By Aaron
A Brief History of Time: Bang! Galactic drift. Primordial soup. Dinosaurs. Cavemen. The Holy Roman Empire. Martin Luther. Martin Luther King Jr. The fourth season finale of The Sopranos. The United States invades Iraq. The Great Blackout of Ought Three. SARS. Schwarzenegger. Siegfried & Roy. Howard Dean. Average Joe. Joan Girardi. Janet Jackson. Aliens invade. Cancer is cured. Fox cancels Tru Calling. Humans evolve to gain a useful third nostril and lose their vestigial pinky toes. And now...the fifth-season premiere of The Sopranos.
A Brief History of Crime: Tony fetched the paper in his robe. Jimmy Altieri was a rat. Meadow needed to shut up. Brendan Filone got whacked. Tony fetched the paper in his robe. Big Pussy was a rat. Meadow needed to shut up. Richie Aprile got whacked. Tony fetched the paper in his robe. Ray Curto was a rat. Meadow needed to shut up. The Little Lord got whacked. Tony fetched the paper in his robe. Adriana was the rat. Meadow needed to shut up. Joey Pants got whacked. And now...the fifth-season premiere of The Sopranos.
Aaron: This is Das Sopranohaus, a residential compound in the heart of the Garden State. It's the fifth pit stop in a race around New Jersey to escape both existential angst and the occasional vengeful beheading. Couples arrived here at the end of the last...
David Chase: Okay, stop right there. You know, if there's one thing I really hate, it's when people characterize the show as some kind of...
Aaron: Aw, come on! We're all on the edge of our seats here! I mean, these guys have no idea where they'll be going ! Like, will Chris and Adriana finally take their relationship to the level, or will Christopher shoot himself in the foot again? Can Tony and Carmela overcome adversity and an encounter with the local wildlife? And what about Bobby and Janice, who used their fast-forward to get married while everyone else was apparently frozen in time? Who will be eliminated...?
David Chase: [Sigh] Do we really have to do this every year?
Aaron: I know. But it's been so long, and I missed you, and I'm just really excited!
David Chase: Yeah. I can tell. Put that away, would you?
Aaron: Whoops. How about just a quick hug?
David Chase: No.
Aaron: A bomp?
David Chase: Absolutely not.
David Chase: Absolutely not.
And now...the fifth season premiere of The Sopranos.
But first, let's take a quick moment just for us. What's up? How've you been? You know I care about each and every one of you, right? And that's why I've got a big announcement to make. It seems Sars has finally fired me for good, so I'd like you all to give a great big HBO hello to our newest and bestest boss and editor, the sublimely effervescent Wing Chun! Hey! You there! Put that away! That is NOT the kind of HBO hello I meant. You people are disgusting. Anyway, hi Wing. Welcome to this thing of ours. ["I'll try not to disturb the hand grenade." -- Wing Chun]
And now...the fifth season premiere of...ah, fuck it. Fade up on some plastic patio furniture, located in the backyard of Das Sopranohaus. A jaunty, countrified tune whose lyrics are so on-the-nose in their description of Tony and Carmela's relationship that they might as well have been taken from my recap of last season's finale plays over a montage of shots featuring the architectural highlights of the Soprano compound in all their excruciatingly Jersey-generic detail. The sense we're supposed to get is one of neglect and loss, what with the empty chairs, and the overcast skies, and the rotting leaves blowing everywhere, and especially that one interestingly composed shot of a lonely-looking window that the editor is forced to hold a few beats longer than he'd like in order to better match the rhythm of the song. Eventually we end up in the front yard, and then a long, slow pan takes us down the driveway, where a fresh copy of the Newark Star-Ledger awaits. It's a measure of just how deeply this show has ingrained its habits in me that even after more than a year has passed, my fingers still retain enough muscle memory to automatically start typing "StR =" at this point. But alas, twas not meant to be. Tony doesn't live here anymore, and that point is driven home emphatically by two thousand pounds of V-8 powered bitchiness as Meadow drives her mud-encrusted Mustang right over the paper and up the driveway to the house. Or, to perhaps put it another way, cha-cha-cha, squashy car!
When she reaches the front of the house, Meadow elects not to emulate her father by climbing out the car and slamming the door behind her. Instead she just lays on the horn and somehow inverts the space-time continuum by earning the season's first "Shut up, Meadow" without ever actually making a sound. Now that's impressive. She hollers impatiently for AJ, and the boy eventually emerges from the house to join her in the car. Of course, it wouldn't be The Sopranos unless Steve Jobs scored an early product placement, so AJ makes sure to flash his iPod right at eye level as he passes by the camera. Then again, I love my own iPod so much I'd probably be having sex with it if I could find a way to unscrew its immaculately-engineered casing, so I've decided not to snark too much about that one. Anyway, they drive off.
AJ and Meadow arrive at this point, and Meadow manages to be almost pleasant when she thanks Aunt Janice for keeping the Sunday dinner tradition alive. AJ more than makes up for that, however, when he complains about the "canned clam chowder." "What, no fucking soda crackers now?" he completely fails to add. Incidentally, viewers with excellent hearing might have caught this little gem from Manny, which is barely audible over all the other conversations: "The older you are, the more you're entitled to eat." He's probably referring to the mob's corporate hierarchy or something, but this show sure does love its foreshadowing, doesn't it? Everyone slowly makes their way over to the dining-room table, and then the cheesy news broadcast finally ends with Manny's opining that it's going to be "a great year for crime reporters" as the screen freeze-frames on an image of Johnny Sack. Make of that what you will. And then a ridiculous drum beat kicks in, and a goofy legend saying "Mafia: Class of '04?" appears on the screen, further anvilizing the notion that focusing on anything as tacky and tawdry as a simple mob war is far beneath the dignity of a show that once gave us Janice shoving a vibrator up Joe Pantoliano's ass. And yeah, this whole little segment was very meta, and also very pleased with itself, but more than anything it's indicative of the growing scorn David Chase can no longer even be bothered to hide for the legions of fans who'd rather watch a bunch of guys ogling strippers and getting whacked than sitting around in their cars and crying over an unrequited romance subplot that was better suited to the talents of Fabio and Cameron Diaz than Furio and Carmela Soprano. But I digress. And I rant. And actually, I sort of agree with David Chase. I just wish he'd shut up about it. Then again, I'm sure he feels the same way about me.
