The Sopranos

Three disclaimers:

1. If you're a fan of the show and didn't watch the last episode, you're not going to want to read much further.

2. Yes, I understand this has nothing to do with Fitchburg politics, but I can't help myself. If you want politics, we'll be back later.

3. Yes, it's four days later. That's what happens when you resign the HBO just days before the end. If you're tired of it, feel free to tap out. But how can you be.

So here we go:

Meadow walked through the door. And that was the best finish to a TV show since Sam Malone walked out of his bar.

Of course, I could be completely wrong, and we'll probably never really know. But it was my first reaction, and I'd like to think it was no coincidence that when the change to black came, the last lyrics heard of the Journey song was "Don't stop." What's next? "Believing." I guess I optimistically think that means believing he lives. Of course, it could mean believing whatever you want, but you know, that's the beauty of it.

And that, really, is what The Sopranos was about. Believing. Either that Tony Soprano would one day get his due, or that one day he found redemption and salvation. This show wasn't a mob opera and it wasn't a homelife drama. It was a tale of the soul of Tony Soprano, and whether or not it could be saved.

He was both the show's hero and really its archvillian (this might be a good time to note that James Gandolfini was brilliant, from beginning to the very end, as Soprano. Especially this last season. Wow). The way the show was constructed, viewers were another family member (or Family member). We knew what he did, knew how he thought, but still liked him. Whether it was Carmela turning her head to his infidelities, his kids ignoring his lifestyle, or his underlings killing then paying tribute with nothing but praise, every character close to Soprano like him.

As viewers, we were in the same boat. We saw Soprano endlessly cheat on his wife, steal and rob, kill, and mentally manipulate people. What he did to Bobby in the first episode of this season was brutal. His dead-eyed killing of Christopher (and that brief smirk while he's holding his nose) was chilling. But we also saw the other side -- the quiet times when he had peace with Carmella, or the dramatic times when he pulled A.J. out of the pool and called him "baby" while patting his head. In the end, Tony Soprano should have been one of the horrific characters in television history. Instead, we wanted him to make it OK.

That dynamic was the driving force of the show. Soprano seemed to seek redemption -- he went to therapy, he had a short period where he wasn't cheating on his wife, he was a softer person after being shot -- but he never found it -- his last-season peyote-and-screwing binge in Vegas, Christopher, putting a shoe up A.J.'s ass -- kept him from it.

That's why the ending worked so well. The show was designed to make the viewer decide how he or she felt about Soprano. There was never any mandate from David Chase. I think most people liked him -- I liked him -- in spite of myself.

But that question was what made the show so great. And the ending to the show stayed true to that. There are a million reasons to think Tony met his maker Sunday night -- black represents death, his point of view throughout the scene before that show people walking through the door and the black represented his death view. There was also the flashback to the lake scene with Bobby when Tony said he thought being shot to death would be just black. But there are a million reasons to think he didn't die. He was with his family, feeling pretty good -- as so many other season finales had showed on this show -- and to me, how can he die and we adhere to the call to "Don't stop believin'."

Finally, the greatness of the finale was in the craftsmanship. If this wasn't the finest season of The Sopranos, it was right up there. I watched all nine episodes in about a week, and it was a treat to watch them all in a compact timeframe (thanks OnDemand). This was one of TV's all time great shows going out on top. It wrapped up some (but not all) loose ends, reinforced the viewers gnawing feeling that while Phil Letardo was not one to mess with, he was a buffoon (how could you not laugh at that scene -- that's what the show did to you), and kept you thinking -- th ultimate hallmark to a show.

I like movies and TV shows that make you think and elegantly think its way through something. I love "Lost," because it's becoming pretty clear that the writers had a plan from the beginning -- Season One, lay the groundwork, Season Two, ask a million questions, Season Three, start answering them -- and are executing their plan brilliantly (with a sidetrack here and there). I loved this season of the The Sopranos because it masterfully executed mob drama, family strife, and one man's internal struggles magically.

It all came together in that last scene. While Tony's mood with Carmela and A.J. is light, everyone in that diner is sinister-looking, only because we make them. Meadow's tortured parking job turned a happens-a-million-times-a-day thing into high drama. The cutting back-and-forth from Tony to the door set us up to see who was coming in the door.

And then, it was over. And now we're still writing and talking about it. The Sopranos always gave us something to think about and talk about, and in its ending, stayed true to that greatness.

So, Meadow came through the door. And that series finale was one of the all-time greats.