these latter instances I understand the sport in trying to predict outcomes. But the reader absorbed by Anna Karenina doesn't waste time trying to figure out that the heroine will throw herself under a moving train. Even good murder mysteries rely less on how surprising the ending may be than on the skill with which the reader is led from one imperfect understanding of what's happening to the next. The moment to consider any narrative's denouement is after that denouement has been revealed. The reader or viewer can then consider the distance he's traveled and decide whether the destination feels right. If it doesn't, he may find himself re-evaluating the journey itself. Or he may not. (More than a few indisputably great novels are hobbled with disappointing endings. Huckleberry Finn and Great Expectations come immediately to mind.)
The serial format of most contemporary dramatic TV shows encourages viewers to guess what will happen next. The "next on [Exciting Show]" teasers at the end egg us on. But I think trying to anticipate the narrative arc of a television series in advance makes even less sense than trying to anticipate that poor Anna will scrag herself at the Nizhigorod rail station. That's because in television, the narrative arc is imposed retrospectively. David Chase began The Sopranos not knowing how his story would end, because he didn't know how many episodes he'd be called on to create. Each season has its own narrative arc planned in advance, but how Episode 1 leads inexorably to the yet-to-air final Episode 86 is something Chase could work out only after he knew the series was ending. Even if he knew all along how he wanted Tony and the other characters to end up, he had to improvise the pacing from Point A to Point Z. The overarching plotline of even a great TV serial, therefore, isn't inexorable. It's … exorable, inasmuch as network suits get to decide which page will be the last.
(Before readers chime in to remind me that Anna Karenina and Great Expectations appeared first in magazine serializations, let me point out that Tolstoy and Dickens got to decide how many installments there would be in the Russian Messenger and in All the Year Round—Dickens actually owned the latter—and if they felt they'd botched anything in the serial they could always fix it when the novel was published in book form.)
Because of the vicissitudes of scheduling, a television series that ends even halfway satisfyingly is something of a miracle. We tend to forget this because it's rare that any TV series, even a great one, holds its audience's attention to the end. (If the series had the audience's full attention, it wouldn't be cancelled in the first place.) I used to be seriously hooked on E.R., but only recently did I discover, to my slight amazement, that it's still on the air. The natural life cycle of a hit show usually determines that it end sometime after its most memorable characters have departed (because they were played by memorable actors who received more tempting offers elsewhere) and after its story threads have gotten a little rococo. In other words, after the series becomes tiresome. The Sopranos has not become tiresome, and that invites hope that Chase will end his story as perfectly as F. Scott Fitzgerald ended The Great Gatsby. I'm certainly rooting for that. But if Chase fails, and his ending seems contrived or indifferent or inadequate in some other way, I won't hold it against him any more than I hold Tom Sawyer's tedious reappearance toward the end of Huckleberry Finn against Mark Twain. I'll be disappointed, but I'll get over it.
I'd forgotten Frank Sinatra Jr. made an earlier Sopranos appearance. The skinny kid from Hoboken must be twirling in his grave.
And yeah, it'd be nice to see more of Artie Bucco before the series ends.
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Remarks from the Fray Editor:
As a basic cable slum-dweller, the Fray Editor has been following the discussion of The Sopranos with admiration and envy. The passion, erudition, and insight of the show's fans—Slate's commentators and Fraysters alike—proves the case that this series is not to be missed. Below, Fray poster lucabrasi considers how the 6.5 season story arc has led the show inevitably to the present moment.
May this weekend's finale exceed your wildest expectations. My prediction? Paulie Walnuts in the Bing with a shoe buffer.—G.A.
Remarks from the Fray:
I must salute the excellent close of the mob wars arc that started way back in Season One.
