Friday, July 15, 2005
Friday Guilty Pleasures Blogging:
The Sopranos Part 2: The Women
After last week's contribution to the Friday Guilty Pleasures Blogging archives, Mrs. FLJerseyBoy pointed out a notable flaw: Other than in passing, I hadn't discussed at all any of the women of The Sopranos. This week I want to correct that oversight.
By "the women," I don't mean, y'know, the distaff employees of Tony's Bada-Bing club. I mean true, fully developed characters, in recurring roles spread out over more than one season.
(The dancers and waitresses at the Bada-Bing -- like the comares/goomahs/goomars with whom Tony and the other guys spend their sexual capital when not at home -- do not, for the most part, provide significant plot points. They're treated as colorful accessories or tsotchkes, the province more of a set designer than a casting director. This is one of those sticky points, for a liberal, about watching the series: Does the brutal objectification of women in The Sopranos simply depict reality -- it certainly does that, if not "simply"? or does it also affect reality, by actively promoting the behavior of a patriarchal subculture?)
As Mrs. FLJB said the other night, one marvel of The Sopranos is first the casting of, and then the direction of and performance by, the actors and actresses: "There isn't a single false note," she said, and I'm inclined to agree. And as true as that statement is of Gandolfini-as-Tony, it's true as well of Edie Falco (Tony's wife Carmela), Lorraine Bracco (his psychiatrist, Dr. Jennifer Melfi), and especially the late Nancy Marchand (Tony's mother Livia). Other women play major roles in Tony's personal life, daydreams, and work, but these three loom especially large.
Let's start with Livia. (As did Tony, of course -- and he damn near ended with her, too.)
I don't think it's ever made clear exactly how old Livia is. She's probably in her 70s, though. At any rate, the important thing about her is not how many decades she has lived, but rather how much ruination of how many lives she has managed to squeeze into all those years. She's a lunatic, perhaps even literally; Dr. Melfi diagnoses her, from a distance, as a classic "borderline personality." Here's what the National Institute of Mental Health says about these people:
One of the key plot points in Season 1 of the show: Livia manipulates Tony's Uncle Junior, currently and nominally the "boss," into attempting to kill Tony. Would this be the handiwork of any mother even remotely sane?
Even allowing for the unusual nature of Tony's upbringing -- his dad was a Mob boss while Tony was still in short pants -- a mother like Livia would almost guarantee he'd turn out a sociopath. As rendered by Nancy Marchand, Livia Soprano unquestionably is one of the truly great villains of television history -- and I use the "television" qualifier only reluctantly. She'd have Iago pounding his head on the wall within an hour; Darth Vader would be reduced to tears.
And then there's Dr. Melfi, to whom Tony turns, as it happens (although he doesn't know it at first), in order to deal with the frustration of simply being Livia's only son.
Dr. Melfi has several characteristics which suit Tony well. First, she's a woman. Second, as he explains, of the several psychiatrists who were recommended to him, she was the only Italian. And finally -- far from least importantly -- she is sexy, in ways that Tony isn't familiar with. She wears glasses without self-consciousness. She dresses in business suits, sometimes pantsuits. (On the other hand, when in a dress or skirt she is not reluctant to cross her legs in such a way that the hemline is visibly above the knee.) She's smart, of course. And she is both drawn to Tony and frightened of him, a combination which a man in his powerful position must find overwhelmingly erotic.
I was familiar with Lorraine Bracco before The Sopranos -- the only cast member of whom I could say that. To me, her prior signature role was as the wife of Henry Hill (Ray Liotta) in Scorsese's GoodFellas. Maybe it's that I'm predisposed therefore to think of her as the natural choice to play the sensible consort (albeit professionally) of a Mobster. But Bracco, without visibly breathing hard as an actress, perfectly inhabits the role of this cool moth drawn to Tony's flame. She's sometimes singed around the wings by the experience (as when Tony explodes in rage -- overturning and smashing a glass coffee table, lunging across the consultation room to put his furious face in hers -- when she offers the aforementioned diagnosis of Livia). But there's never any doubt that she will not throw him overboard. Whether she's doing so for reasons of Tony's therapy, or for her own powerful, unspoken (and perhaps unconscious) reasons, is a source of ongoing sexual tension between the two of them.
