Sopranos Hit The Deepest Notes

The Age

Thursday September 13, 2007

Peter Matessi

WHAT is it about The Sopranos? Why is it that superlatives flow through the keyboards of critics and commentators as steadily as a gently-drawing Satriale's espresso?

For me, it's not the magnificent performances, the beautiful direction or memorable characters, though these things are important. The Sopranos is great because it taps into the fundamental conflict deep within its characters, then fuels it so every decision they make goes to the very essence of who they are.

The Sopranos is great, simply, because it pushes its characters as far as they can go.

"Sooner or later you're going to get beyond psychotherapy, with its cheesy moral relativism. You're going to get to good and evil. And he's evil." So says Dr Melfi's former husband of Tony, pinpointing Melfi's internal battle over the moral implications of being Tony's therapist.

Is she helping a man in dire need of psychiatric treatment become a better person? Or is she legitimising the violent criminal tendencies of a sociopath?

Dr Melfi was put to the test in the aftermath of one of the most vicious and confronting scenes The Sopranos ever put to screen: her rape. As she recovered and learned that her attacker had escaped charges, emotions unfamiliar to the normally unflappable Dr Melfi arose: anger, fear, vengeance. This gave us a glance deep inside Dr Melfi's character by putting her central internal conflict - good versus evil - into play.

She knew who her attacker was. She knew where he worked. And she knew Tony would "take care" of things, if only she could tell him. But she also knew that if she resorted to violent, illegal revenge, then evil would have its nose in front forever.

It was a compelling story not because of Dr Melfi's condition, but because of the internal battle it forced her to fight. That's what drama is all about.

Carmela's internal tension has never been as clear as good versus evil. For her, the battle was over Tony - stay or go. Does she remain in the life that is slowly destroying her? Or does she break her holy vows, neglect her duties, and follow her heart to a new, independent Carmela? This deep personal conflict was drawn out deliciously in season four through Carmela's growing infatuation with Furio, Tony's swarthy Sicilian driver.

In a masterpiece of direction and performance, an entire romance was played out for us in subtext. The tiniest of gestures - a stolen glance, Carmela fixing her hair before opening the door, Furio arriving five minutes early so they could share a cup of coffee - were so loaded that they were like thunderbolts into Carmela's deeply repressed world. Nothing ever happened of course, but it was never about the physical. It was about intimacy, about feeling special, about sharing a connection with a man who wasn't Tony.

In Carmela's mind, and in ours to a certain extent, it was the most romantic relationship of her life, and the loving attention she paid to the cappuccino machine Furio gave her told us more about the state of her and Tony's marriage than any of Tony's knee-tremblers with implausibly-breasted strippers ever did.

And to Tony. His dilemma is perhaps the clearest - one family or the other. Is he the compassionate but powerless family man? Or is he the powerful but cruel mob boss? Of course he wants both, and of course he can't have them.

The lead-up to the season two climax took Tony right to the heart of this. With the knowledge that his dear friend Pussy was informing to the FBI, Tony faced a choice: let his friend live, and compassion wins out, but power is relinquished. Kill him, and power is maintained, but at a dark, dark cost.

These moments, when characters are forced to make fundamental choices about who they are; these are the moments of great drama. They are also part of the emotional bonding process between a show and its audience.

When we've seen a character pushed as far as they can go, we've seen inside them in a way that only the very best drama can provide. And The Sopranos, for doing it over and over and over again, is right up there.

But for me it goes beyond that. For me, The Sopranos is special because back around season two, my brother and I, when the rest of the house had gone to bed, would pull our chairs close to the telly and watch in reverent silence, then exchange a bewildered look and head to bed in a daze.

It's special because I remember returning from work to find my housemate, bleary-eyed and having consumed an entire jar of Nutella, guiltily confessing that she hadn't gone to uni because she'd watched six straight episodes from my meticulously labelled collection. Would I watch the seventh with her?

It's special because from the very beginning, The Sopranos has been about family and friendship; an experience that I shared with those close to me over dinner or red wine or hot chocolate.

I don't know if I will ever have that sense of community with another show. And for that reason, more than any other, I will miss it terribly.

The Sopranos airs Tuesdays, 10.40pm on Nine.

© 2007 The Age

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