I have heard this refrain countless times since Sunday night’s limpid Sopranos’ finale, but I said it first so I’m holding onto it.

As someone who has spent wayyyy too much of his 20’s watching, following, speculating on and obsessing over “The Sopranos”, my first reaction after seeing the screen go blank and silent was that the fans (especially this fan) deserved more.

David Chase, the creator of “The Sopranos” has said in interviews that he doesn’t feel that art should give answers to people. Instead, it should raise questions and let us come to our own conclusions. While I believe in giving the viewer or listener room to think in music, television, film, art etc., I find this to be somewhat of a cop-out when faced with the question of “The Finale”.

It’s incumbent upon the people who created this show, and who shaped the characters and devised the plots, to resolve for us the fate of its main character. Simply leaving it to interpretation is not giving credit to the audience, it’s an insult. Make a decision, any decision about what happens to Tony and stick with it.

To me, the blank screen smacked of David Chase not trusting himself, flinching at the most important of moments. To leave room open for more episodes or a movie is further insult. We were told countless times that the show was through, that they had said everything that was going to be said.

In the end, though, while I’m angry about the non-ending, I’m grateful for the show, which while flawed, was infinitely more entertaining and compelling than 99.9% of what’s on television. The final nine episode go-around was a valiant final statement. And despite my friend Busco’s arguments on this site, I’m happy that Phil, the world’s most passive-aggressive mob boss got what he so richly deserved.

But in the end, the show, and the fans deserved much more than a blank screen.

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I was sort of a late-comer to The Sopranos; I didn’t really start watching until the second season. I couldn’t really see how yet another movie or series about the mob could possibly breathe new air into this long-since decapitated horse’s mouth. Oooo fancy suits, naked women and manicotti-stuffed men getting capped in the ass. How new.

I can still remember my first episode, when Janice killed Richie Aprile, unraveling the themes of family and Family. Then I understood the magic of The Sopranos - it worked at the sore joints of mobster cliches making them work and introduced the undercurrents of patriarchy, power, violence, privilege and mothers, in new and even daringly comical ways. You didn’t have to be Italian to relate to these characters. Only now we saw all these in a new light, with new, much more dramatic consequences. And it was funny. Christopher’s intervention in Season 4 (my favorite season, actually) or Paulie Walnuts saying, “He jumped out of the tree and then came at me with the chainsaw!”.

I both agree and disagree—with fervor—with aspects of what John Busco and Alex Simon wrote this week. But I can’t help loving the read. I’m sure you will, too. And that’s part of the initial draw of The Sopranos—like it or not, it does its thing (or did, depending on your take) with verve.

After years of watching this quintessential Jersey series, it is now, finally, coming to an end. For some of us, the finale is bitter sweet closure, while others can’t wait to piss on its grave. So, as a tribute, GoOutJersey’s Take The Cannoli Column will appear on Fridays, giving just enough time to have had a thousand debates over last Sunday’s episode as we gear up for the next and eventually last one.

But enough from me. Read John Busco’s charged rant, A Nail In The Coffin and Alex Simon’s more hopeful farewell, Just A Little More Sopranos, Please.

And then tell us —are you glad to see it go, or wishing it would last forever?

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I approached this last mini-season of The Sopranos with some trepidation, I must admit. The sixth season (of which this mini-season is technically an extension), disappointed me to no end (which John Busco would agree with). I even found myself changing the channel during the finale; I was that certain that I wouldn’t see anything worthy of holding onto during the seemingly endless wait between seasons that Sopranos fans have learned to endure. As the press buzz regarding the show’s end gained momentum, I remained steadfast in my ambivalence. I declared to friends and family alike that I would no longer be an “appointment viewer” of the show. Nevertheless, as 9pm on Sunday rolled around, I felt compelled to take a peek.

What I found was what had drawn me to the show as a college student in the first place. It was not perfect television, and yes, a soap opera about a mafia family is not the most contemporary forum for modern day angst, but it was still better and more intelligently written and directed than almost anything else out there. Over the years, the show has suffered greatly from the writer’s belief in their own hype, and from momentum lost by the outrageously long layovers between seasons. And while it will never regain the glory of seasons 1-3, The Sopranos, even in it’s dark days, had a unique and fascinating take on relationships, family, violence and power.

So it was, with all of this in mind, that I was pleasantly surprised by the first episode of this last go-round. The show, which centered around Tony and Carmela’s celebration of his 47th birthday at the summer house of in-laws Bobby and Janice, was a return to what connected it to the audience in the first place. The pain and sensitivity of family and relationships, in this case the blistering sibling rivalry and resentment between Tony and Janice, spilled over into a fistfight of all things, between Bobby and Tony, the man to whom Bobby swears his allegiance, and to whose wrath he fears above all else.

As the events at the lake house unfolded, we were filled with dread. The themes of the show: family pain, loyalty, and Tony’s coming to grips with his age and physical limitations, are ones that don’t need the backdrop of organized crime to resonate with people. That’s what extended the show’s reach far beyond hard core mob movie fans and pushed The Sopranos to its legendary status.

So while I’m not yet ready to fully jump back on the bandwagon, I was happy that I was able to watch an episode that reminded me why I began watching The Sopranos so many years ago. And now I’m actually excited for the final eight episodes.

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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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