Sopranos, The Last Season.

Fond remembrances of snugging into my seat, hearing the same damn song about bad moons in your pupil. I never actually watched the show when it was on, rather, I never caught the new episodes on TV. I subscribe to the DVD method. It rules. A television show will make time for me, I won't make time for it. Season 6 just made time in my Netflix queue (a good service, Netflix. I highly approve).

I've done this before. I dredged through the entirety of Six Feet Under like I was coming out of a morphine addiction. I'm eagerly anticipating the next DVD series from Weeds and Dexter. I'm considering The Wire. I enjoyed Carnivale to an extent. I tried to start on Big Love but my lady friend wasn't too keen on it; I understand. And obviously I've seen the preceding five seasons of the late, great Sopranos.

I was pretty hesitant to even start in on the show. With so much hype there's bound to be disappointment. Nope. I even think it deserves more merit as dramatic art and concerning human commentary. I think The Sopranos is a brilliantly constructed performance strung out over years, certainly giving rise to the notion of hour long television dramas surpassing the artwork found in major Hollywood productions and even art-house projects-- and certainly more entertaining than either. Can popular entertainment be art? I think The Sopranos is an excellent argument for the the affirmative. (No spoilers)

OH! On with the critiquing. Let's begin:

Episode One

I'm still basking in the glow of the initial show. It was a breakout performance presented with care and detail. Cast, Crew, and Cash all knew that making the first hour of the last season was important as hell and spared no expense. Full of interesting details and new developments to the plot, this first episode of season six proved to me to be an effective hook. I didn't think I was going to be as interested in the show anymore; I had watched the other seasons somewhat consecutively. So long since the last time I'd been immersed in The Sopranos storyline, Episode One ushers back old interests and seeds some new.

Episode Two

Stab me in the eyes with a pair of rusty pruning sheers. Episode Two is relative to the mental anguish one would experience through ocular penetration. Ever had an eyelash or some other foreign object lodged around the perimeter of your eye? You rub and rub but it just won't rub loose or out; you actually make it worse. Then you run to the bathroom mirror trying to spot the culprit but since your eyes are all tears and irritation you can see about as well as a cataracts patient. I kinda felt like that was happening to my mind as I sat through the second episode of The Sopranos.

Episode Three (Spoiler Alert)

Holy Christ! Tony Soprano is still in a coma. I see the genius in the tactic and the meanings and the impregnable story line attributes but this shit has got to stop. The tactic of booming out of the gate with a stand-alone-classic episode and then pulling back the reins... shrewd. It allows characters to breathe, develop on their own, and builds anticipation. The show just doesn't carry without James Gandolfini and I suppose everyone behind the scenes had that intention too. I certainly can't wait for the fat bastard to wake up and start talking again. We, the audience, are most bonded to his character; the fuck all with everyone else if he isn't present.

Ah well. Upon reflection, I'm not sure I'll be critiquing too many more episodes (DVD or not). A single bad, annoying, or simply sub par episode isn't going to discourage anyone from seeing it or the rest-- nor should it. Perhaps this reflects why television cannot be credited as much with artistry as it could in all rights previous; the analysis of different television episodes engenders a feeling of frivolousness in thought process of the analyst.

There'll always be another episode.