Of course I’m disappointed with what I wrote. (But I always am, kinda. I think it’s motivational.) I wanted to sum up seven years of The Sopranos – all 86 episodes – in a work of such critical brilliance that Oscar Wilde himself would rise from his Parisian grave to embrace my genius, literary prizes would be showered upon me, and ravishingly gorgeous mature women in high heels would worship me. I dunno. I did my level best and here it is. But I did also did discover that David Chase is another who can’t exit with the statutory Bob Dylan quote.
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2 comments:
It's pretty obvious that the viewer got whacked, eh?
Oscar Wilde may still be snug in his Paris grave, but I think your piece is actually the best thing I've read on the final episode. Most everything else I've come across has either takes the attitude of "Oh, what a jolly joke the genius David Chase has played upon us unworthy mortals," or bleats for "closure" like an injured lamb. (Or, as in my case, totally loses its shit in a fit of semi-inchoate rage.)
Worth waiting for, then.
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