I never get tired of this show's opening credits. In the approximately twelve years since the last season, I kind of forgot about it. Lost's spooky minimalism is not without its charm, but the way Tony drives us into his world, with the song's tension and menace providing the soundtrack, sets up the mood for me. I never fast-forward. I am also enjoying the opportunity to recap a show that comes with a warning for violence, coarse language, and nudity. Because who doesn't like boobs? Oh, right. Well, we'll get to Vito soon enough.
A bathrobed Tony strolls out poolside, and gingerly eases into one of the deck chairs. Comfortably ensconced, he begins flipping through his copy of Yachting magazine (which, mental note, must renew subscription. Thanks for the reminder, show). Within seconds, though, he's distracted by the persistent rattling of Casa Soprano's air-conditioning unit. He makes a face, because God knows how anyone can be expected to be happy if he can't read his luxury oceangoing vessel magazine by the pool of his massive house? He strolls over, and tries punching the metal box. I'm surprised that this doesn't work, but then again, I'm not super-mechanically inclined. When the punching method doesn't work, Tony tries the ol' lid toss, like he can't just take the lid off and set it aside, he has to rip it off and throw it into the bushes, such is the extent of his irritation. Convinced that he's shown the air conditioner who's boss, Tony settles back into his chair. Cue the rattling. Cue Tony's half-lidded glare. Cue the sad trumpet blaring "wah-waaaaaaahhhh."
Looks like Vito's hiding out somewhere off the Jersey shore with his goomar, who says she's "lying out," and asks whether he wants to come. "The UV index is ten," says Not As Wide Guy, and the goomar bitches that they never go out, and that they don't do anything else (meaning sex). Vito asks if that's all she thinks about. "'All I ever think about'? You haven't fucked me in over a year!" she yells, which Vito blames on his blood sugar, something to do with his weight loss, and not on the fact that he doesn't like vagina. The goomar stomps out, and Vito yells, "Good! Fine! Skin cancer!" which it looks to me like her leather skin will protect her from anyway.
Tony's sitting outside at Satriale's, and Christophuh shows up, and kisses him hello. That is so gay. They discuss the Rusty hit, Christopher asking whether Tony made the call to Italy. "Our friend over there is going to fit him for a suit," says Tony. I thought Johnny Sack wanted this guy whacked, not...oh. Ohhhhhhhh. "She's going to send over two of her best tailors," says Tony. I thought she was in Miami now? Tony wants Chris to set the "tailors" up with a third party, to procure some "scissors." I love the euphemisms. I love the thought of, like, the worst FBI agents in the world monitoring the conversation and taking a break, thinking Tony and Chris are just talking about suits. Chris has mulled it over, and he's not so opposed to contracting the work out as he was before. Tony gives him a wry "glad you approve."
Benny Fazio and that guy "Murmur," who used to be on NYPD Blue, stroll out of Sal's, and say hello. So does Penne Arrabiata, who Tony pulls aside. "About the other day...," Tony begins, but Penne says it's okay, and was just a couple of stitches. He's also sporting a beauty of a shiner. Tony starts counting out some money, which Penne initially refuses, but Tony insists, chuckling about his temper. Penne, apologetically, says that he doesn't remember slamming the refrigerator door: "But Carlo told me, and my dad, I never should have raised my hands to you. I'm sorry." He needs to be told not to hit his boss? Tony grants him forgiveness. I hope this clears up any doubts about the fight being staged, no?
An AA meeting. These are always good for a laugh. A woman is describing her daily routine for the group -- coffee, couple lines of meth, shot of Jameson's: "And that was just to drive the kids to school." The group chuckles, knowingly. Chris mimes smoking a cigarette to Murmur, and they head outside to indulge another addiction. Their departure is noticed by another meeting-goer, who follows them outside, fortunately (for us) in time for Chris to express his contempt for human frailty, just as he lights up a smoke. "Chris, right?" says the guy. "Should I know you?" is Chris's tough-guy reply. The guy introduces himself as Kevin Mucci, from Yonkers, and we get a weird Lost In Yonkers reference, and he lays out how he and Chris met somewhere through his cousin, but it's not that important. "So I saw my cousin this week. Turns out he ran into a friend of yours. The big guy, Vito. "And?" says Chris, not really interested. "He was in a fag bar. Dancing with a guy." Chris gives him a "Get the fuck out!" But Kevin just nods and grins.
Chris screeches into the Bing parking lot, and he and Murmur hop out and stomp into the club to interrupt the boys' drinking. "You are not gonna fuckin' believe this!" Chris tells Tony, but he doesn't even get to drop the bomb himself. Murmur does: "Vito Spatafore is an ass-muncher!" Murmur's glee at relating this is cut short by the disbelief that greets it. Chris outlines the story of the alleged sighting at the bar, but the crew isn't believing it, what with Vito having a wife and goomar and all. Sal Iacuzzo is the cousin who spotted Vito (and Carlo speaks up, says he knows Sal) while he was in the bar, supposedly on business: "He saw Vito holding hands with a guy in nipple rings." "You're leaving out the best part," prompts Murmur, so Chris continues: "He was wearin' a motorcycle outfit, like the guy in the Village People, with the hat, and the vest." Chaps, too, says Murmur helpfully. Well, the chaps make the outfit, you have to realize. Tony thinks about this. So does Sil. But Paulie ain't buyin' it: "Fuckin' slander, ask me!" "Let's take this in the back," says Tony, in what will be the first of many setup lines this episode, and Murmur can't resist: "Yeah, that's what Vito did!" he cackles, and Tony tells him he can go. Paulie's glare seconds that emotion.
