Lead Soprano sings no more

In the midst of death, we are in life… or is it the other way around? — Paulie Walnuts, The Sopranos, “Made in America”

The last episode of The Sopranos aired on June 10, 2007, and it was a controversial one: it left people hanging.

For those who have been waiting since then for the New Jersey crime crew to return in the form of a movie or new series, it was sad to hear of lead Soprano James Gandolfini dying suddenly of an apparent heart attack in Italy, age 51.

No more cigars. No more Bada Bing. No more mortadella sandwiches at Satriale’s. No more Soprano crew, in fact.

By that final David Chase-penned and -directed episode, “Made in America,” most of the Soprano crew had been effectively wiped out, the result of an escalating war with Phil Leotardo, the New York crime boss with silver hair and an eagle’s stare.

Viewers were left in stunned disbelief by the last Sopranos episode, which simply cut to black inside a Jersey diner, the rousing Journey song Don’t Stop Believing cut off mid-chorus. You were left to draw your own conclusions: Tony lives to lead another day, or he meets his maker — the Russians? Phil’s remaining men? — in the midst of a warm sitdown with his family.

I had to revisit that episode, just to pick up on any hidden clues. What I rediscovered is what I already knew: The Sopranos was one of the best shows ever on television, with some of the best writing, best directing, and best acting to be found on either the big or small screen. And Gandolfini was the kingpin of them all, holding the show together for six seasons.

Yet the finale is not really Gandolfini’s, so much as it is an ensemble piece: a lot of characters get a spotlight. Paulie — so often a thorn in Tony’s side — gets a reluctant bump up. Silvio is shown lying in a hospital bed; he may or may not recover. Carmela and Tony come to terms with Meadow’s decision to become a lawyer instead of a doctor, as they’d always hoped. Tony visits his Uncle Junior in a rest home; now senile, he can’t even remember his high position in the family business (“I was involved with that?”). Tony has to let him alone with his mental cobwebs and his birds.

The episode tracks Tony making his rounds, putting out fires, looking for clues to Phil’s whereabouts. Tony’s kids are going their separate ways: daughter Meadow into her law studies, son AJ into a possible future developing movie scripts. AJ, in typical dumbo fashion, parks his SUV on dry leaves: it explodes, just as he’s getting his girlfriend’s bra off. FBI Agent Harris, working with Homeland Security, gives Tony a tip: Phil has been using a payphone at a local gas station. (When Phil’s death is later reported to him, Harris can’t help perking up: “I think we’re gonna win this thing!”)

The song running through the episode is Vanilla Fudge’s heavy ‘60s version of You Keep Me Hangin’ On (appropriate, given the ambiguous ending of the series). The relentless keyboard-and-guitar riff tracks Tony as he SUVs around town, looking under every rock for Leotardo; and it accompanies a later scene in which an SUV left in “Drive” rolls over the just-whacked Phil’s head. (Clearly, SUVs are weapons of mass destruction in The Sopranos.)

The episode concludes at Holstein’s, a favorite Jersey steakhouse, as Tony’s family gathers together from their various rounds. The scene bookends nicely with the very first episode of Season 1, in which Tony looks on fondly as a family of ducks makes a home of his swimming pool; by the final episode, Tony is gathering his own flock near him, and they finally seem like a cohesive unit. Tony plays the Journey song on the table’s jukebox, yet his eyes constantly flicker up to the door; Carmela arrives and sits, asks about a possible upcoming FBI trial; AJ walks in and orders onion rings. Tony looks up from the table whenever the bell on the front door dingles; meanwhile, Meadow nervously attempts to parallel park outside.

“Focus on the good times,” AJ remarks, when told he has to start at the bottom in the film business. Tony thinks his son’s being sarcastic, but AJ reminds him it’s something that Tony once told him.

“I did?” Tony says, and the look on Gandolfini’s face is pensive and reflective.

Despite the air of normalcy, Chase’s camera focuses on random customers, to keep viewers on edge: a moody guy sits at the counter alone; a couple of African-Americans come in and scope the deli counter. The moody guy heads to the men’s room (shades of Michael Corleone in Godfather I); the only reference to the episode’s title is a middle-aged dude reading a newspaper at a booth: his cap reads “U.S.A.”

Despite all the turmoil in this crime family’s story, over seven years and six seasons, you have to believe series creator Chase sees the glass as half full. You can’t stop believing, just as viewers like to believe that Tony Soprano, despite the harm he’s inflicted on others, is also a good guy, deep down, someone who looked out for others. By all accounts, Gandolfini was also a good guy (one story comes back to me: how the star reportedly demanded a much higher salary from HBO to return for a sixth season of The Sopranos, and how he then split that increase with members of the cast and crew. A big heart, as they say.)

The final shot is a close-up of Tony looking up as the bell dings one last time: Is it Meadow, who was seen in the previous shot about to enter the restaurant? Is it the final bullet that Tony has long avoided and half-expected? His face looks surprised, frozen there for TV viewers forever, and as the credits roll across a silent screen, it’s a fitting final image of Gandolfini, one as fitting as any Chase could have thought up in tribute.