Twenty-five years ago today, a show with a seemingly absurd premise, the life and times of a depressed gangster, premiered on HBO. Little did we know that we were in for an unreal six-season ride with Tony Soprano, his family (mother Livia, wife Carmella and their children) and his Family (his Uncle Junior and his Mafia Associates). With a daft mix of dark humor, raw savagery, and Shakespearean and Machiavellian themes, The Sopranos ushered in the Golden Age of the troubled male protagonist (though it’s fair to say that Tony and his spiritual children Walter White, Don Draper, and Nucky Thompson are all antagonists as well).
What is it about Tony Soprano that made tuning in every week an irresistible endeavor for viewers? Was it the charm and humor he often displayed throughout the show? Or perhaps the allure of his wealth, power, and the admiration he garnered from his crew and associates? Yet, there seems to be something more profound at play. Tony stands as the epitome of the post-modern anti-hero—a ruthless, brutal, and criminally inclined sadist who stops at nothing to fulfill his financial, “business,” or hedonistic pursuits.
In essence, he is a monster, symbolizing the dark underbelly of organized crime. Tony personally bears responsibility for eight on-screen murders, including two family members and a close friend. A few hospital orderlies may be the only reason he did not add matricide to his list of crimes. “Irregardless”–to borrow a phrase from the show, week after week audiences found themselves cheering for, admiring, and even feeling sorry for this complex character. It raises questions about who the true depraved individuals are, especially for those of us navigating stereotypes in our own lives while paradoxically embracing them through the entertainment we consume.
The gangster figure has been ingrained in American pop culture since the early 20th century, evident in the enduring presence of Godfather references. While these stories captivate audiences, they also pose challenges, particularly in perpetuating stereotypes within the Italian American community. The dichotomy of denouncing such stereotypes while avidly consuming them in media creates a moral paradox.
The Sopranos, however, made it impossible for America to look away, blending a layer of pop culture elements with the established mafia motifs of Coppola and Scorsese, and combined with classical theatrical themes. The series left an indelible mark, permanently altering the television landscape while simultaneously leaving a similar mark on our consciousness. It’s the reason why people perk up when they hear the theme song at a Football (Rutgers University played it at every home game and it accompanied Tommy DeVito’s entrance to MetLife Stadium earlier this season). As a testament to its greatness, the show won twenty-one Primetime Emmy Awards in 111 nominations, five Golden Globes in 23 nominations, and several major guild awards as well.
One remarkable aspect of The Sopranos lies in its realistic portrayal of gangsters, devoid of idealization found in films like The Godfather. The characters, though stereotypical are remarkably believable and multi-dimensional, captivating viewers with their flaws. Their realism resonates, depicting them not as fictional creations but as flawed humans dealing with the indignities of life and the mundane. Most of them are of low intellect and even lower moral character—sociopathic criminals—an issue that crops up in public discourse in America on a daily basis.
Folded in the layers of The Sopranos is a subtle commentary on the choices individuals make in life. The show’s ultimate message, echoing the sentiments of Tony’s mother, Livia Soprano, could be summed up as “It’s all a big nothing,” screaming loud and clear the nihilism which has defined post 9/11-America.The life of crime portrayed in the series, as former mobster Michael Franzese attests, ultimately leads to personal ruin and the destruction of families. In the end, The Sopranos serves as a cautionary tale, suggesting that no one emerges unscathed when entangled in the dangerous web of organized crime.
And yet, putting everything aside for a moment, it’s simply just a hell of a piece of narrative fiction, arguably the best ever committed to television. In fact, I think I just may go back and watch it all over again.