Looking back from today, with Tony's Jersey crime family indeed looking like a "glorified crew" in the eyes of New York, one can see it, almost clearly:
Season One: Tony's issues were of ascension in that smallish Jersey family. Jackie Sr. was dying; Uncle Junior was the designated "front don," and yet bitter enough about Tony's power to use Livia's ambiguous directives to hit Tony. Didn't work. Junior was exiled and took on Federal heat; Tony had the others killed.
Season Two: Richie Aprile gets out of prison. A theme begins: guys out of prison resent Tony, who never served. But Richie, too, is "local Jersey trouble." His escalating conflict with Tony is going to be dealt with rather easily -- Tony wants Richie hit, but Janice delivers a dose of even MORE "local" justice.
Meanwhile, I think NYC underboss Johnny Sack turns up living in Jersey, but promising Tony "I don't want to wet my beak."
The main NYC Don is Carmine Sr, an old school guy. Tony can deal with Carmine Sr, but Sack starts getting that lean and hungry look...
Seasons Three and Four: Other issues are on the table (Jackie Jr., Tony and Carm's marriage), but Tony's adversaries are manageable: made guy Ralphie and the ever-more-ambitious and angry Sack. Ralphie is eliminated, quietly (if NYC ever finds out...). Sack wants Tony to hit Old Man Carmine; Tony pulls out at the last moment. Sack looks to be vengeful.
Season Five: The big trouble all starts here, with the release of the "Class of '84". It's like four Richie Apriles. Tony has a lotta plates to spin: an old-timer named Feech who wants it all, locally, Tony's cousin Tony B, the "Rockford Guy" (Joe Santos) who Tony B idolizes as a father, and a real hothead named Phil Leotardo.
Carmine Sr. croaks. Phil joins with Sack against Little Carmine, Tony B joins with the Rockford Guy and Rusty in backing Little Carmine's play. Tony elects to back off and see how Jersey can benefit from the ensuing bloodshed, of which there is a lot.
During all this, two little matters occur: Seeking owed cash, Tony subjects Phil Leotardo to a body-breaking car crash and beats up Phil at the accident site as a "throw-in." Tony B kills Phil's brother Billy Leotardo.
In retrospect, these last two actions were perhaps...unfortunate.
Sack and Phil kill more guys than Little Carmine's team. Little caves ("It's a stagmire.") Sack ascends to Donhood. Tony can deal with Sack (having killed Tony B as a burnt offering), and Sack will stave off the still vengeful Phil Leotardo.
But right at the end of Season Five, the Feds nab Sack. Go directly to jail.
Season 6A: Sack's in prison, but the putative boss, with Phil fronting him on the outside. Tony's shot for a few episodes. The "gay Vito issue" gives Phil new reason for putting the pressure on Tony's Jersey boys. With Sack losing power by the day, Phil contemplates his rages against Tony: getting beaten up by Tony, paying money to Tony, brother killed by the cousin of Tony, gay Vito protected by Tony. Phil has a heart attack to match Tony's gutshot. Things seem peaceful between these two wounded warriors. But this guy Butch turns up, taunting Tony.
Season 6B. Tony's luck with New York runs out, via a series of crap outs: Sack dies of cancer; Doc kills Gerry; Phil kills Doc.. Phil is "the big boss man," finally, and the worst possible New York Don Tony Soprano could face. Filled with jailhouse vengeance and itching to consolidate power, Phil pushes Tony too far (with the sexual insult of Coco towards Meadow, ultimately). Tony retaliates (curbing); Phil says "there's nothing left to talk about," and here we are.
Now, I' m not sure how much of that was plotted early on by Chase and Company, but looking back on it, you see how this final, fatal gang war was literally years in the making. Tony Soprano fended off Jersey threats (Junior, Richie), kept the peace with Carmine Sr, dangerously dueled with Sack (the longest of Tony's strategic encounters), sat out the gang war to replace Carmine Sr...and ended up on the wrong end of Phil's bloody ascension to the throne of the New York Family.
Where things are now is where they HAVE to be. Inevitability.
--lucabrasi
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