In the backroom, Paulie says that if it was him this rumour was being spread about, the guy doing the spreading would have something up his own ass: "And it wouldn't be no cock, either." Yeah, thanks for clarifying that, Paulie. Carlo vouches for Sal, saying that he's a friend of theirs. Meanwhile, Chris is trying to tell everyone that he "called it, long time ago." Tony doesn't believe him, and all Chris can say is "I never said it, but I knew." Tony doesn't want to rush to judgment, because for all they know, this Sal guy "could have a hard-on for Vito." Okay, I promise you we get it. Pretty please? Chris snickers, and Tony wants to know what's so damn funny. "There's a man's reputation at stake!" he says, and Paulie reminds him that it's a married man with kids. Carlo helpfully points out that it don't mean nothin', because even Elton John was married, and Silvio mentions Rock Hudson for no reason. Chris wonders whether they actually need to see Vito "take it in the ass" for confirmation, like, how much does HBO miss Oz, anyway, and Tony tells Patsy to get Vito on the phone.
While they wait, Silvio recalls Vito's late-night phone call, which Chris astutely guesses was Vito fishing to find out whether word was out. Patsy reports that his call went right to voicemail. Silvio reminds Tony that Vito represents them. "I'm not gonna condemn the man off the word of some douchebag from Yonkers!" snaps Tony. I'm glad I'm not the only one who still says "douchebag," instead of the inferior truncated "douche." I kick it old school, 'cause I'm an old fool. Patsy says that he could care less, so Paulie suggests that maybe Patsy is a "plump [something]." Whatever it was, it's most assuredly not complimentary. Carlo suggests the ol' dragging-from-the-bumper treatment for the "fucking nauseating" Vito, and Tony calls Carlo "Judge Roy Bean." Silvio says that one of the Bing girls knows Vito's goomar, so maybe she's seen him or knows where he is. Patsy strolls out, Silvio still glaring at him. Carlo tells Tony to think about Vito's sudden weight loss. I truly had no idea what Carlo was getting at, but Paulie knew exactly: "AIDS?" he yells at Tony, who wasn't cluing in either. "Nobody's got AIDS!" yells Tony, who says he doesn't want to hear that word in there again. Too bad, as the girls greasing the poles out on the dance floor are more likely to be at risk. Fucking junior-high locker-room in here.
Over at South Bronx Law Centre: at the Free Legal Services for Underserved Persons, Meadow is listening to an Afghani family fret about their son, who was arrested four days ago for reasons they know not -- they don't even know where he's being held. "FBI went to his school and took him like a criminal. This is America?" asks the father. Pretty much. You didn't know this? The mother also complains about her daughter being made to take off her headscarf at a roller rink. "You're kidding me, why?" asks Meadow, aghast. Jeeves, tell the stableboy to get my saddle. I'll be getting on my high horse today. The daughter says, "He said it was for insurance. It might fall off, and someone could trip," she explains. The mother points out that this wouldn't happen if she'd been wearing a yarmulke. I like that, putting a wart on the nose of the downtrodden family. Discrimination comes in many forms, and just because your rights are being trampled doesn't mean you're a saint.
Not that Meadow picks up on the nuances. She's now in the Casa Soprano kitchen with Carmela, AJ, and Finn, complaining about the government "fucking over" this "poor, hardworking family." Well, sweetheart, your dad's guys can't be everywhere, can they? Someone's got to pick up the slack. Speaking of which, Tony strolls in, wanting to know when it became okay to use that kind of language in this house "with immunity [sic]." Meadow's better off saving her breath than telling Tony about the family, but she does anyway. Tony mimes playing a violin, and AJ laughs. What was it that got to you, AJ? Was it the idea that someone might work three jobs instead of jerking off at Blockbuster? "You think it's funny? The FBI snatched their son off the street like we're some Third World dictatorship," says Meadow, and Carm depressingly, and unfortunately accurately for a lot of people like her, says there must have been a reason. Maybe they're terrorists, offers AJ, who's Italian-American, so he's probably in the Mafia. If a mobbed-up family can't get outraged about the jackboot techniques of the FBI, say goodbye to any remaining civil rights. Meadow's never more annoying than when she's (mostly) right, because that's when she gets even more hectoring when she bitches about her family falling for Bush's bullshit use of 9/11 to erode everyone's constitutional protections. Carm shrugs, and says she voted for him; how that scores points in this debate is beyond me, but at least Meadow recognizes the futility of arguing and stomps off, but not before saying, "Right. You don't relate to black people clinging to logs." No, not like Meadow does. But (sigh) at least she's working at South Bronx Law Centre: Free Legal Services for Underserved Persons. Tony says she should "chill out about some of this." It's about as effective as yelling, "'Fraid not!"
But Tony's gears are apparently working, because over at the Bing, he asks a dumbbell-curling Chris about Muhammed and Ahmed. When Tony came in, by the way, Chris put down the dumbbell, and did that nose-wiping thing that usually signifies "cocaine user." Was Imperioli just scratching? He usually knows what he's doing, so maybe that's a signal; then again, he unfortunately briefly glanced at the camera at the beginning of the scene. Watch it again; you'll see it. But anyway. "You think there's a chance that they could be, I don't know, Al-Qaedas? Something like that?" asks Tony. Chris says that it did cross his mind, but I don't think he's blowing smoke, like he was when he was talking about his gaydar going off for Vito. The guys are both gun nuts, but Ahmed thought the protests over the Danish cartoons would reflect badly on all Muslims, while Muhammed and his girlfriend have a springer spaniel. Either Tony accepts this or can't think of any reason why he shouldn't accept it, and says he's going to go get a coffee. Chris watches him leave, looking like he's wondering what's up with T, and then furrows his brow like maybe he's thinking a little harder about Ahmed and Muhammed's possible Al-Qaeda-ness. I'm sure he'll work it out. Chris is a smart guy. In future news, Ahmed and Muhammed are dead. Or in jail.