Oh, and just for the record, Bobby and Janice are married now. How do we know this? Janice mentions that she lost her wedding ring, and then searches the trash can for it. Yeah. I have no idea what that's supposed to mean.
Casa di Soprano. Carmela comes home to an empty garage and her equally empty-headed son, who is banging away on his brand-new drum set. Oh, yeah. That was a good idea. Carmela tries to strike up a conversation because she's lonely and nosy about what Tony might be up to these days, but AJ acts like a little snot because...well, because he's AJ. What? You were expecting Adam Brody, perhaps? Although Mom does ask him to bring in the "power vac" from the "pool house," so I can't help wondering what might have happened if Ryan Atwood had fetched up in New Jersey instead of Newport. Hell, he'd probably go straight back to Chino. Heh. And don't think for a moment, by the way, that I won't be relishing every opportunity to rip New Jersey with impunity now that Sars isn't reading these damn things every week. I just need to remember to stay away from beer, moose, Michael J. Fox, socialized medicine, and the metric system and we'll all get along fine. ["Yeah, because I am as protective as a tigress about Michael J. Fox's reputation, not. And I know that you'd only take swipes at socialized medicine out of jealousy." -- Wing Chun] Maybe I'll go and make myself a nice little maple leaf collage out of medical waste to hang over the computer so I don't forget. At any rate, Carmela adds that her father will be coming by to pick up the pool house power vac, and she doesn't want him to have to drag it all the way in from outside when he does. To be fair, however, I'm sure if Papa Carmela were here to defend himself, he'd be the first to point out (at length) that he used to hump a half-dozen power vacs across fifty miles of frozen tundra every single day back during the Great Battle of Nova Scotia, or Greenland, or Reykjavik, or Schenectady, or wherever the hell he was supposedly stationed during World War II. "It's so nice to have a man around the house," sings Carmela, by way of attempting to persuade her recalcitrant offspring to embrace his assigned chores. AJ, however, doesn't look adorable at all when he mutters "You should have thought about that before" in response. Uh oh. Carmela puts her foot down, and insists that he head out to the pool house immediately. AJ thinks about refusing for a moment, but then he remembers that he's a Soprano and she's his mother, so he folds like a prom dress on a cheap card table that just took a punch from Todd Bertuzzi.
Cut to a few moments later, as Carmela busies herself by emptying the dishwasher. Suddenly, we hear AJ shrieking from outside, and Carmela runs out to the patio to find AJ on one side and pretty impressive-sized black bear on the other. AJ whimpers and snivels and says "Mommy" a lot, but he does at least retain enough decorum to eschew the inevitable "puddle forming around his ankles" shot that just about any other show would have felt compelled to throw in here. That's not to say he probably still didn't piss his pants, though, because that's totally an AJ thing to do. Carmela sizes up the situation, and rapidly determines that it's the sort thing that would be best handled by the judicious application of a nice Teflon non-stick coating. Or something like that. She runs inside to grab a couple of pots and pans, which affords Robert Iler the opportunity to deliver what is by far his best plaintively comedic line reading out of about two dozen repeats of the word "Mommy!" in this scene. He wants her to get Dad's gun, but she thinks it's too far away. So instead, she just bangs the pots together and yells a lot. And then she throws the frying pan at poor little Paddington. And then he just sits there for a minute before finally noticing that his trainer is waving a nice juicy slice of Roy Horn over by the gazebo. As soon as Yogi wanders off, Carmela rushes over to hug her son, and AJ rushes back inside to change his diaper.
Tony, meanwhile, is hanging out with Valentina at what I initially thought was a motel (due to the tacky décor), but now seems more likely to be Valentina's place. He's getting dressed. She's lolling around on the bed in skimpy lingerie and asking how he enjoyed the "olive loaf." And oddly enough, she actually does mean "olive loaf." That's not a sexual euphemism or anything. At least I hope it's not, because Tony replies by extolling the virtues of slathering said loaf with "Gulden's Spicy Brown." Then again, it's Valentina. Who knows what these two get up to? I have to be honest, however, and admit that it took me a couple of minutes to recognize her and realize that she wasn't just some random goomar. Then I also remembered that I really don't like her, but somehow I'm now finding myself rapidly revising that assessment. Maybe it's because she's the only one who wears anything even remotely resembling a robe in this episode. Or maybe it's just because she looks damn good in that lingerie and I'm still used to watching a bunch of greasy, dirty, stinky Okies running around kissing their sisters and licking each other's scar tissue. I get enough of that on my own dates, thank you very much.
Back at Das Sopranohaus, Carmela is meeting with a couple of (rangers? Wranglers? Rousties?) from the Fish & Game commission while AJ lurks in the background. They explain that bear sightings are getting more common in these parts, and also offer up such useful tips as not taking out the garbage until the last minute and covering the cans with ammonia bleach to hide the scent. AJ, however, suggests a much more pragmatic approach: "You should have busted a cap in its ass with Dad's rifle." Heh. The head roustie-wrangling ranger hands over his card and tells Carmela that the bear probably won't come back, but that she should feel free to call if it does. And oh, yeah. She's definitely feeling free. Her face lights up when she takes the card, and I guess this would probably be a good time for me to point out that Ranger Rick here is a fairly handsome man, or at least as handsome as it's possible for a man to be while wearing a hat with a giant pine tree on it. Carmela also refuses AJ's entreaties to inform Dad about the situation, although she does admit when asked that Tony has been storing duck food (and small, unmarked bills) in a nearby bin. "That's probably what attracted the animal," explains Ranger Rick. "The corn's gotten damp and aromatic." Uh huh. And judging from Carmela's giddy expression, that corn ain't the only thing that's...yeah. Sorry.
