Timothy Noah chatted with readers about The Sopranos on June 7. Read the transcript here.
Dear Jeff and Brian,
PRINT
DISCUSS
E-MAIL
RSS
RECOMMEND...
Facebook
MySpace
Mixx
Digg
Reddit
del.icio.us
Furl
Ma.gnolia
Sphere
StumbleUponSee, Jeff, this is why you and I don't make the big bucks. Even before he knew he would join this online discussion, this Wilson guy spotted Southside Johnny in the background with Nancy Sinatra during Episode 81. When you work in TV journalism, you can't go back and check afterward. You have to get it right in real time. One quibble, though: My friend Bill Barol—who, unlike Brian, is not too busy shaking hands with Queen Elizabeth II to go back and check frame by frame—reports that Southside Johnny was playing harmonica for Miss Sinatra, not leading the band. Southside was, Bill reports, "waaaaay in the background."
I'd also like to thank Brian for informing me that Satin Dolls of Lodi, N.J., doubles as the Bing. What I didn't know until I surfed the Web to confirm Brian's claim is that the real-world state of New Jersey forbids topless dancing in any establishment that serves alcohol. Indeed, a liquor-serving club called the Moulin Rouge in Atlantic City recently got prosecuted for employing lap dancers, even though they wore bikini tops and bottoms, based on broad language in the state regulation banning any "lewdness or immoral activity" anyplace they serve liquor. Since the Bing's dancers are topless and perform lap dances while the taps flow freely at the bar, Tony's strip club is in pretty flagrant violation of New Jersey state law, and has been for many years now. Is acknowledging New Jersey's topless ban one concession to reality that Sopranos creator David Chase refuses to make? Or has Chase set a trap in plain sight for Tony's demise? I doubt anybody ever does hard time for violating New Jersey's topless ban, but a slap on the wrist to Tony might serve as a passable concluding irony to the narrative.
Whoops. There I go violating my Karenina rule again.
I think you're both big chickens for refusing to embrace my offer to play Bush-Soprano Mix 'n Match. Bwah bwah bwah bwah! (I'm flapping my elbows at you as I write this.) Brian at least has a good excuse—he's anchorman of the evening news, and would probably cause an international incident if he spoke out loud what I know must be on his mind, which is that Queen Elizabeth fairly begs to be matched with Svetlana, Livia Soprano's one-legged Russian nurse, whose prosthesis Janice stole when Svetlana wouldn't give Janice Livia's record collection, which Livia bequeathed to Svetlana fair and square, prompting Svetlana to ask two friends in the Russian mob to break Janice's ribs. It's been a while since I read The Guns of August, but isn't this how the queen's grandfather, George V, got mixed up in the Great War? Svetlana had a way of flicking the ash off her cigarette that could only be described as regal.
Anyway, Brian gets a bye because he's an anchorman, and because he's our guest. But Jeff. Paisan. As Michael Corleone would say: You disappoint me.
I know no journalist with greater courage than you. You have risked your life more than once reporting on wiseguys and terrorists. (Reader, if you have not done so, run to a bookstore this instant and purchase Prisoners: A Muslim and a Jew Across the Muslim Divide, which I declared in Slate "the most riveting read" of 2006.) But when I ask you to match a Bushie to a Soprano, you hem and haw and dig your toe into the ground and finally give me … Norman Mineta? (No, he isn't secretary of transportation anymore. That seat is now being warmed by someone called Mary E. Peters.) Gen. David Petraeus, now halfway across the world trying to get some results out of the president's ill-considered surge in Iraq, is far too admirable a figure to have any fun with. Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid isn't bad as Artie Bucco, but our readers should know that it's been open season on Reid ever since David Broder, the very solemn dean of the Washington press corps, declared Reid "the Democrats' Gonzales" in an April 26 column. Pick on someone your own size!
Embattled World Bank President Paul Wolfowitz as Hesh is bolder but not particularly apt. I'm thinking Wolfowitz is Tony Blundetto, because they're both tragic recidivists. Or maybe Wolfowitz is Feech LaManna, the over-the-hill capo played by Robert Loggia who re-emerged after 20 years in the slammer. Tony gave Feech the big boys' poker game to run but warned him not to step on any toes. "Me?" Feech said. "I'm Fred Astaire." He wasn't, and Tony got rid of him by duping him into violating his parole. I like this theory, but it gives President Bush way too much credit.
Till Next Week,
Tim
Is Hasan a Terrorist? And Other Great Stories From Slate This Week.
How Sarah Palin Is Dividing the Republican Party
Can We Apply the Lessons of Y2K to Swine Flu?
They Made a Movie About the Wrong Aviatrix
Jamie Foxx's New Single Is Extremely Lewd
The Week's Best Editorial Cartoons
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
(To reply, click here.)
(6/9)