Vito pulls his Cadillac into the driveway of his goomar's place. As he gets out, he sees the welcoming committee of Benny, Carlo, and Murmur striding across the lawn toward him. They make it out like a "where the fuck you been" type of visit, and Vito acts like his phone's been on the fritz. He asks whether everything's all right. "You tell us," says Benny. Good, don't make him suspicious or anything, Benny. Vito says that he'll call Tony, which would sound more plausible if he hadn't just bitched about his crappy phone. "Better you come in," says Benny. Vito, after a pause, agrees, and tells them to go ahead; he'll follow in his own car. The boys look like they don't like it, but it's not like they're supposed to whack him, yet. Still, they probably ought to have insisted on driving him themselves, since Vito spins out of the driveway, spitting gravel all over them. Benny's having a grand ol' time, picking up gravel and chucking it ineffectually at Vito's back end (shut up). Benny calls him a fanook and tells him not to come around here no more. Whatever he's looking for.
Chris is meeting with the third party like Tony wanted, a guy named Corky, who was once a dirtbag on 24. Corky gets in Chris's car in a rain-drenched parking lot, and Chris confirms that Corky speaks "Eye-tal." He says that they've got some "friends" coming over from Naples to pay a visit to "the little guy in Ozone Park." Corky notes that the little guy is pretty high up. Chris nods. He says that Corky should provide them with the guns, and they sort out the details. Chris pays Corky with a little baggie of what I presume is heroin, promising "part two" when Corky hold up his end. As he pockets the drugs, Corky says, "I heard Fat Vito's been riding up the Hershey highway." Naturally, Chris gets his back up, and tries to pretend that someone started a joke (an explanation that didn't exactly work for Vito, but then again Chrissy doesn't look ready to start singing "YMCA"), but that there's no truth to it. It's obvious to Corky that he's touched a nerve, so he accepts this explanation, or pretends to, and it's unfortunate that Chris feels the need to keep protesting, in a too-much kind of way, explaining that people went to see him, and he was down the shore with his goomar, and then laughs about Vito talking off like a "bat on a hill" when he saw the welcoming committee. You know, if Chris is up on his classic rock, to quote Springsteen perfectly, as an in-joke in a scene with Silvio, he should at least know the proper expression from the Meat Loaf album, if nothing else. "Could be a midlife thing," offers Corky. "Sucking a cock," snaps Chris, like Corky's the idiot in the car.
The baby-sitter's stretched out across the couch in a midriff-revealing top and short denim skirt, like your basic Penthouse letter opening paragraph. But the actress plays it sweetly and innocently as she greets Mr. Spatafore, telling him that his wife went to the hospital with her mom, and that the kids are in bed. From the Vito-POV shot, looking down the baby-sitter's top, I was convinced that Vito was going to rape her as a way of denying the rumours, if only to his own confused self. But he doesn't, and that's another thing I like about this show -- the underlying tension that keeps you watching, keeps you guessing.
Instead, Vito packs a bag, going through hiding spots around the house where he's stashed cash. He also takes a framed picture of his and his wife's wedding, which he looks at for a long moment. He kisses his daughter goodbye, and then his son, and then with thunder crashing and the rain soaking the night, he drives off down the highway, with nothing but a big ol' plate of ribs to keep him company. Well, that AIDS rumour won't have any circumstantial evidence much longer, anyway. His cell phone rings, so he answers it, after first taking care to wipe his sauce-coated hands all over his pants. Please, people, cut the guy a break; he's running for his life. Plus pants are much easier to clean than upholstery. Vito checks the caller ID, which lets him know that "Phil L" is calling, and he sighs sadly, and closes the phone. Then throws it out the passenger-side window. The amazing thing is that the ringtone changes, somehow becoming more plaintive as it flies out the window and clatters onto the side of the road. If a cell phone rings in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does an asshole still cut you off?
Vito might have thrown the phone out a little early, though, because the rain (presumably) has downed a tree branch right across the road. He manages somehow not to see the tree before it wedges itself right up under his front driver's-side wheel-well. He curses, and gets out his rain poncho (who actually has a rain poncho in his car? ["Oh, you know how persnickety the gays can be about their outfits" -- Wing Chun]) and his suitcase, and trundles off down the road like Wide Red Riding Hood.
Before I presume too long, because it's still pouring rain and Vito hasn't dropped dead from the walk, he finds himself in "Dartford, New Hampshire," a place I'm told doesn't actually exist except in the minds of New Hampshire Tourism officials. Better news: there's a Kiwanis chapter in town!
Vito spots a sign for a Bed & Breakfast, notes that there's vacancy, and takes his gun out of his pants to put it in his bag. He's too tired to rob the place, I suppose. He rings the doorbell, and the proprietress answers. I think Vito's problems have gone from bad to worse, because if I remember my X-Files, this woman just might be the devil, and will almost certainly turn into a snake and eat Vito. There's a little confusion between the two of them, because Vito's being rude and cranky, while the Snake Devil is surprised by the "walk-in." Fortunately, Vito remembers his manners, and explains that he's just tired, plus his car broke down. But fortunately, Snake Devil's stepson runs a tow service, and can bring the car in to town in the morning. Vito hilariously peels off a couple of bills (not for the room, because she already said he could pay in the morning), and says, "This is for you." She graciously refuses, and doesn't even seem surprised. Maybe she gets a lot of Mafia customers.
