True creativity often starts where language ends.
Arthur Koestler (1905–83), novelist, essayist
There seems to be two camps regarding the abrupt ending of the Sopranos. Damn few of us out there were okay with the ending. Maureen Dowd in her column yesterday wrote about David Chase that he “…gave us a gimmicky and unsatisfying film-school-style blackout for an end to his mob saga, a stunt one notch above “It was all a dream.” It was the TV equivalent of one of those design-your-own-mug places.”
We are a cynical bunch and rightly so, we can’t trust our government, CEOs, oil companies, stockbrokers, so why should we believe Chase when he says he does not intend to make a movie? I believe him. What else could he do except completely ruin the entire Sopranos franchise with a movie that bombs.
The cut to black had me reaching for the remote control thinking that the cable had go out. A friend who didn’t like the ending also thought there was a power interruption or the Chinese shot down another satellite, which had that been the case, probably would have truly been an act of war as opposed to the now you see them, now you don’t WMDs.
We shared Tony’s continual anxiety and distrust those last few minutes as he waited for his family to arrive for dinner, it was our last supper with them. As with most short stories, the ending just arrives to denote that life goes on. Tony won. If he had died, my guess is the ending would have been white. And, that little chat on the boat with his bud about how the end will arrive, was for us not Tony. He’ll rebuild the family, bed good looking women who are enthralled with his power, and collect his envelops of cash, makes one what to be a “made guy.”