Finally, there's Carmela. Always Carmela.
She must have one of the most thankless combination of tasks imaginable for a wife. She's the mother of two adolescent children, Meadow and Anthony Jr. (or simply "AJ"), both of whom alternate between challenging and cuddling up to her; this alone makes us want to cut her some slack.
But then she's also got to deal with:
Edie Falco, like James Gandolfini, has had a long acting career. But -- as is also true of Gandolfini -- none of her roles, excellent though she's been in them, has approached the depth and complexity of Carmela Soprano. Loving, laughing, angry, bitter, flirtatious wife of Tony Soprano: she carries it all off masterfully.
So there you have it: the three "big women" of The Sopranos. (Personally, I'd probably be attracted only to Dr. Jennifer Melfi. But in truth, any of the three of them -- for different reasons -- I'd almost certainly be scared of.) I still believe that Gandolfini alone is worth the price of experiencing the show's peak moments; but there's no denying that his character is greatly influenced by (you could almost say is the product of) the part that these three play in his life. And thanks to them as well as Gandolfini (and of course the show's creator and life force, David Chase), The Sopranos is hands-down the best damned television I've ever seen.
By "the women," I don't mean, y'know, the distaff employees of Tony's Bada-Bing club. I mean true, fully developed characters, in recurring roles spread out over more than one season.
(The dancers and waitresses at the Bada-Bing -- like the comares/goomahs/goomars with whom Tony and the other guys spend their sexual capital when not at home -- do not, for the most part, provide significant plot points. They're treated as colorful accessories or tsotchkes, the province more of a set designer than a casting director. This is one of those sticky points, for a liberal, about watching the series: Does the brutal objectification of women in The Sopranos simply depict reality -- it certainly does that, if not "simply"? or does it also affect reality, by actively promoting the behavior of a patriarchal subculture?)
As Mrs. FLJB said the other night, one marvel of The Sopranos is first the casting of, and then the direction of and performance by, the actors and actresses: "There isn't a single false note," she said, and I'm inclined to agree. And as true as that statement is of Gandolfini-as-Tony, it's true as well of Edie Falco (Tony's wife Carmela), Lorraine Bracco (his psychiatrist, Dr. Jennifer Melfi), and especially the late Nancy Marchand (Tony's mother Livia). Other women play major roles in Tony's personal life, daydreams, and work, but these three loom especially large.
Let's start with Livia. (As did Tony, of course -- and he damn near ended with her, too.)I don't think it's ever made clear exactly how old Livia is. She's probably in her 70s, though. At any rate, the important thing about her is not how many decades she has lived, but rather how much ruination of how many lives she has managed to squeeze into all those years. She's a lunatic, perhaps even literally; Dr. Melfi diagnoses her, from a distance, as a classic "borderline personality." Here's what the National Institute of Mental Health says about these people:
People with BPD [borderline personality disorder] often have highly unstable patterns of social relationships. While they can develop intense but stormy attachments, their attitudes towards family, friends, and loved ones may suddenly shift from idealization (great admiration and love) to devaluation (intense anger and dislike). Thus, they may form an immediate attachment and idealize the other person, but when a slight separation or conflict occurs, they switch unexpectedly to the other extreme and angrily accuse the other person of not caring for them at all. Even with family members, individuals with BPD are highly sensitive to rejection, reacting with anger and distress to such mild separations as a vacation, a business trip, or a sudden change in plans. These fears of abandonment seem to be related to difficulties feeling emotionally connected to important persons when they are physically absent, leaving the individual with BPD feeling lost and perhaps worthless. Suicide threats and attempts may occur along with anger at perceived abandonment and disappointments.Given Livia's behavior, this seems a pretty fair diagnosis. While she -- at first -- may greet a visitor with loving words, she constantly twists the meaning of innocent phrases in such a way that she must register disappointment. In one scene, Tony's friend Artie Bucco, a talented chef and restaurateur, visits Livia in Green Grove, the retirement community (or, as she insists, the nursing home) to which Tony has moved her for care. She's visibly excited to see him, even more so when he reveals the gourmet Italian entrée he has prepared for her. He's proud of her response, so proud that he starts to detail what a wonderful meal it is, how wonderfully he has prepared it. "In the Northern style," he says. "Oh," Livia says, "the Northern style." And she twists up her face in distaste.