Tony is still getting dressed, but Valentina has now moved on from discussing his loaf to flipping through the channels on her TV. She cruises past a showing of The Prince of Tides without stopping, but Tony immediately demands that she go back so he can watch. Now, I've never seen The Prince of Tides, and obviously I'm quite proud of that fact, but up until this moment I never realized just how abysmally, jaw-droppingly awful it truly is. I mean...wow. Do people actually watch this voluntarily? Can Nick Nolte's appearance in that mug shot be explained by the fact that he accidentally caught a late-night showing? It's just...awful. Awful, awful, awful, awful, awful. So, of course, Tony loves it. And it really is a spot-on parody of his relationship with Melfi. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, HBO has the best damn subtextually relevant clip-pickers in the entire universe. Hmm. I wonder if "clip-picker" is an actual job. Because I could definitely use a new one. Valentina finally manages to remind me why I hated her so much by gushing that Babs's fingernails look amazing, despite being "totally real." Sigh. Just shut up and look pretty, okay? And perhaps she'd also be well-advised to avoid drawing attention to the fact that, thus far, her fingernails have actually been the only important part of her character. Valentina's further attempts at determining why Tony is enjoying this crapfest so much are rebuffed so that we can cut back to the movie in time to hear Nick Nolte utter the immortal line "Her questions were makin' me as dizzy as her perfume." Yeah. This movie is making me as nauseous as a bottle of cod liver oil. (I'm sorry, did I just make a joke about cod liver oil?)
As expected, the scene features Dr. Melfi in her office, receiving an anonymous bouquet of flowers. It would also appear that she spent most of her ample Season 4 down time consulting over at Oswald State penitentiary, because I don't think she's got a single functional light bulb anywhere in her office. Who works like that? She does, however, have a giant bottle of Tide, which was included with the flowers. That'll come in handy later on in the episode when she stains her sheets. The attached card reads "Thinking of you, your Prince of Tide," and judging from her expression, Melfi knows exactly who it came from. And I don't think it was Ranger Rick.
Bada-Bing. Paulie and Christopher are relating the epic story of the missing Russian to Patsy Peesy and Wide Guy, and I'm sort of surprised by how much I actually missed the old gang here. In fact, my favorite thing about this entire episode was how it managed to find time for just about every single person in the cast, without seeming like they were doing it gratuitously. Unless I'm missing someone, the only major player to not make an appearance this week was Artie Bucco, and that's certainly not an absence you'll ever hear me complain about. The boys are joined by Tony and (awww!) Vinnie Delpino, and the story gets interrupted just long enough for Tony to drop a line about "incidents" at the airport that may or may not be foreshadowing. Then Tony heads back into his office, and the Russian reminiscing continues. Well, actually, it doesn't so much "continue" as serve up a nice juicy opportunity for Patsy to ask about whatever happened to the Russian. This in turn gives Paulie the opportunity to reply, "Who fucking cares?" Hmm. Judging by the poll numbers from last season, about 58% of you fucking care. But let's not let that get in the way of David Chase telling you all just to shut up about it, okay? ["Unless the point of the question was to make it clear that no one knows where he went, in case he comes back." -- Wing Chun] "It never would have happened if Paulie hadn't initially overreacted," adds Christopher. This escalates what had been a friendly episode of Mob Time Story Hour into a full-blown argument, as Paulie and Christopher repeatedly trade blame for all their various screw-ups. Things almost come to blows, in fact, but Vinnie and Wide Guy step in to separate them. Although, given that Chris and Paulie have repeatedly demonstrated hand-to-hand combat skills that make Rodney King look like he should be fighting for Don King, I'm not sure that was really necessary. Once everyone calms down a notch, Christopher stomps out in a huff, and Paulie portentously announces that "it's finished" between them.
Melfi, meanwhile, is escorting a patient out of her office when the phone rings. It's Tony, and he cheerfully inquires as to whether she got the flowers. Lorraine Bracco gives a perfect little half-smile here, like she knows this isn't going to end well but she's still happy to be hearing from him in spite of herself. "I see you haven't lost your sense of humor," she replies, which Tony thinks is a compliment about the movie reference, and she thinks is a clever way to categorize his obvious romantic intentions as nothing more than a joke. They make small talk, and then Tony reveals, with a clearly hopeful lilt in his voice, that he and Carmela have separated. "I'm sorry to hear that," answers Melfi. "I always thought I saw some good things there." Like what, exactly? The constant bickering? The obvious Oedipal issues? The high-volume business she's been doing giving referrals to just about every member of the family? Tony must agree with me, because he says he's only grateful for the kids, and then he quickly changes the subject by inviting Melfi out to dinner. Predictably, Melfi cites their prior therapeutic relationship as a reason why they can't date, but Tony is undeterred. Or possibly not, as we'll discover in a moment "You know, I waited a respectable period of whatever before making this call," Tony explains. "Then you realize yourself that there's something not quite right about us dating," Melfi answers. Uh, I'll say. How on Earth does David Chase mock us for wanting the Russian back and then turn right around and throw Tony and Melfi in bed together? I mean, he's not actually going to throw Tony and Melfi in bed together, but even so. That's just wrong. I don't mind it this week, because it does seem perfectly natural that Tony would try this, but I'm praying that Melfi's resolve holds up and this plotline ends up in the Pine Barrens with Ray Curto's FBI contact. I'm counting on you here, Lorraine! Don't let me down and I promise to watch my Hackers DVD every single night. And fast-forward through that scene where you're naked with Fisher Stevens. Dr. Melfi continues to reject Tony's advances, which prompts him to smirk that he's "not undeterred by this." Heh. And I only caught that on the fourth time through. Tony promises that they'll speak again, and makes a reference to "Dr. Tony" solving all her problems that I found highly squicky for reasons that I can't quite define. Not that I could even really define "squicky," for that matter, but I think you know what I mean.
