“I’m a good guy … basically.”
Amidst the boiling tension and gathering storm clouds that have permeated the final handful of episodes of one of the landmark shows in the history of television, Tony Soprano emerged from a frightening slide into an unavoidable destruction long enough to utter a statement that perfectly sums up the entire series. He has long blamed everyone but himself for his wrongdoings, seemingly trying to convince himself that he is doing everything in his power to live the right way. Yet the “basically” – interjected almost as an aside after a pregnant pause – gives him the leeway to recognize the truth that he is fatally flawed.
As the end quickly approaches, Tony is ultimately revealing himself to have few, if any, redeeming qualities, which is disturbing and problematic for the viewer because the entire core of the show is based around asking the audience to empathize with someone who is the definition of an unsympathetic figure. We have been asked to identify with and process our feelings for a brutal and fractured individual – and by extension, we are led to question what it is that lies within us that allows us to possess any positive justification surrounding Tony. It’s almost as if we are being called on the carpet for being able to feel anything but disgust for Tony, which is one of the reasons why the final season has become so uncomfortable and difficult to watch at times. Yet, despite all of that, why do we still have a painful sense of foreboding for Tony as we watch his undeniable downfall and all that he has created slowly slip away?
How can the same man fiercely protect his daughter’s sensibilities—but to the point where he pulls an “American History X” move on one of the henchmen of his biggest rival? How can the same man treat one of his captains, Christopher Moltisanti, like a son for his entire life, then coldly give up on him and kill him in the aftermath of a car accident? How can the same man stop his son’s suicide attempt and see so many of the same psychological problems within him, yet still berate and belittle him afterwards? How can the same man so painstakingly create a structured mob organization, yet possess no ability to halt or even limit the headstrong, impulsive actions that will give him short-term satisfaction while threatening everything in the long term? Yet even as we shake our heads at Tony’s self-destructive behavior, there is something attractive about his upholding of the “code” surrounding this culture. For every offense or misstep, there is an understood level of meted-out justice, a countermove aimed at forever keeping the balance between action and punishment. Seeing this code in black and white – even as Tony beats Coco within an inch of his life – is somehow welcoming, understated in its effectiveness, especially in a society where justice is so often unjust.
But we are also asked to consider what the impact is of living your life within a cocoon of violence. Does it lead to a separation between fantasy and reality? When Tony kills Christopher, it feels almost like a dream sequence, something that would jar Tony awoke in the comfort of his own bed. But it actually happened, creating a temporary distance between the action and the audience as we attempt to process what happened and all the ripples it will create, even as the show hurtles forward. We are given no time to feel shock or outrage … the show, like life, speeds on. Part of the denouement in these final episodes has been that many aspects of the action appear to be dream-like in context and nature, yet are actually taking place and severely impacting and affecting what comes next and decisions that loom down the road.
And what is the toll that this lifestyle takes on the family dynamic? A.J.’s aborted suicide attempt finally turns Carmela against Tony, possibly forever. Combine that with the part of Italian culture that leads Tony to be offended by and embarrassed by the failures of his eldest son and a scenario has been created where A.J.’s similarities to his father could ultimately bring down the family – and “the family.” These changes were reflected in the reality that most of this episode took place in therapists’ rooms; this undoubtedly could have been called “The Therapy Episode.” Increasingly, depression and the accompanying truth that we pay for what we do in one way or another are depicted almost as another character in the show. This idea is brought home when Dr. Melfi’s shrink suggests—citing “studies”—that talk therapy actually encourages and validates sociopaths, basically saying that Dr. Melfi’s treatment of Tony isn’t helping; that, it is, in fact, enhancing his violent tendencies while hastening his downfall. In a group session, A.J.—who has almost become humorous now, thanks to his complete absorption and adoption of social causes and sympathies—reveals that his grandmother, Tony’s mother, described life as “all a big nothing” to him as a child. She told A.J. that, ultimately, “you die in your own arms” … this from the woman who tried to have her own son killed. Is this proof that we have come full circle with this show as the end nears?
With just two episodes remaining, opposing boss Phil Leotardo looms, out of control, on a vengeful power trip that can only end very badly as he increasingly challenges Tony. For Tony, all the deaths are piling up at the edge of his conscience, figuratively like the asbestos waste dumped at the edge of the New Jersey marsh land as a result of a petty disagreement between him and Phil. Meanwhile, Carmela broods in silence, A.J. resides in a mental hospital under observation, Meadow pursues romance with the son of one of Tony’s captains, and his own crew, in many ways, is still reeling from the losses of Christopher, Vito Liberace and Furio. All of these variables lend to the stifling atmosphere, rife with violence, that lies just beneath the surface of everything, pervading every word and action in the show.
Despite all the outside influences and factors, the conclusion is still a personal one for Tony. He is frantically trying to derive some final meaning out of life, one that appeared to be within his grasp after he was shot, before slipping away. He tries peyote in the desert, searching for signs, wanting to believe that he saw something revealing on his trip. He wants so badly to prove his mother’s message wrong, to rid himself of the feeling of isolation that haunts his every step. For whom can he trust? Who can he turn over responsibility and authority to? Who will eventually take his place as head of the family? Every attempt to groom a successor is met with exasperation. Christopher, the heir apparent, was pulled in 20 different directions and dogged by drug abuse; brother-in-law Bobby Bacala is domesticated, without a killer instinct; Paulie Walnuts is basically a buffoon who doesn’t take anything seriously; his consigliere, Silvio Dante, is just a details man; and A.J. is pursued by his own demons, even if Tony wanted to involve him in “the life.” So Tony continues to scramble for answers, even as the observer recognizes that everything is crumbling down around him.
One of the final scenes of the last episode showed Tony in a session with Dr. Melfi, trying to articulate some truth he feels he’s unearthed. He said that mothers are just like bus drivers, and their children go wrong by spending their lives trying to get back on the bus after being dropped off—instead of just letting it go. It was a remarkably lucid thought for Tony; does it represent the clarity that he has sacrificed so much to pursue? As with everything else in “The Sopranos,” the answer is likely both yes and no.
Basically.
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