The Best Onion Rings in North Jersey:The Sopranos' cut to black, and why it works

Gotcha.

Imagine David Chase on the balcony of a Manhattan highrise, cigar drooping from one side of his mouth, glass of brandy cradled gently in one hand, surveying the New York skyline. He checks his watch, it’s three minutes until 10. It won’t be long now.
He takes a drag from his cigar and waits. Below him the city begins to murmur, a million sharp bangs on a million television sets, a million fingers desperately dialing cable companies. And then, in unison:

‘What the FUCK?!!!’

You win, David. We all expected holy retribution to come raining down on the no-longer-sympathetic Tony Soprano. All question of whether or not Tony deserved punishment, six seasons of wondering if there was anything worth saving inside that homicidal teddy bear, any hope of redemption for Tony died with Christopher.

As he stood in the cold, cutting off his nephew’s (cousin, whatever) air passages, we saw at long last the real Tony Soprano. The one that Carmela and the family, that Sylvio and the boys, that the ineffectual Dr. Melfi never see. The man who killed Chris was heartless and calculating, not so much cruel as dead and hollow inside. In short, the man we finally saw in that brief moment was Livia Soprano’s son. ‘You won’t pass a drug test? Well ‘poor YOU.’

Remember Livia? She’s been gone for well over half the length of the series, but she lingers on in the words and actions of her children. Consider Janice sitting n her chair in the late Johnny Sac’s old house quipping to her brother, ‘Guess I’ve got to snag me a new husband now.’ She tells Tony ‘You’re the only one who would know I’m kidding.’ But she’s not kidding, and in fact, Tony is the only who knows how very serious she is. Bobby’s death is just another inconvenience to Janice, there is none of the harrowing sorrow and passionate sense of loss that she showed all those years ago when Richie put a fist in her face and she put a bullet in his chest. Witness her coldness to Bobby’s kids, ‘Your father just died? Well poor YOU.’

And so we return to David Chase up there on his fictional balcony, snuffing out his brilliant creation as swiftly and coldly as Tony killing Chris, with as little warning as Janice whacking Richie at the dinner table.

‘You didn’t get the bloodbath you wanted? Well poor YOU.’

What we did get was a brilliant episode, and any grumbling about the ending, which cuts to dead black silence (I kept thinking of the Beatles’ “She’s so Heavy”), is understandable. But, as we should remember, this is not a series that comes with any payoffs. ANY. Every time we expected a zig, Chase and company zagged, with the exception of season two’s Big Pussy whacking. Every other time, from Carmela’s flirtation with Furio to the sudden and gruesome dispatch of Ralphie at Tony’s bare hands, Chase and his crew run the show more in line with the random hum of daily existence than the intricate patterns of modern drama.

So at series end we are left with a Tony who has no real enemies left, sitting in front of Satriale’s alone with Paulie, and we can only think back to the other Satriale’s scenes in seasons past, when the tables were filled with characters, with Tony’s friends, now long gone. Perhaps those tables are soon to be filled with AJ and his friends? All of the iconic ‘Tony’ moments in the episode belong instead to his son, chatting with the leggy psychiatrist and shuffling down to breakfast in robe, wife beater, and gold chain. And witness AJ’s reaction to the destruction of his SUV: this is a kid reborn to the possibilities of destruction.

These are characters, no, these are people whose actions are entirely dictated by their sense of fear. Basic, primal fight or flight response is what drives everyone on the show, especially Tony (witness the end of Season Five, stumbling through the snow to evade the feds, grunting like the bear that haunted the Soprano’s backyard all season long). That fear is at the root of the series, most vividly in Tony’s depression and panic attacks. And finally, at the end of the series, instead of a brutal gangland payoff, David Chase takes us into the heart of that fear.

Tony arrives at a restaurant unfamiliar to us. These are not the friendly (if just a bit icy) confines of Artie Bucco’s place. Tony flips through a jukebox on the table, and selects Journey. “Don’t Stop Believing” fills the air, and the door opens. We focus first on a trucker, whose hat reads USA. Behind him is Carmela, who joins Tony. The song plays on, singing of hope and faith, but the scene is uneasy. We are trained and loyal Sopranos viewers, we know this is merely the calm before the storm. And we see the trucker again.

The door opens, Tony’s focus comes to it again. A dark man in a Member’s Only jacket comes in, and stares at Tony with seeming purpose. Behind him is AJ, who joins his parents. The camera comes back to the dark man, who could be any one of the faceless soldiers we’ve seen on this show since the beginning. Faceless like the guy who took down Phil Leotardo in bloody (and, ok, hilarious) fashion just minutes before. Outside, Meadow is attempting to parallel park her car. Mentally, the viewer is doing the math: will the entire family be taken down? Or only Meadow, outside? Will she be safe, will any of them?

The tension is unbearable. There is small talk at the family’s table. The dark man goes to the bathroom. Our mind races to Godfather part one, to Michael Corleone and the gun in the stall. Outside, Meadow parks successfully and runs to greet her family. Tony is starting at the door again. Two black teenagers stand by the door, and Tony’s focus is on them as the door opens. We remember the black kids who tried to take out Tony in Season One.

A bell rings. Tony looks up.

BLACK.

What long time fan can watch the scene unfold and not look at each character and wonder if they are seeing them for the last time? And as much as each of them in their own way is weak, even disgusting, as each family member joins the table they carry with them years of collective memory: Here is Tony, crying in Melfi’s office over the family of ducks (‘Dat’s it. Dat’s the fuckin’ connection.’). Here is Carmela, screaming in blind fury at her husband, telling him he’s going to hell when he dies, tacitly accepting the evil that keeps her lifestyle lavish. Here’s fat little AJ at Jackie Aprile’s funeral, first realizing what kind of a man his father is. Here’s Meadow, through crystal meth and murdered boyfriends, somehow becoming a decent human being.

In those final seemingly random, empty moments, we are taken at long last into the head of Tony Soprano. We feel the fear that drives him, a fear that will always be a part of him. The black that lasts forever, the numbness that is always under the surface. The weight of the anxiety that has always been on Tony’s shoulders Chase has given to the viewer.

Tony Soprano, driven by his most primal instincts, is the most vividly written and acted character in the history of television. In his final moments on our screens, we are witness not to his death, or the death of the innocents that surround him, but instead are encompassed by the fear that will always be inside of him.

The ending is pitch perfect.

The Sopranos, Episode 6:21 “Made in America”: A

Matthew Guerrero