Maison de Soprano. Is it possible that Edie Falco's head is shrinking? I mean, the hair has always been big, but now it kinda seems like that's all there is. Maybe it was just a bad camera angle, but when she looks out a window and notices that Fozzie is back, it's almost like she's spent the off-season in that waiting room from Beetlejuice. Cranial shrinkage aside, however, she reacts to the return of Gentle Ben by dashing downstairs to lock the back door. She passes AJ's room on the way, and when he hears that Baloo is back, he bolts past the drum set and out of his room in what was hands down the funniest shot of the entire night. I've watched it a dozen times now, and even with the gratuitous foley effects, it's still perfect. Mother and son carefully peek out from behind the curtains, and then Carmela marches into the kitchen to call Fish & Game. I don't know if it's because she's frantic about the bear or just disappointed to not get Ranger Rick directly, but she heaves a huge sigh of disgust when she's told to press one for fish or two for game. Now, now Carmela. There's no need to be like that. The Integrated Voice Response unit, or "IVR" as we call it in the trade, is actually a highly efficient and cost-effective method for quickly resolving most basic customer requests. In fact, recent studies have shown that you...really want me to stop writing these recaps while I'm at work, right? Yeah. And besides, Tony shows up at the house just as Carmela finally gets through to a real person, and much cross-talking ensues. Carmela makes arrangements to have the roustie-wrangling rangers return, and then hangs up and explains the whole Pooky problem to Tony, who's shocked to be hearing about it. We're probably supposed to make something of the fact that AJ -- who wanted to call Dad immediately the last time -- ended up not saying a word about the subject when he and Tony went to a game the day. Before we can fully process that, however, we learn that Carmela is concerned that the Cusamanos' dog, who would apparently make quite a tasty little bear treat, might be tied up in their yard. The dog's name, by the way? "Esterhaz." That's presumably a reference to either psycho-screenwriter Joseph Eszterhas or the eighteenth century home of noted classical composer Joseph Hayden. And while I don't get the reference and have no idea what it's supposed to mean, I do at least have to give it up for any show that could force me to ponder the relative differences between those two Joes. And for what it's worth, the closed captioning (which is normally impeccable on this show) spelled it "Ezterhaz" and not "Eszterhas," so those of you with an inordinate fascination for bad movies or string quartets probably already know whom they meant.
For the purposes of an upcoming remark, it's important for you to know that I took a break and drove home from work between these two paragraphs.
Tony heads out back to look around, and he's soon joined by Carmela. He's pissed that she called the cops instead of him, noting that "this isn't Little House on the Fucking Prairie," and that bears can be very dangerous. Heh. Kim will be subbing for me on this show in a couple of weeks, so that Little House bit was definitely a shout-out to her. Incidentally, the Most Awesome Thing I Saw on TV This Week was the Pitt basketball game I'm watching right now in my TV's picture-in-picture window. Assuming they hold the lead, of course. "The ranger, or whatever, said it was your duck food out there that attracted it," explains Carmela, who, like me, also doesn't know what to call a Fish & Game specialist. "I never heard of that happening," replies an offended Tony. Carmela just rolls her eyes and mutters, "Trapper Joe, over here." Heh. And yet another Joe. Hmm. What could that mean?
Cut to later, with Tony and Ranger Rick emerging from some woods in the yard. "We didn't find the spoor," shouts Tony, who's never afraid to turn a family crisis into an opportunity to learn a new vocabulary word that can he misuse at a later date. And for those of you in the forums who are still speculating on what the bear is supposed to represent, I don't think you need to look any further than the following exchange of dialogue:
Ranger Rick:
The animal still doesn't meet the parameters for removal.
Tony: So when somebody's leg is gone....
Hee hee. Get it? Do you? Are you sure? Because I could link you back to Svetlana and the ensuing "animal removal" if you really want me to. But I'd much rather you stick around, because Edie Falco's facial expression in response to that line is probably going to be enough all by itself to win her the Emmy again this year. It's a perfect blend of winking at the joke and yet not even really acknowledging it at all. Ranger Rick apologizes again that there's nothing else he can do, and then smiles at Carmela just a beat too long before leaving. This prompts Tony to stop him and make a big extravagant show of offering a hundred-dollar tip so they can buy "new lanyards for [their] whistles." Hee! It seems evident that Rick knows exactly whom he's talking to, but he still plays it pretty cool and refuses to accept the money. A clearly frustrated Tony returns to his wife and kid and promptly observes that "Ranger Rick's a little light in the Timberlands, huh?" Heh. "Everyone's always gay with you," snarks Carmela. "He's a good-looking guy, that's all. It's not my fault things get damp and aromatic every time he comes around."