Upstairs in his room, Vito pulls off the rain tarp, pulls the pictures out from his bag (he's also taken one of his kids), slides his gun under the pillow, and flops down on the bed, breathing heavily after his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Vito wakes up the morning, looking almost kind of surprised that he's still alive. Every day is a gift, Vito.
Carm's out at her spec house, which looks more like a crack house. It's been ransacked...
...which means Carmela's going to go yell at her poor dad, right when he's in the middle of hosing down the driveway. From his look when she comes screeching up, he knows exactly why she's there. She doesn't seem to blame him initially when she bitches at him about the PVC and the roof shingles being missing, but he's not exactly flabbergasted, so she puts two and two together, and he totally folds under questioning anyway. "You left it there to rot!" he says. And she screeches some about how he picked the place over "with [her] husband on his deathbed" They argue about the permits and whose fault it is, although it seems like there's plenty of blame on both sides there, and if the neighbours wasn't sufficiently annoyed already, Carm's mom comes out to yell about a missing BUNDT pun or whatever, like she was inside looking out the window, and saw her husband and Carmela arguing, and said, "I want in on this," and looked around the kitchen to find something to bitch about. Carmela stomps off to the car, and her mom pleads with her not to go, and if you go to Television Heaven, there is a little part where you get to hear Carmela's dad saying, "I've had a lifetime of her bullshit!" over and over again.
In New Waterville or wherever New Hampshire, Vito wanders into a diner, and the short-order cook looks like that guy, Morgan Spurlock, from that documentary where he ate nothing but McDonald's and then his wife complained about his lack of sex drive. He and Vito should have lots to talk about. Vito orders coffee, and then goes out to make a phone call. I guess you'd want to order coffee first, to give the coffee time to cool.
Out in the phone booth, Vito dials directory assistance, looking for a cousin in Peterborough, New Hampshire, under both her married (Roberta DiPiazza) and maiden (Roberta Spatafore) names, as well as her husband's name, Angelo DiPiazza. No dice, and Vito's somewhat chagrined that the 411 operator is not going to "search the whole state." Not for twenty-five cents, she's not.
Back in the diner, Morgan Spurlock is finally pouring the damn coffee, and as he serves it, he tells first-timer-in-the-diner Vito to try the "Johnny cakes," which I've only ever heard of in that Simpsons episode where Donald Sutherland is a museum curator, and Vito is likewise ignorant of what means "Johnny cakes," and it turns out they're pancakes made with cornmeal, and are a New England specialty. Since Vito has decided he's from "Scottsdale," he wouldn't know anything about them, but he orders some up, only he can't get the Jimmy Deans he wants, because this apparently incredibly labour-intensive diner makes all its own sausages in-house. Vito watches the friendly cook drip the batter on the stove. In walk two guys -- regulars, from the reaction of the cook, and of another patron, who asks how they handled the storm. The power went out in the middle of Cold Case, and these two were worried they might have to talk to each other! The cook wanders over and asks whether the guys want their usual. Vito takes in the fact that the cook has managed not to beat up the fanooks, and there don't seem to be any heterosexual relationships involuntarily being ripped apart as a result of this mockery of God's law. And now the Johnny cakes are ready, and the cook is being really nice to Vito, and Vito gives him the once-over. Not lecherous, more contemplative, you know? Not, "I want to have sex with him"; more like, "It would be okay around here if I had sex with him." Assuming Chef Johnny Cakes is into it, naturally.
Speaking of having sex with people, back home, Silvio is talking to Vito's wife, Marie, under the pretext of waiting for Vito, who, according to his wife, is supposed to be back from Vegas today. Sil asks how things are between them. "We have our ups and downs," Marie says, guardedly. Silvio presses, asking about the romance side of things, which Marie doesn't really feel like talking about. She's less than enthusiastic of her endorsement of Vito as a good father and a loving husband. "But his mind is elsewhere," says Silvio, bringing up the "unexplained powders" that Vito likes to take. Marie says he's got a goomar, and she knows how it works. Anyway, when he gets back, Vito's got Blood, Sweat and Tears tickets waiting for him, with backstage passes, from Silvio. I say Marie uses them and try to get some sweet lovin' from Blood, Sweat and, if she doesn't have to hurry back to get the baby-sitter home, Tears.
Outside, Silvio climbs into an SUV, with Tony waiting in the passenger seat. "I'm telling you, my business? I'm around women. And that one ain't gettin' laid." Heh. Of all the hazards of being a mob wife, one of the more uncomfortable might be having Silvio poking around to see whether you and your husband have been going to the mattresses lately, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. (I mean having sex.) Tony flips open his phone, and tries Vito's phone again, and the abandoned, ringing cell phone by the side of route 228 is picked up by a worker on a road crew doing some paving. It takes Tony a while to clue in that this is not some guy with Vito: "What, you sucking his dick? Put him on!" The worker helpfully offers to kick Tony's ass, and Tony calls him a "telephone tough guy," and the worker asks him to hang on a second, and tosses the phone underneath the road paver, so Tony's demands to know where this guy found the phone go unheeded. This doesn't surprise me so much; I've found that menacingly asking people about sucking dick doesn't make them as inclined to help me as you'd think.
