I was a teenager in New Jersey when The Sopranos revolutionized television drama during its original run. I didn’t fully grasp the intricacies of what I was watching – that would come later – but there was something relatable beyond the adjacency of the setting. Most of the show’s main characters were of my parents’ generation rather than my own, but their children, Meadow and A.J., embodied many of the seeming contradictions Millennials faced: well-provided for yet ill-prepared to deal with the world, pushed to avoid repeating the mistakes made by their parents yet resented for not being more like those parents, offered both possibilities and a relentless pressure to fulfill them.
Since the
last episode aired in 2007, The Sopranos has been analyzed, dissected,
lauded, scorned, queried, referenced, revered, parodied, and dismissed more
times than I care to count. As influential as it has been, that much is to be
expected. Less anticipated, however, has been its renaissance. It has been a
streaming favorite amid the pandemic, particularly – and perplexingly – among those
too young to have seen it the first time it aired. Then again, given how well
Tony’s “I’m getting the feeling that I came in at the end” speaks to contemporary
concerns, perhaps that is not perplexing after all.
Amid this resurgence,
several cast members launched podcasts, several books were written and released,
and the seeming mirage of a prequel movie actually became a reality. These
media run the gamut from the virtuosity of Uncle Junior belting out “Core ‘ngrato”
to the ineptitude of Vito’s attempt at honest carpentry, but even at their
lowest points, they are at least fascinations for Sopranos fans.
The Many
Saints of Newark
In 1967, New
Jersey mob soldier Richard “Dickie” Moltisanti (Alessandro Nivola) serves as a
mentor to his young nephew, Tony Soprano (William Ludwig), especially after
Tony’s father Johnny (Jon Bernthal) is sent to prison. Four years later, Johnny
is released, Dickie and Joanne are parents to a young son, Christopher, and
Tony (Michael Gandolfini) is an intelligent but trouble-prone teen concerned
about his depressed mother Livia (Vera Farmiga). Meanwhile, Harold (Leslie Odom
Jr.), one of Dickie’s former number runners, has come back to form a Black
syndicate to wrest control from the Italians. While Dickie’s uncle Sally (Ray
Liotta) encourages him to stay out of Tony’s life to avoid corrupting him, it
may be too late for either of them.
Ever since
the cut-to-black ending of The Sopranos final scene, demand has run high
for some kind of follow-up. Series creator David Chase’s reluctance and series
star James Gandolfini’s 2013 death made a continuation impossible, but it didn’t
preclude a prequel. To a certain extent, The Many Saints of Newark
delivers, showing younger versions of many of the series regulars and at least
hinting at what led them to where they are when we first met them in 1998. But
amid the copious amounts of fan service lurks another, arguably more
interesting movie that looks at the 1967 Newark riots and their impact on the
status quo via the lens of organized crime. The extent to which these two aims
interrupt rather than complement one another speaks to an identity crisis that
keeps The Many Saints from reaching its full potential though there are
still moments in which it shines.
If nothing
else, The Many Saints excels as a period piece, capturing the 1960s and
1970s with Scorsese-like detail. Chase (who co-wrote with Larry Konner while
Alan Taylor directed) has always been something of an obsessive music fan, and
it shows here. While his selections fit the mood (or, in one case, hilariously
and darkly subvert it), they are so omnipresent during the film’s first half
hour or so that The Many Saints plays like an awkward musical. This,
coupled with some questionable writing, lends credence to the idea that Chase’s
biggest creative contributions to The Sopranos were as a big-picture
conceptualist while a lot of the episode-to-episode brilliance came from the
likes of Terence Winter and others. At the very least, Taylor’s direction is
sharp and assertive. This is a stylishly violent movie though not (again, save
for the case previously alluded to) cartoonishly so.
Even with
the dedication to fan service as something of an impediment, some of the cast
members do an excellent job. Nivola has the luxury of playing someone long dead
when the series began, and so he has more freedom to define who Dickie
Molitisanti was. We see in him many shades of Christopher, a series regular
(who narrates the film from beyond the grave – a cheap gimmick that Michael
Imperioli nevertheless salvages). Dickie is violent and jealous and impulsive
but also aware that there is more to life than being a wiseguy and is driven to
achieve it. Harold, who morphs from ally to enemy, is in many ways his mirror
image: a criminal who experiences a social awakening of sorts and decides to
take his shot. Given the paucity of Black characters in the original series, his
deuteragonist role (until that spot is usurped by Tony) is a welcome addition.