Back inside, Carmela pulls out a bottle of bleach to apply to the garbage cans. Tony, however, goes straight for the fridge and starts chugging OJ out of the carton without even thinking about what he's doing. Wow. Talk about muscle memory. Carmela watches this but chooses not to comment, probably because she knows what's coming : Tony pulls out a wad of cash and hands it over as part of their "arrangement." He also refuses her offer of coffee, because last time it had a "weird taste." Carmela complains that the coffee maker is shot, but Tony reads this as a plea for more money ["because coffee makers are prohibitively expensive?" -- Wing Chun], and reminds her that he already fixed the upstairs toilet, and that he's not paying for extra stuff each and every month. He does, however, offer to shell out an extra $1,200 so that she and AJ can check into a hotel until the Corduroy Crisis is over. Carmela declines the offer, because she doesn't want to disturb AJ's routine. "He'll get a kick out of it," insists Tony. "It's an adventure. God knows he loves room service." Hee! "I'll give him room service," replies Carmela. "The end of my foot." Heh! But that sentiment would be a lot more believable if she'd actually applied it before both her kids got so spoiled that they've actually curdled. Carmela also calls AJ an "asshole," which she accepts as being normal for his age, but that doesn't mean she still can't find a way to blame Tony: "You buy him too much stuff," she bitches, "because you feel guilty about the separation. $5,000 on a set of drums. An SAT tutor or a new coffee maker, I got to fight you tooth and nail." When Tony tries to defend himself, she makes a lame joke about the tutor "soaking [Tony] for an extra pencil." "Ohh, rim shot!" shouts Tony. AJ, who has since retired to his room to practice the drums, obliviously obliges. Nice. Carmela goes on to complain that Tony is trying to make her life as difficult as possible financially, and I find it hard to believe that she would actually be surprised by that kind of behavior. Tony responds by claiming that he's an "old-school" Catholic who doesn't believe in separation or divorce, even if his wife was "going after a fucking immigrant." Despite the fact that Carmela definitely knows of at least two immigrants that Tony himself has gone after, she elects instead to reply by saying, "And yet you're modern enough to use a cell phone to call Italy and every other fucking place to threaten the guy's life." You know why? Because she likes that Tony threatened Furio, because it means he's jealous and paying attention to her. "He had coffee here, Tony, that's all," she insists. "And now the coffee maker sucks," he answers. "How do you like them apples?" Knowing a good exit line when he steals one from Good Will Hunting, Tony picks up the extra cash he left for the hotel and stalks out of the house. Yeah. Missed the show. Didn't miss recapping the fight scenes.
Melfi's office. She checks her answering machine, and finds a message from Tony, asking to come back to therapy. She looks pensive. Or possibly constipated. Either reaction would be understandable, don't you think?
Yay! Uncle Junior! Yay! Bobby and our new friend Feech are over at Junior's place, getting ready to sit down for dinner. Robert Loggia, by the way, is cooking in a tank-top undershirt, and it was right at this point that I really began to lament the lack of robes in this episode. After some chit-chat about shaved vaginas and Bobby's weight problem, everyone heads to the table to eat. Now, am I the only one who thinks there's something funny about the way Robert Loggia looks now? I mean, I love the voice, it's an all-time classic, but he just looks so...puffy, I think is the word. It's like he's got too much skin or something, and I'm finding it very distracting. Admittedly, that really isn't much of a problem at the moment, because he's regaling Junior and Bobby with a painfully boring story about how he proved his manhood in jail by starting a fight right on the very first day. Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Unless you shivved, pragged, orally circumcised, or tattooed the guy, I'm not going to be impressed. And even then, I've seen it all before. The story is interrupted by the arrival of Tony, who cheerfully greets the new guy and immediately comments on his tan. Foreshadowing? You be the judge. Feech resumes the story, which features a climax containing more "motherfuckers" than an entire Nate Fisher sentence, and then slowly broaches the subject of the real reason he wanted to talk with Tony and Junior. "Now that I'm out," he says, "I'd like to get back in the game." Tony doesn't exactly look thrilled to hear this, but he does concede that it would be okay, as long as Feech doesn't "step on anybody's toes." "Me?" replies Feech incredulously. "I'm Fred Astaire!" Heh. Okay, this one can stay. Mostly because I like saying "Feech." Junior mentions that he heard about Tony's bear problem, and there's a cute moment when Bobby fails miserably at trying to lie and say he didn't tell anyone. And then Tony gets embarrassed when he has to admit again to the boys that he and Carmela are separated, and with that, the scene ends.
Cut to Christopher and Adrianna's place, where Adrianna is ironing in a teensy little halter top while also smoking a cigarette. Damn. Now that's sexy. Uncomfortable, and probably a severe risk for a wide variety of third-degree burns or small structure fires, but sexy nevertheless. Christopher is prepping for a night on the town, which involves putting on a suit jacket and raiding his girlfriend's purse for extra cash. He's the "low man" tonight, which means he has to pay for everyone. And in a nice, proto-Carmela bit of characterization, Adrianna is more than a little suspicious that it will be more than just "the guys" tonight. She's right, but more on that later. "This is fucking ridiculous," she says, as he pulls $400 out of her wallet, "Why should you get stuck all the time?" Christopher explains that these are the rules, but Adrianna reminds him that he stepped up when Paulie was in jail: "If you get the extra responsibilities, you should get the benefits, too." "You're right," agrees Chris, as he kisses her goodbye. And that's the last we'll see of Adrianna tonight, so I'm going to take one last drag of my cigarette and go spray some starch on my dress shirts. I'll be right back.
Das Sopranohaus. Carmela answers the door to find Vinnie Delpino, who explains that Tony sent him over to the house stand guard against the return of Pippeloon. He also says that Carmela is supposed to give him the "shkoopet" that Tony keeps around the house. Carmela doth pretend to protest too much, but once again, she secretly loves both the male attention and the fact that Tony is powerful enough to have an underling do nothing but sit in his backyard all night long. "You're very nice to do this," she tells Vinnie. "Nice has got nothing to do with it," he replies, which seems unwisely sassy when you consider that he's talking to the boss's wife. Carmela grabs a key out of the cookie jar, and uses it to unlock some sort of hidden cabinet in the dining room. Inside, they find an AK-47, a pistol, and a hand grenade, which the camera lingers on just long enough to ensure that everyone will be wondering if and when we'll be seeing it explode. I believe it was Anton Chekov who once famously quipped, "If a hand grenade is shown in the first episode, it must be inserted into someone's rectum by the last." Or something like that. My Russian is a little rusty these days. Carmela hands over the AK, and Vinnie admires the weapon on his way out the door. You can totally see him thinking, "It's good to be the king."
