“Made in America” was the 86th and final episode of the HBO original series The Sopranos. Uncross your hands and say amen; it is the end of an era. Before HBO and Sopranos, TV was shit and we did not know better. We used to watch Baywatch and Beverly Hills 90210 and not feel one bit ashamed of it. Sick. Let us pray that we won’t have to stoop so low again.
At the moment, the little screen [50″, hrm] has never had it so good, and we owe it all to the New Jersey mafia family. Suddenly, you didn’t have to go to the cinema to see cinematography. Without Sopranos there would never have been, among so many more, Entourage, Sex And The City, Rome, et cetera ad infinitum. The mere thought of a non-Sopranos world is simply too painful to imagine.
Obviously, reality TV is a huge threat to quality – quality in every possible sense, from script to lights, camera, action – I can only hope that most of us will vote with the remote.
I Like Ike! Vote With The Remote!
Anyhoo, as one of the few who had the superpower-esque patience to wait for the last episode to come on TV instead of downloading it from the net meant that I only watched it yesterday. Somehow, I felt that it was the proper thing to do [rich words, I know], although, it has to be admitted, I was on the very verge of giving in to temptation last week, when the towering inferno that was the next-to-last episode aired. Indeed, it was the longest seven days…
Then, for the 86th and final time, the magnificent opening anthem by Alabama 3 rang…
You woke up this morning
got yourself a gun
Mama always said you’d be
The Chosen One…
Hubba. The song never fails to instill acute anticipation. It was on, game on, for there was lots to do in little time – one very short hour. I was thirsty for blood, I was hungry for violence. Phil Leotardo, the fucking cunt with only half a forehead, man, couldn’t we all wait to see somebody pop his angry ass?!
Sadly, I was also sure Tony Soprano would finally meet his maker – killers usually die – call it television moral. HBO, bless their gutsy souls, did not take the easy way out.
Mixed feelings stirred inside my blender of a brain as the episode went black and the credits started running. Was this it? The next-to-last episode would have made a grander exit to the series, was my first impression. However, having had a night to mull, I can see the beauty of “Made In America.”
Leotardo bites it, thankfully, but the final episode is all about the last scene, where the Sopranos family gather for dinner at a diner. The end is left wide open; clues to what might have happened next go in all directions. One could not miss the Godfather suggestions. Was Tony going to get hit? Prosecuted? Prosper? In retrospect, I guess I was rather infuriated when they cut the scene in the middle, but my teeth were gnashing from love. I was bidding my farewells to one of the finest stories ever created, and I just did not want it to leave me.
Now what do we do? Cry. After that, we can always go out and buy The Sopranos Family Cook-Book. My little brother already did; I intend to borrow/steal, and make nothing but Italian food for the rest of my life.
One more paragraph; at the beginning of the final scene in the diner, Tony Soprano flips through the jukebox, chooses a band. It is Journey – Don’t Stop Believing, and it is the BEST BLOODY SONG I know at the moment. For emotional kicks, listen to it when you read this post. I know I listen to it [on repeat] as I write this post.
Oh, the goose and its bumps; I fall to my knees and hoist both hands high in the air. Armed with two lighters, I flick, they burn.
Live forever, Tony Soprano.