Among
those in the “younger versions of established characters” camp, Farmiga and
Corey Stoll (Tony’s conniving Uncle Junior) had some of the biggest shoes to
fill (Nancy Marchand and Dominic Chianese, respectively) yet did some of the
best work here. Farmiga’s Livia is still brimming with toxic negativity, yet she
is not the monster she will become by the time of Marchand’s portrayal. Farmiga
humanizes her enough to offer some semblance of hope for redemption even though
we know it is not meant to be. For his part, Stoll nails Junior’s pettiness,
irritiablity, and sense of his own importance as well as his look and
mannerisms. It’s a shame that a character with some of the best dialogue in the
original series is reduced to a series of catchphrases (even if the infamous “varsity
athlete” line was laugh out loud funny), but that’s no fault of the actor.
Of course,
Michael Gandolfini taking over for his late father had arguably the biggest
shoes to fill of all, but to everyone’s collective relief, Tony isn’t the main
character here. Gandolfini the younger did a commendable job embodying younger
Tony even if he’s slightly too old for the role. Then again, this is far from
the movie’s only transgression against the established timeline. In the
original series, Silvio Dante (Steven Van Zandt), Tony’s longtime friend and
consiglieri, is implied to be a peer no more than a few years older. Here, the
1960s/70s version is played by a 30-something John Magaro with a combover, and
he calls Tony “kid.” That Magaro is doing a caricature of a mobster caricature
doesn’t help matters. Liotta very nearly falls into this category of
distractingly bad as well. As Dickie’s abusive jerk of a father, Aldo, he’s
one-note detestable, turning in a lazy performance full of superficial bluster.
But then he also plays Sally, who is both quirkier (he’s a Miles Davis fan) and
more contemplative, showing that maybe Liotta wasn’t just going through the
motions for a paycheck after all.
The
Many Saints of Newark
ends in a way that brings everything full circle while still leaving questions
unanswered. Chase, ever the pessimist, shows children fighting to avoid becoming
their parents and failing, and that, coupled with the change in setting and exploration,
however brief, of social context, lends at least some substance to what is
otherwise an awkwardly nostalgia-heavy affair. Fans of the series will likely
find The Many Saints worse than the weakest of the show’s episodes, and yet, as
a side story/supplement, it’s oddly indispensable.
Talking
Sopranos
One of
several Sopranos podcasts to emerge during the past few years, Talking
Sopranos is hosted by series regulars Michael Imperioli and Steve Schirripa,
who interview crew, fellow cast members, and others while providing recaps of
every episode.
At the
heart of Talking Sopranos is a great joke albeit one that wears thin quickly:
Michael and Steve are the complete opposites of their characters…and each
other. While Christopher Moltisanti was an impulsively violent failed writer
frustrated about his place in the world, Imperioli is an accomplished writer
and actor with an intellectual’s low-key bearing. And while Bobby Baccala was
the sensitive butt of many jokes (at least until his latter-season rank up), Schirripa
is the quintessential abrasive New York loudmouth. The two needle each other
endlessly, which is amusing to a point, but they (or, more accurately, Steve)
have an annoying tendency to lose the thread. For every insightful and amusing
guest interview, there are those marred by rote questions and unwarranted
interruptions. The episode analysis fares no better, often spiraling into
pointless segues. Admittedly, some of the show biz anecdotes shared are gold,
but even at their best, they stretch out each episode’s run time to a
frustrating degree.
I have
invested enough time in Talking Sopranos to see it through to the end, and
for the patient, it does offer occasional rewards, but you should think twice
before taking the plunge.
Off The
Back of a Truck: Unofficial Contraband for the Sopranos Fan
While
other Sopranos books focus their energies on episode analysis and
behind-the-scenes trivia, Nick Braccia’s 2020 offering carves out a unique
niche by trafficking in Sopranos-adjacent lore. It discusses the cultural
context (crimes, food, music, and fashion) that informed the show as well as
its big and small screen antecedents (I credit it for getting me interested in
the first season of Wiseguy) while also exploring The Sopranos’s subsequent
impact. There are favorite episode run-downs here too, as well as series death
rankings, and while some of the picks are debatable, even the worst is more
thoughtful and informed than the typical vapid top-ten clickbait cluttering the
Internet. Some Sopranos fans may find the amount of “side content” distracting
and tedious, but for those who have already heard the behind-the-scenes
stories, it is precisely this unique focus that gives Off the Back of a Truck
value. Credit Braccia for going where other books won’t.
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