A restaurant that doesn't contain Artie Bucco. Yay! Tony, Paulie, Chris, Silvio, and Feech are gathered around a table, each with a goomar on his arm. Dinner is winding down, but the conversation is just getting started: "As far as bears are concerned," proclaims Paulie, "I say get rid of them all. They had their turn, and now we got ours. That's why dinosaurs don't exist no more." "Wasn't it a meteor?" asks Feech's date. "They're all meat-eaters!" replies Paulie. Hee! Chris jumps in to correct him, while his own goomar (who bears an unfortunate resemblance to Heather Graham) bites her lip to try to keep from laughing. A waiter drops off the check, and Paulie glances significantly over to Christopher. Instead of paying, however, Chris jumps up and heads to the bathroom, telling Paulie to pay because Chris got the last one. Paulie looks flabbergasted, but while he's worried about the bill, the conversation goes on around him. And really, it must be transcribed in full so as not to rob you of even one iota of comedic effect:
Silvio:
The other thing with bears is, if you're ever chased by one, run downhill. For some reason, they can't do that.
Feech: It's the moss.
Chris's Goomar: They attack when you're having your period, too.
Tony: No, that's jungle cats.
Hee! Everyone gets up to leave, and just as Paulie reluctantly starts counting out some cash, Chris returns from the bathroom and tries to pick up the check. Paulie, however, refuses. "Enough," he snarls. "It's done."
So cut to the day, with Christopher enjoying a cup of coffee outside of Satriale's. Paulie screeches to halt right in front of him in the car that was never explained after that Russian-related plot hole that David Chase really wants you to stop bitching about, and demands that Chris pay him back the $860 he spent on everyone's dinner. Chris reluctantly agrees, and Paulie screeches off once again. I guess they don't have Meineke in Russia.
Elsewhere, Tony is lunching at a golf course with Carmine, Johnny Sack, and New Guy #2, Angelo Garepe. Tony, Johnny, and Angelo crack jokes about golf and prison, but Carmine seems to be very, very out of it. He mumbles something about the gherkins in his egg salad, and then asks if anyone else smells burning hair. "I smell cut grass," replies Johnny, after taking a big whiff. Oy. I needed to go down two Claritin just from watching that. Johnny brings up Steve Buscemi's imminent return, and Angelo gets a really badly dubbed line about how Steve was his best buddy in the joint. I'd be very curious to know what Joe Santos actually said there, because I can only read his lips enough to know that it wasn't whatever we heard him say. No one else seems too curious about it, however -- probably because they're all distracted by the stroke Carmine just had. The old guy slumps out his chair and falls to the ground, but not before giving us a good look at the glop of half-chewed egg salad in his mouth. No, Carmine. I did NOT order the seafood.
Down in Florida, Little Carmine is lounging in the pool when the phone rings. It's Johnny Sack, calling to tell him about the stroke, and Little Carmine seems genuinely saddened by the news. He promises to be on the plane, and then hangs up immediately. Back in New Jersey, Johnny hangs up as well, and then lights up a cigarette right in the hospital waiting room. Man, it really is good to be the king. He turns to Tony, and quickly gets down to business. "You know, I haven't forgotten our arrangement last year," he says, referring to their aborted plan to kill Carmine. "You leaving me in the lurch like that." "What do you want?" answers Tony. "An apology? A fuckin' Whitman's Sampler?" Heh. Although Johnny seems more like the Godiva type, now that I think about it, even though it's undoubtedly a safe bet that Ginny makes all the candy-related decisions in that family. Johnny is still peeved, but he's also pragmatic enough to realize that this stroke has probably rendered the point moot, and done their work for them in a much better fashion. "Boy, imagine if his fucking speech is affected," he sighs. Tony leans back and silently marvels at how cold his colleague can be.
Later that night, Vinnie Delpino is driving Tony home. Ever the opportunistic nebbish, Tony takes advantage of this situation to pry for details about Carmela's home life. Needless to say, he's delighted to hear that Carmela's only visitor is Rosalie Aprile (whom I hope we see very soon) and that most of the phone calls are for his little stud AJ (I could live without Devon, though).
And then we cut to what is obviously a dream sequence, as an unidentified couple has surprisingly tender sex in a darkened bedroom. A slow pan up to their faces reveals that it's Tony and Melfi, and I've got to say that Lorraine Bracco looks pretty damn good with her clothes off. Maybe I won't fast-forward through that Fisher Stevens scene, after all. The big shocking reveal here, of course, is that it's Melfi having the sex dream and not Tony, although if you've seen Hackers as many times as I have, it's not really shocking at all. Then again, if you've seen Hackers as many times as I have, I'd imagine you find pretty much anything at all having to do with sex to be shocking.
Melfi's office. Tony has arrived for the appointment he scheduled earlier, and his outfit in this scene just completely defies description. I'm sure he thinks he looks like a million bucks, but what he's actually wearing is shit-brown slacks, a beige shirt, a gray seersucker jacket, and a pale blue tie (with matching pocket square). I know I used this joke in the recaplet, but it really does look like he borrowed the outfit from a local clown college. Melfi gestures for him to take his usual seat but, for the moment at least, Tony insists on standing. "The real reason I'm here," he explains, "is to confront you in a positive way about taking our relationship in that...other direction." "Confront you in a positive way"? The hell? Is that a line from The Prince of Tides? He goes on to confess that he's been watching Dr. Phil, who said that psychiatrists can date former patients if they want, so he really thinks they should give it a shot. He finally moves to sit down, but makes a point of going over to the couch, and avoiding his usual chair. "This is the place where we've always been the most honest with each other," he continues, "and that's the way I always liked it. So that being said, if you don't like me personally, the cut of my jib, or my face, or whatever, then the matter will end here, and I will never ask you again." Wow. Dr. Phil? "Cut of my jib"? And I thought things were bad with Furio last season. But with Tony somehow, the lovelorn thing is more cute than wussy. Probably because I know it'll never last.