At Artie's restaurant, Carmela, Rosalie, and Gabrielle are going over plans for some silent auction or some such cliché charity thing that my eyes just instantly glazed over. Angie Bonpiensero breezes in, blames work, and then just as instantly starts complaining: about Artie, about the fact that they're doing a silent auction instead of a live one, about Lost being a repeat, about everything. She rudely cuts off Artie as he's rattling off the specials, which...I mean, Artie can be a tool, I know. But Angie's doing the "excuse my brusqueness because I'm soooo busy," like, eat your lunch at your desk if you're so damn busy. I guarantee you that if you go out the parking lot, her car is parked to the side of where the actual spaces are, as close to the entrance as possible, because she's acting like she's one of those people who are too important to park like a human being and walk thirty damn feet. And no, this isn't one of those cases where it's "Oh, sure, but if she were a man she's be considered strong." If she were a man, she'd be a douchebag. I'm trying to cut Angie some slack because of her husband being killed and everything, and I don't know about Rosalie and Gabrielle, but we know that Carm wasn't exactly a pillar of support for her. And if Carm was scared that what happened to Angie could happen to her, now she's quite jealous that Angie seems to have things so together, even if a lot of it comes across to me as meaningless talking-loudly- on-a-cell-phone- in-a-restaurant- I'm-so-important peacockery to me. But Angie chips in $2,000 in bodywork, which impresses everybody. Rosalie says, "Madon'!" and to me it's just not an episode without someone saying that. Carmela keeps making surprised fish faces at Angie. She seems to be torn between annoyed and impressed that Angie's taking charge of things, including the auction, which Angie says should be a live one; they'll get everyone liquored up.
Talk quickly turns to Vito and Marie getting separated, and Angie's cell phone goes off, and she snaps at whoever's on the other end, but then says she has to go, so she just orders up some prosciutt' melon to go. "No, the quarter-panel from the Le Sabre, I said," says Angie, into her phone. Carmela's transfixed.
Dr. Melfi's office, where we're going to have to sit through a whole lotta Tony working through his issues with homosexuality, with some Freudian slips and single-entendres that aren't totally already tedious. Melfi asks whether Tony had any idea that Vito was gay. Tony, clearly lying, says that he had Vito pegged all along. But Vito's one of his best guys, and he helped Carmela while Tony was in the hospital and they were strapped financially. Weird -- it's almost like Vito is just like anyone else, hey? Melfi's surprised that the hospital stay was such a financial strain, because it was her impression that Tony has millions, and he gets all confused, and asks whether that's the issue. Melfi asks him the same thing. Tony says, "He's a fa-aaaaag!" all sing-songy, like the issue is self-evident. Not that Melfi doesn't know what his deal is, but she seems to be enjoying letting him squirm. Tony sarcastically says that he knows that they're "born that way," but frankly they go about in pity for themselves, and although in Melfi's world, there's probably lots of gays and "trans-whatevers," but not where Tony comes from, goddammit. How about that mercy fuck now, Melfi? When pressed by Melfi, Tony says he personally finds homosexuality disgusting. He makes the tired complaint that every television show "rubs your noses in it." That's the argument I love: "I've got nothing against gays; it's just why do they have to be so open about it?" I never understand this. I don't know why people put forth this argument that they are unable to change a television channel, and therefore are apparently forced to watch Will & Grace. You know? Arguing with people like this is very tiring, because it's "not where I come from!" on one hand, and "my nose is being rubbed in it" on the other. It's one or the other. And when we know full well that when you say "rubbing our noses in it" you mean "existing," how do we talk about this? And when a wire story on Joe Gannascoli comes with a picture of the actor and his wife, that gives the article that annoying "just so no one gets the wrong idea" vibe that actors unfortunately sometimes give off when they play gay characters. And I hate that. Part of the problem and all that.
And in the case of Will & Grace, gay people are allowed to have shows that suck too, right? I went to see Brokeback Mountain, and the ticket guy lowers his voice and says, "You do know what it's about, right?" like I've never had a ticket guy warn me that a movie's going to be extremely violent, or sexually exploitive (which would be nice, to be informed of its selling points), or outright sucks, but I get the sotto voce warning because a movie has two guys who love each other? Not that it isn't entirely realistic that this is what Tony's attitude would be, but the same-sex marriage debate was so divisive up here in Canada, because two guys getting married meant lots of straight God-fearing Canadian men stopped loving their wives as much, if I understood their arguments correctly.
Of course, it's not like The Sopranos's own editorial stance isn't made clear when Tony, without any sense of irony, says "that lesbian thing" with Jennifer Beals is pretty good. He thinks about it a moment, and then asks, "She a dyke in real life?" Melfi has the good grace to demur. And don't forget, Tony says, he's a "strict Catholic." Again, no irony. Pretty much the only person who'd ever get to quote the Bible to me to make a point about how others should comport themselves is Mother Teresa. Tony pays some lip service to not caring what consenting adults do behind closed doors, but he agrees with that Senator "Sanitorium" (we're with you, Chase) that you go too far down this road, we'll be fucking dogs. Which is the other argument brought up a lot. Putting aside how odious it is to compare sex with another person to sex with an animal, it's like this weird fear that same-sex marriage won't be permitted, it'll be obligatory. For straight people too.
