Tearing yourself away from a show you once loved is a lot like breaking things off with a girl you dated for about six months. It’s tough at first—we had some good times and those nights are going to be empty—but it’s eventually going to prove to be for the best.
Case in point: The Sopranos.
For years, I had watched the episodes, bought the DVDs, fantasized about Meadow and Adriana having a lesbian affair, defended the show when those pedantic Italian-Americans complained it was bad for our people, and even bought tickets to see Dom Chianese sing at a venue in New York. I wasn’t the number one fan (I never bought a Bada Bing shot glass or t-shirt from Spencer Toy and Gift), but I was at least in the 90th percentile. I loved the show. I understood the show. And I didn’t want to live without the show.
And then it started to slowly fall apart.
David Chase played with us on a yearly basis in a manner in which only Roger Clemens could appreciate. One year, he was ending it after four seasons. The next, it was mayyyyybe five. Then it was six. Don’t get me wrong—I’d be hard-pressed to turn down the pile of money HBO was handing me, too. But the show was just jerking me around, and after Carmella and Rosalie took a ridiculous trip to Paris, something happened, and it wasn’t good:
I skipped my first two episodes of the show. Ever.
It just wasn’t doing it for me anymore. I wasn’t looking for someone to get killed, for some violence, or even for some… I don’t know… plot exposition. I was just looking for something more than a stalled plot featuring two women in Paris, and a myriad of possible “signs” and “parallels” and “metaphors” sprinkled throughout. If a plot revolves around two women spending time together on this show, they should be strippers. And at the end of the 55 minutes, when the stock Oldies song ushers in the credits, they should both be dead. Or naked. Or both. But they should not be standing around looking at old buildings and riding mopeds with squirmy Parisians.
And this wasn’t even near the top of things that destroyed the show that was once so good. It was just the breaking point. Any one of these could easily tie for first:
—bringing in and then quickly disposing of Richie Aprile, Ralph Cifaretto, Tony Blundetto, Jackie Aprile, Jr., and Feech LaManna. If the five were still alive (or, in LaManna’s case, unincarcerated) in this final half-season, the show would be infinitely more interesting, and would have plenty more layers. Instead, Chase brought them in, had them cause a little trouble, and then marched them back out. In their place, we have Carmella and her spec house.
—the entire Johnnycakes arc was all well and good, but was it necessary to drag it out for the entire season? Did we really need 60% of episodes dedicated to the developing love between a gangster and the idiot who loved him and actually thought he was an author?
—AJ Soprano is still on the show. The kid is the biggest wet towel on TV. Even if Chase is trying to show him as clueless and wholly disinterested in his father’s lifestyle, he’s still a boring character who hasn’t grown or changed from the first episode. He’s also a strange casting choice from the normally dead-on Chase; Iler doesn’t even look 1/8 Italian.
But none of this has anything to do with the premiere episode of this post-hiatus season.
I wanted to like it; I had waited long enough for it to air, and felt we all deserved something fun and action-packed. The episode even had a lot of elements that I have come to love: Bobby had a big role, Phil Leotardo was pissed off about something, and Meadow is single again. They even gave a nod to Upstate New York and the Canadian border, which is always a good time. But it dragged. And dragged. We were spared the Tony-Melfi dynamic, but had to sit through more Carmella talking about random things, and unsettling scenes of AJ inexplicably having sex with a very hot and seemingly street-smart girl, and then throwing a pool party that brought new meaning to“non-sequitor.”
But the critics loved it. New York papers gave it four stars. Entertainment Weekly gave it an “A,” and even Alex here seemed to like it.
But why?
We’ve been waiting months for this episode, and the best they could come up with was a gun charge, a visit to the lake, and Bobby popping his murder cherry? I was more excited to find out what Turtle had done to Vince’s boat than what happens next week on The Sopranos. And this is not the way things should be.
The Sopranos didn’t jump the shark. They slowly crawled over it and then went back and forth a few more times. Everyone interesting has either been killed, committed, or is addicted to heroin. Episodes screech to a halt as we learn more psychological terms for what Livia did to her kids. AJ is one of the only characters in the history of television to be on a show for eight years and remain totally static and flat. And the most interesting dynamic of the show—the only dynamic really left, when you think about it—is put on hold as Phil Leotardo waits in Brooklyn for Tony to get back from the lake.
The silver lining to all of this? That those sharing this view have very low expectations for this second episode. The pessimist’s view? That by the third episode, we just won’t care anymore. I’ll stay tuned just out of respect for the first three seasons, which were amusing, darkly funny, and action-packed. But if this show deigns to go down a drawn-out, boring road as it nears the end, I will forever damn David Chase for not pulling the plug after season four.
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Have you ever eaten a large cheese pizza? All by yourself? I have…and I have done it more than once.