One of the key plot points in Season 1 of the show: Livia manipulates Tony's Uncle Junior, currently and nominally the "boss," into attempting to kill Tony. Would this be the handiwork of any mother even remotely sane?
Even allowing for the unusual nature of Tony's upbringing -- his dad was a Mob boss while Tony was still in short pants -- a mother like Livia would almost guarantee he'd turn out a sociopath. As rendered by Nancy Marchand, Livia Soprano unquestionably is one of the truly great villains of television history -- and I use the "television" qualifier only reluctantly. She'd have Iago pounding his head on the wall within an hour; Darth Vader would be reduced to tears.
And then there's Dr. Melfi, to whom Tony turns, as it happens (although he doesn't know it at first), in order to deal with the frustration of simply being Livia's only son.Dr. Melfi has several characteristics which suit Tony well. First, she's a woman. Second, as he explains, of the several psychiatrists who were recommended to him, she was the only Italian. And finally -- far from least importantly -- she is sexy, in ways that Tony isn't familiar with. She wears glasses without self-consciousness. She dresses in business suits, sometimes pantsuits. (On the other hand, when in a dress or skirt she is not reluctant to cross her legs in such a way that the hemline is visibly above the knee.) She's smart, of course. And she is both drawn to Tony and frightened of him, a combination which a man in his powerful position must find overwhelmingly erotic.
I was familiar with Lorraine Bracco before The Sopranos -- the only cast member of whom I could say that. To me, her prior signature role was as the wife of Henry Hill (Ray Liotta) in Scorsese's GoodFellas. Maybe it's that I'm predisposed therefore to think of her as the natural choice to play the sensible consort (albeit professionally) of a Mobster. But Bracco, without visibly breathing hard as an actress, perfectly inhabits the role of this cool moth drawn to Tony's flame. She's sometimes singed around the wings by the experience (as when Tony explodes in rage -- overturning and smashing a glass coffee table, lunging across the consultation room to put his furious face in hers -- when she offers the aforementioned diagnosis of Livia). But there's never any doubt that she will not throw him overboard. Whether she's doing so for reasons of Tony's therapy, or for her own powerful, unspoken (and perhaps unconscious) reasons, is a source of ongoing sexual tension between the two of them.
Finally, there's Carmela. Always Carmela.She must have one of the most thankless combination of tasks imaginable for a wife. She's the mother of two adolescent children, Meadow and Anthony Jr. (or simply "AJ"), both of whom alternate between challenging and cuddling up to her; this alone makes us want to cut her some slack.
But then she's also got to deal with:
- Her husband Tony -- an admitted philanderer, a Mob boss, a sometimes dangerously unhinged combatant on the marital battlefield, an extremely good provider in the here and now who can offer only vague assurances that she'll "be taken care of" if "anything happens to him."
- Her mother-in-law Livia. Need I say more?
- Her own unfulfilled desires and frustrations, with which she wrestles in every season. From a sort-of relationship with the local parish priest, to one with an attractive handyman, to one with one of Tony's henchmen -- all of which skirt the border between fantasy and real -- on through intellectual and quasi-intellectual fixations (playing the stock market, investing in real estate, Buddhism) -- through all of this range of thwarted human striving, Carmela keeps it together.
Edie Falco, like James Gandolfini, has had a long acting career. But -- as is also true of Gandolfini -- none of her roles, excellent though she's been in them, has approached the depth and complexity of Carmela Soprano. Loving, laughing, angry, bitter, flirtatious wife of Tony Soprano: she carries it all off masterfully.
So there you have it: the three "big women" of The Sopranos. (Personally, I'd probably be attracted only to Dr. Jennifer Melfi. But in truth, any of the three of them -- for different reasons -- I'd almost certainly be scared of.) I still believe that Gandolfini alone is worth the price of experiencing the show's peak moments; but there's no denying that his character is greatly influenced by (you could almost say is the product of) the part that these three play in his life. And thanks to them as well as Gandolfini (and of course the show's creator and life force, David Chase), The Sopranos is hands-down the best damned television I've ever seen.