"I hear a lot of ambivalence," says Melfi, and I don't think she was being sarcastic; Tony's tone is that of someone who doesn't entirely believe what he's saying. He thinks for a moment: "The guys that work for me are asking for head." Pause. "His head," he says, rolling his eyes. Please stop this now? What it comes down to is dollars -- Tony says that a lot of the old-timers aren't going to want to work with Vito, and these are mega-dollar deals he's talking about.
Melfi changes the subject to men in Tony's profession going to jail, and how they can't be strangers to "male-male sexual contact." Tony's silent for a moment, before saying, "You get a pass for that." "Well, that's nice," she says flatly. Heh. Tony explains that with no women for five, ten years, what are you gonna do? Well, I went to college. Problem solved, my friend. Tony also takes great pains to let Melfi know that his own incarceration (?) was very short-term, so he never had any need for "anal, you know..." Thanks for that, Tony. And even when Melfi tries to ask what Vito says about the whole thing, Tony's worried that she thinks he's lying about not having any need for "anal, you know..." Melfi lets him twist a little bit.
And after a little introspection, Tony admits that some part of him says, "God bless, salud." After all, he got a second chance; why shouldn't Vito? It's part of the new, improved Tony, which Melfi herself salutes. "Tall fuckin' order, I tell you that," says Tony. "You can talk about every day being a gift, and stopping to smell the roses...but regular life's got a way of picking away at it." His kids, his things, his cell phone...what was he just saying about people going around in pity for themselves?
Back at home, Tony undresses for bed, while Carmela works on her auction. And she says she hasn't wanted to bug him, but before he got hurt, he was going to get the building inspector to cut her some slack. He promises to get on it. And typical Carmela, she now pats the bed and tells him to come hither, but he begs off, saying that he tore something last time, tensing his muscles. He lowers himself into bed, and lies down, and Carmela starts rubbing Vitamin E cream onto his operation scar, to "get the red out." I don't know, T. Vitamin E? Could be kinda gay. His session with Melfi seems to have opened him up somewhat, and he tells Carmela that she was right about his uncle all along. "Doesn't give me any pleasure, believe me," says Carmela. Tony says that he should have cut his uncle out of his life, and that he brought this on himself. Carmela gently tells him not to think that way. He says that she never once said, "I told you so." I bet she did, when he was in the coma. She kisses him. He says it's Melfi's theory that he stood by Junior through all his shit to prove that he's a good guy: "And that my mother couldn't hate a good boy like that." I think he's lost Carm. She looks like she's thinking about her spec house again.
Rosalie's in the Soprano kitchen, marveling about lying to a guy for fifteen years and not knowing he's "playing for the pink team," a euphemism with which I was not familiar. Carm wants to know who told Ro, because Tony swore her to secrecy. Rosalie's not going to burn her sources, though. And if you assumed that the women were going to be any more enlightened about this, Carm wonders how the children are going to feel "when they find out their father's a fanook." Well, if it's offending God that's the problem, I'm guessing the daughter will pursue a law career while Vito Jr. will wind up with no worse than a job at Blockbuster Video. (Note to self: you know those logo parody shirts that are so awesome? Design one for Cockblocker Video. Make millions.) Carm wonders if the Spatafores had some kind of arrangement, while Ro says she just hopes that Marie gets tested. Carm goes so far as to make the sign of the cross, and then says that Vito would be the last one you'd suspect. Who'd be the first? I say Bobby.
It's at this point that Meadow struts in, all dressed up, and Rosalie says something about the little lady. Carm proudly says that she's interning at a law firm with a couple of Italian names. Meadow asks what the deal is with Vito, and Carm just says that he and Marie are having some problems. Meadow says that she can probably guess, and she and Carm face each other down, neither wanting to go first, only each secretly dying to. Carm says that Vito is possibly gay. Meadow sees her "possibly gay" and raises her to "Finn saw him giving some guy a blowjob." Take the pot, Meadow. Rosalie looks like she just involuntarily evacuated her bowels. She and Carmela can't believe this, and Meadow explains the whole story, and that Finn's still freaked out about it, and neither of them said anything about it, because Vito warned them against it.
Tony strolls in, singing a song to himself, the lyrics of which I suppose I could look up because it undoubtedly offers some trenchant meta-commentary, but...meh. Carmela, to Meadow's horror, says that Tony needs to hear something. Tony just looks like, "Aw, what the fuck now?"
What the fuck now is that Tony brings Finn into the back room at the Bing. Everybody makes dentist jokes, until Tony cuts the joviality (not that Finn has been put at ease at all) by saying that Finn has some bad news, and he sits Finn down and asks him to tell them what he saw. Finn looks around the room. He's terrified.
Cut to Vito going for a stroll along the Dartford main drag, in his stylish track suit. He passes an antique shop, gazes inside. He goes for a walk in the park, and sits by a rocky waterfall. If you ask me, I will tell you that I think the water represents the inner turmoil he feels, that gradually becomes calmer and calmer after making it down the rocks. It also symbolizes me really needing to take a whiz.