Melfi gently explains that she does, in fact, like the cut of his jib, but nevertheless demands to know why Tony has suddenly decided to fall in love with her. "My training teaches me to go fairly quickly to the idea that what you really want is to come back to therapy," she explains, which is probably true, but still misses the point that he wanted to fuck her even when they were in therapy. Which is why I'm sort of surprised that the costume department broke with continuity here and gave Melfi a skirt that goes below the knee. Unless maybe we're meant to think that she made a conscious decision not to dress provocatively for this session. "I want you," insists Tony. "And not just for the smart things you say. I want your skin. I want your mouth. I want your eyes." I was actually surprised that there weren't a lot of women in the forums swooning over that line, especially when I remembered how many were finding themselves a little damp and aromatic at the sight of Tony driving a bulldozer last year. I guess you all only find him sexy when he's burying a guy he just beheaded. But don't worry. I personally only like to stalk fictional TV redheads, so I'm not going to judge you for it. Melfi continues with some psychobabble about this being a normal occurrence between doctor and patient, but Tony interrupts her by planting a kiss right on her lips. She doesn't kiss back, but she doesn't really pull away, either. When Tony finally breaks the liplock, however, she whispers a very forceful "Don't do that." Tony's face instantly goes cold, and he steps back. "Forget about the way Tony Soprano makes his way in the world," he says, "That's just to feed his children. There's two Tony Sopranos. You've never seen the other one. That's the one I want to show you." And with that, he leaves, and Melfi breathes a huge sigh of relief.
Casa de Soprano. Little Paulie is now on Snuggle duty, only he gets frightened by a noise in the bushes and immediately runs inside to hide in the bathroom. Heh. The Paulies are definitely indoor cats.
Dr. Boggie's office. Melfi is therapy herself, giving Doc Bogdanovich the rundown on everything that happened with Tony. As usual, he's completely unsympathetic and unable to hide his hatred for Tony. "I don't want to paint in somber tones here," he begins, "but the man is a sociopath. Unpracticed in not getting what he wants." You'll note, by the way, that Dr. Boggie is not unable to correctly express himself while using a double negative, whereas Dr. Tony was not untroubled by the same syntax. "Now that the therapy is kaput," he continues, "what use are you to him except for sex?" Damn. That's cold. "Your depth of feeling is really quite extraordinary," replies Melfi. He calls her out for only being able to come up with a weak excuse for why she couldn't date Tony, and Melfi does eventually admit that there is "a mutual sympathy there, of some kind." "Maybe it's just the Italian thing," he offers, and that may be the smartest thing he's ever said.
Bing back room. Christopher comes in to find Tony waiting for him, and quickly deduces that he's in trouble for some sort of a work-related screw up. "Is this about the Easter baskets?" he asks. Heh. "I don't even know what that is," replies Tony. "And to tell you the truth, I don't want to know." And after watching Christopher's trouble with the Christmas decorations, I can't say I blame him. Fuck that philosophical shit. Anyway, Tony chews out Christopher for refusing to pick up the check, and reminds him that when Tony was coming up, he had to buy all kinds of stuff for his own elders. "Fucking Richie Aprile? Fat fucking Jerry Anastasia? Those guys killed me at Benihanas!" Bwah! Benihanas. Now that's funny. Tony also points out that the low man picking up the tab is a custom that goes back for centuries, including the samurai, who had pages that "did their errands" and "washed their clothes" and "made sure they didn't show up at the same party as Nicole Kidman." "You should cheer up," he adds. "Someday some kid will be paying for your dinners." Christopher looks like he doesn't believe that one any more than Tony does.
Atlantic City. It's another dinner -- this one attended by Tony, Silvio, Paulie, Ray Curto, Christopher, Johnny Sack, and that one guy no one has ever been able to identify for me. I think he's Larry Boy Barese, but if you've got the episode on tape, some extra free time on your hands, and an encyclopedic knowledge of the Soprano family tree, I'd love it if you could send me an email. For the record, he's the one sitting between Tony and Johnny Sack. And it seems that the dinner itself is over, with pretty much everyone pushing their plates away and gushing about how full they are. "You sure you don't want no dessert?" asks Paulie, with a smirk directed at Christopher. "How about just one wafer-thin mint?" Before anyone can turn down said mint, however, a trio of truly skanky-looking women at a nearby table call out their thanks to Paulie, who apparently sent them over a bottle of champagne. "Enjoy it, girls," he toasts. "I been enjoying looking at youse the whole night." Oy. And hee! "Get some fucking glasses," mutters Christopher. Tony (who has pretty much been moping throughout this entire scene) finally breaks things up by announcing that he's heading to the craps table, and everyone else slowly stands up to follow.
Silvio, however, makes a point of catching up to Tony on their way out of the restaurant. "You sure you're all right?" he asks. "It's a fucking broad," confides Tony. "You believe that?" Silvio is surprised, but not as surprised as he is when Tony explains that he and said broad have had a "platonic thing" going for years, and that he's having trouble convincing her to move to the level. Silvio makes a point of asking if "she was...a friend?" in way that seemed (to me, at least) as if he knows exactly whom Tony is talking about, and exactly what their platonic relationship really entailed. Or maybe he's just nodding his head like that because his hair is stuck to the back of his collar. It could go either way.
Back at the table, Paulie calls for the check. Remember the smarmy French waiter. He'll be important in a minute. Paulie glances at the bill just long enough to chuckle over the total ($1,184, which will also be important in a minute), and then passes it over to Christopher, who reluctantly starts counting out his cash.
