The New Yorker’s David Remnick on The Sopranos
Above is an issue of The New Yorker that came in early June 2007, around when “The Sopranos” was about to end. I remember when the issue came out, there was buzz about a piece inside that focused on the show. But I avoided reading it, wanting to wait until I had finished the show. Today, over four years later, I finally read it.
It’s embarrassing, really. I’d been stuck on starting up the second half of the sixth season of ”The Sopranos” since before anyone knew that Tina Fey could do a killer Sarah Palin. As the series was coming to an end, I was catching up on DVD, about a season behind. But I stopped for some reason, just as I was about to hit the home stretch. I have no idea why I waited this long, why I put myself through having to “lalala” my way through other people talking about the ending, or quickly clicking away from a feature about the show. Eventually I think I gave up. But that’s a whole other rabbit hole to go down.
For whatever reason, I got started again recently. And I’m glad I did. All it took was the first few images in that opening title sequence to go by and I remembered how much I loved “The Sopranos.” Now I only have two more episodes to go. This close to the end, I figured it was safe to finally crack open that issue. In it is this comment by David Remnick, which I think does a great job of encapsulating the show. It’s not the 10-page profile that I had built up in my mind over these years, but it’s a concise, well-composed love letter… one that I feel I have to share.
In the pilot episode of “The Sopranos,” which Home Box Office first aired on January 10, 1999, a thickening son of Essex County, New Jersey, reluctantly visits Jennifer Melfi, a psychiatrist, at her office in Montclair. His name is Anthony Soprano and he has been depressed.
Tony lives in a “French provincial” McMansion in North Caldwell with his wife, Carmela, and their children, Meadow and A.J. He works as a “waste-management consultant,” as he all too modestly informs his doctor; in fact, his interests extend to the docks, “no show” construction jobs, paving and joint-fitting unions, an “executive card game,” a sports book in Roseville, loan-sharking, coffee-shop and pizza-place protection rackets, truck hijacking, HUD scams, fell-off-the-back-of-a-truck consumer goods, a strip club in Lodi, and extensive holdings in real estate, vinegar peppers, and gabagool.
The New Yorker has the rest of the comment posted online.