Back at the Bing, Finn has apparently filled in the crew. Tony's staring at him like this is the first time he's heard the sordid details, which doesn't seem right to me. He didn't ask Finn himself first? Silvio's under the impression that Vito was getting blown by the security guard, and Finn corrects him, saying 'twas the other way around. This sends everyone into a lather, which Carlo expresses as "He was pitching, not catching!" Maybe he was just a relief pitcher? With not very many blown saves? Oh, great, now I'm doing it. ["Plus...wasn't he catching? I don't know much about baseball, I guess." -- Wing Chun] Finn looks quite uncomfortable. I love people busting on Finn for being so scared here. It's the back room of a strip club with the New Jersey mob, and people are all, "Finn's a pussy. Just say what happened! If it was me, I'd be all, 'Tony, Vito was slobbing the guy's knob. You gonna let that stand?' And I'd stomp out all, 'Later,' after I punch Paulie in the face to show I'm tough as fuck. But that's just how I roll. Finn's a puss. Shit." Finn wants to make sure Vito won't know Finn told on him. Paulie says, "You ain't gonna have no problem from Vito. Believe me." Why, whatever do you mean, Paulie? Finn wants to know what they're going to do. Chris, who might not be as dumb as he's seemed lately, says, albeit somewhat unconvincingly, that they'll get him to pay for some therapy. Finn: "I choose to believe this." Then Tony tells him to go outside, and get a sandwich, whatever kind he likes, and a soda, and someone will take him back. (It's like Tony's talking to a seven-year-old. ["Sure, but who doesn't enjoy a free sandwich and cool beverage?" -- Wing Chun]) Finn strolls out, somewhat concerned, but I'll guarantee you he's just the teensiest bit relieved that maybe he just signed Vito's death warrant. You can't spell fanook without Finn. Well, not all of it, anyway.
Chris says that it'd be an honour to kill the "fat faggot" himself, and cut off his wang, and feed it to him. Tony wants everyone to calm down. Bobby hilariously says that they can't have him in the social club anymore: "That much I do know." How did Bobby even get into the mafia? "You gotta pay me protection, or you don't get to come to the barbecue!" Carlo busts on him: "'Social club'? He's gotta go!" Tony wants to think about things, and Bobby backs him up, so you know how much support that's going to get from everyone else. Paulie jumps up and wants to know what there is to think about, and doesn't back down, so Tony has to get in his face and ask whether Paulie's going to look after Vito's kids once he's gone. Paulie looks like he thinks that's a valid point, and even Christopher says, "That's true. They didn't do anything. Poor little guys." Paulie calms down, apologizing to Tony for yelling. Chris makes a joke about Vito "greasing the unions." It slays Patsy, anyway. Tony unnecessarily tells everyone that this doesn't leave the room. Everybody nods.
Phil Leotardo shows up at Vito's place to console a distraught Marie, who keeps waiting to hear from her husband. She wants to know how long she's supposed to tell the kids he's away on business. "Fuckin' shitbag. When I get my hands on him, I'll tear him limb from limb," says Phil. This is how he consoles a person. He grumbles about Vito making a mockery of the sacrament of marriage. Did your goomar tell you that? Marie says that maybe there were signs, but thatVito Spatafore is a good man, and a wonderful father, so why does he have to be tossed aside because of what one person says? Phil says that's why he's here: "There's been confirmation, through the grapevine. Vito was seen in a car with a man. I don't want to get graphic beyond that, the idea repulses me so much." Phil's much more polite about his homophobia. Phil tells Marie that they can't be in denial, as much as they love Vito. He gently asks her where she thinks he might have gone, so that they can bring him back and get him to do something about it. Like take a bullet, you mean. If Marie answers, we don't see it.
You know, just as an aside, because I'm listening to it while writing this: y'all should get the new Neko Case record. She rules.
Carmela pulls up at Angie's body shop, and walks into the office, right into a meeting Angie's having with Benny and Patsy. Benny's saying something about how they can get whatever she wants: airbags, chrome rims...Baby On Board signs? Everyone seems to be surprised to be interrupted, and it's more awkward because Angie's passing over an envelope with a thick-stack-of-money-shaped bulge in it. Carmela recovers enough to say that she's here for the auction donation, and Angie says that they'll just be another minute or so. Benny and Patsy smile as non-creepily as they can, which is to say, not very. Carmela lets herself out into the waiting area, looking thoughtful.
Later, Carmela relates what happened to Rosalie, who tells her that Angie's been "putting money out on the street," which, for anyone not down with all the lingo, means for the purposes of loansharking. Ro says that Angie told her herself, and Carm's hurt, I guess, that Angie didn't tell her, but Ro figures maybe it's because Tony wouldn't have wanted Carmela to know. "She's got enough money to do that, huh?" says Carmela, because this is what everything comes back to for her, and eventually she pretends to be all, "Well, good for her," even though she is literally turning green. "She's one of us; now it seems like she's one of them," says Rosalie. All you guys do is sit around and gossip and plan charity events that help people who are preyed on by the men in your lives. I'd probably want a little something else in my life too.
At the Bing, Tony welcomes Carlo with a hug, and they sit down (Sil's there too), and get right down to business: Tony's giving Vito's construction work to Carlo: "Guys respect you across the board, you done real good with the ports..." I love, love, love when mob shows, this and others, show the business side of this thing of theirs. Like, do newly made guys have a three-month probationary period? Tony calls Chris into his office and says, "Things are goin' real well, you're doing some good work. I think you need to work on your kneecapping a little, but your loansharking is real good"? Carlo's thrilled, and they all get up to have a toast.