Cut to the parking lot, where Paulie is still taunting Chris over the size of the bill. Naturally, this upsets Christopher, and when Paulie demands to know what the problem is, here's the reply he gets: "Steaks! Three-pound lobsters! The shrimp fucking cocktail you made everyone get. And then, on top of everything else, you send those skanks a bottle of Cristal? Not to mention the Lyonnaise fucking potatoes you didn't even touch!" Hee! It's totally the potatoes that sell it. That and the fact that Christopher even knows the word "Lyonnaise" in the first place. They almost come to blows once again, but this time they're interrupted by the smarmy French waiter, who has come up with the brilliant idea of challenging the two scary-looking Italian guys in a darkened parking lot over the size of a tip they left on a bill that would have had an automatic gratuity added on in any case. The problem is that Chris only left $1,200 on a $1,184 check, and poor Frenchy here has a wife and two-point-five cute little beret-wearing moppets at home to feed. In other words, we should feel sorry for him. You know, because David Chase really wants you to. When Chris refuses to increase the size of the tip, Frenchy gets a little lippy (as the French are wont to do. I'm kidding! Don't email), and Christopher responds by beaning him in the back of the head with a handy chunk of asphalt. This sends Frenchy into a grand mal seizure of some sort, and Christopher and Paulie are totally clueless about how to handle the situation. "Don't they have medicine they're supposed to take?" wonders Chrissy. Actually, they probably do, but rather than look for it, Paulie instead opts just to shoot the guy right in the chest. Oh, yeah. You want whackings? We got whackings. Paulie reaches down to grab the money from the check off Frenchy's dead body, and even though the point here is that we're totally not supposed to sympathize with a bunch of sociopathic killers, David Chase still can't help going for the cheap laugh with Christopher shouting, "That's my money, Paulie!" as they dash to their cars. Yep, that's right! He'll be here all week, folks. And PLEASE, don't forget to tip your waiters and waitresses. Incidentally, Chris is now driving a Hummer, so I'm not really sure where he gets off bitching about having to spend so much on dinners. Especially because that's like his tenth car in five season. But, whatever.
The hospital. Carmine is still unconscious. Johnny arrives to comfort Little Carmine, and we all get our recommended daily dosage of foreshadowing when Little Carmine observes, "You know, you were like another son to him."
Christopher's apartment. Chris is on the sofa, reading My Search For Bill W., which is presumably a book about alcoholism and addiction. He gets a call from Paulie, who wants to commiserate about how "fucked up" it was that they had to kill the waiter. This scene does, incidentally, get bonus points for giving us the season's first usage of everyone's favorite catchphrase: "What are you gonna do?" "Let's bury the hatchet, you and me," offers Paulie. "All this bullshit with us. Life's too short to spend it fighting with your friends." Aww. Isn't that sweet? Of course, he then has to go and ruin it by adding, "Look what could've happened last night. One of us could have gotten hurt, or even killed, for Christ's sake!" Um, killed by what, exactly? Flying spittle? Bad shrimp cocktail? Poisoned hair gel? I guess the point here is that these two patch things up, and exchange heartfelt apologies. I doubt it'll last, but it was still oddly touching.
Melfi's office. There's some sort of group therapy going on, and not only has continuity returned in the form of a short skirt for Melfi, but once again her other patients are being played for goofy laughs. If this show ever decides to do a spin-off, I'd love to see what life is like around this office all day. As the session ends and everyone files out, Melfi is shocked to find Tony waiting for her out in the lobby. This time he's decided to ply her with tickets to Bermuda, claiming that a friend had them and couldn't use them. In fact, he makes that particular claim about eight times in thirty seconds, with his voice getting higher and his nose getting longer with every single instance. "I turned down a wonderful dinner invitation," she replies, "and you think I'll go away with you." "Come on, I'm breaking out the big guns here," he whines. "You're turning me into half a stalker." Oh, please. That's not even like three tenths of a stalker. Trust me. I know. Melfi tries one last time to explain emphatically that she's not going to go out with Tony, mostly by saying that it's just something she doesn't want to do for her own personal reasons, and also because she wants to preserve his own options for returning to therapy. He begs her to help him understand, because the last fifteen times she explained it apparently weren't clear enough. Or maybe they weren't fraught enough with dramatic tension, because this time Melfi breaks out the big guns of her own: "You know, Anthony, during therapy I never judged you or your behavior. It's not the place of a therapist to do so. In a personal relationship, I don't think I could sit silent. Our values are just very different." Tony is somewhat offended that she doesn't like his values, but he does still ask her to elaborate, and even makes a point of assuring her that he's not going to whack her for answering honestly. "You're not a truthful person," she begins, which earns a shy, guilty shrug from Tony. "You're not respectful of women. You're not respectful of people...you take what you want from them through force, or the threat of force. I couldn't live like that. I couldn't bear witness to violence." Which, I suppose is precisely the difference between Carmela and Melfi. They both admit they want Tony, and they both refuse to admit they want the trappings that come with him, but Melfi isn't willing to turn a blind eye to get it. Carmela was, and probably would be again if Tony ever bothered to ask nicely. But that's a discussion for another episode. In this episode, Tony scream "Fuck!" and storms out of the office. Then he slams the door, and just for good measure yells, "You're a fucking cunt!" I bothered to throw in that last one as reminder to everyone that they don't need to spoiler-tag curse words in the forums.
Cut to sad Tony, driving in his car. You can tell he's really sad this time because there's no subtextually relevant song playing on the radio.
And finally, we return to Das Sopranohaus one last time. Tony comes home again to find Carmela in the kitchen, and Vinnie Delpino shirking his Care Bear duties to make a call to his girlfriend. When Vinnie finally does emerge into kitchen, Tony offers to take the Winnie Watch, and sends Vinnie off to do whatever it is that thirty-five-year-old guys who still look like they're sixteen like to do on a weekday night. Carmela watches silently as Tony picks up the AK-47 and heads outside. She does, however, follow him out to offer him coffee once again, which he declines. Tony makes himself comfortable out on the patio, and lights up a cigar as he settles in for the night. And when you think about it, this is probably precisely the way both of them want it. There's no love, and no passion, but it's comfortable, and it's familiar, and really, it's all they both know. And so the jaunty country music kicks in again, and Tony leans back in his chair, and the fifth-season premiere ends on an iconic image of Tony, with a cigar in his mouth and a machine gun in his hand, guarding the past and staring into the darkness of his future.