And now that Carlo knows Tony has enough faith in him, he might as well tell him: "The guys in Vito's crew -- they say if he was to come back, they'd refuse to take orders from him." Tony seems less than pleased about this. And also, some of the captains, Paulie especially, refuse to talk to him. Silvio says Paulie's going "fuckin' mau-mau" on the subject, and I have no idea what that is, although the meaning is clear. Tony says that they don't have a choice as to whom they work with, and Vito, through sheer, hard work, turned himself into one of Tony's best earners: "I don't even know if I'd have the new boat without him. He's a come-from-behind kind of guy." You know, you guys don't have to throw in all the single-entendres you thought up. Tony doesn't want to burn that kind of dedication, and finds it hard to believe that if Vito came back, they wouldn't be able to get more earnings out of him: "Stocks. Off-shore shit. I don't know." Silvio nods approvingly. Carlo talks about the guys' feelings and honour, and Tony says that some of them love the drama, like high-school girls, and some just can't wait to whack somebody, anybody. Carlo plays the "it's a sin" card. Tony leans forward: "Carlo, let's be honest with ourselves here. We all know Vito's not the first."
But that's the end of that discussion. Tony hugs Carlo and says that he'll do great things. Carlo shows himself out, and Tony kicks his feet up on the table with his new copy of The Robb Report. Did he not notice that "Robb" has two b's, and think it's some sort of mafia trade publication? Behind him, Silvio sits, looking at nothing, while the camera pulls into Tony's face. Tony can't seem to enjoy his magazine, because there seems to be something rattling around his brain like a, oh, let's just say, and I'm picking metaphors at random here, a rattle in an air conditioner. Finally, he just says, "What?" Silvio says nothing. "It's 2006. There's pillow-biters in the special forces," Tony says. Silvio wants to put something out there just for the sake of argument: "Let's say he shows up. You gonna kiss this guy on both cheeks?" Tony's face says it all. But Silvio's not done. He reminds Tony that guys like Paulie never kick up a full percent, but that's chalked up to the price of doin' business: "But you cut Vito some slack, now that he's out of the closet? Just the excuse people need to go off the reservation, and start withholding serious money." Tony's only response is to gripe that he wants to read his magazine in peace.
Meadow's getting to work at her job at the law firm. A couple of co-workers stop by to introduce themselves -- Rafaella Martino and Michael Kardish. They make small talk, Rafaella praising Meadow's credentials to Michael (who wants to tap that). When Rafaella mentions Meadow's work at South Bronx Law Centre: Free Legal Services for Underserved Persons, Meadow begins her obligatory bleeding-heart speech about people being trampled and what-have-you, and Rafaella thankfully cuts her off with a cheery "Welcome to welfare fraud!" She orders up emails from Boxes 44 and 45 for July and August, and Meadow obligingly writes it down. Outside the office, Rafaella tells Michael that she's "Tony Soprano's kid," which is all the excuse Michael needs to turn around and give her the ol' hairy eyeball one more time.
Tony's in his pool lifting weights to...oh, I don't know, blast his quads or whatever. Carmela strolls up, and Tony explains that he's building his lats back up. I totally knew that. She asks whether he talked to the building inspector yet, and he looks embarrassed, and says he forgot. Carmela turns on her heel and stomps off.
Nighttime in the guest house. Finn and Meadow share a joint. Meadow's in her bra. If I'm Finn, I'm making my mob princess girlfriend get fully dressed the second we've finished having sex, especially if we're at the don's house, you know? She's talking about the case she's working on, some guy with phony investment firms or whatever that siphoned off $80 million, and he's out on bail. This is a grave injustice to Meadow when juxtaposed to Johnny Sack's treatment by the feds at his daughter's wedding. Finn points out that "Johnny Macaroni" was indicted for murder. "So they couldn't let him stay fifteen more minutes?" says Meadow. The sound of a car door closing is their signal for Finn to put his pants on. Meadow puts her shirt on, and keeps prattling on about how Johnny Sack's treatment was pure harassment. Finn says Johnny's lucky he was even let out at all, which of course doesn't sit well with Meadow, who bitches that it's fine for white-collar criminals to steal pensions. Finn wants to talk about something else, but Meadow says that they need to resolve this so that they can stop with the "Johnny Macaroni" cracks. Do you guys even like each other at this point? She points out that Finn's part Italian, and Finn says that his dad is completely "deracinated," which, if you're Canadian and speak French, might have made you think, "He's out of root beer?" Finn wants to know why Meadow's picking a fight, which she says she's not, but that he's slamming her family. So they pause for a moment to praise the weed, and Finn quietly tells her that she wasn't there for the "grand inquisition about Vito." Meadow rolls her eyes, both literally and verbally, as a shaken Finn talks about being in the back of a butcher shop with Meadow's so-called uncles, ratting out a guy he doesn't even really know. To be fair, Finn, you could have gotten to know Vito a little better. You could have showed up at the baseball game. Finn asks Meadow what she thinks is going to happen to Vito, for being gay: "And don't give me any of that 'poverty of the mezzogiorno' bullshit. We're in fucking Caldwell, N.J., and you're on your high horse about justice? They are going to mete it out themselves." Go, Finn! He takes another hoot off the joint, and Meadow says, "This is untenable," and stomps out of the room, which is her usual fallback position for an argument she's losing.
Vito strolls into the antique shop. As he does, he sees a couple of guys backing up a truck just outside, and notices the licence plate, with New Hampshire's state motto: "Live free or die." I guess he realizes that those are his only options at this point, and he looks downcast. But nothing perks up a gay mobster like antiquing, so he starts checking out the merchandise. The store proprietor does likewise, telling Vito that the piece he's holding is from the "Arts & Crafts movement." Vito says he doesn't know too much about the stuff. "Well, you've got a good eye," says the shop owner, because what Vito's holding is the most expensive and therefore best piece in the place. "You're a natural," he adds, and strolls away. Maybe. I think Vito's casing the joint. Old habits die hard.