For those of you who, like this Turkey, anticipated a smashing finale to one of the great series ever created for television, The Sopranos, Sunday night’s final episode was a limp disappointment.
All the speculation, including my wacked out scenario, about whether Tony would live or die, go to prison or remain a free man, or whether his psychiatrist would turn state’s evidence, went for naught. Few issues were resolved by this episode; everything was left hanging.
Well, except for old Phil Leotardo. Thanks to a tip from dat friendly FBI agent, who was mysteriously portrayed having problems with his gun-packing, law enforcement wife, Tony’s boys got to Phil. Just to give us one final, unforgettable whacking, Phil had his brains blown out at point blank range in a Long Island gas station, after which his SUV containing his two bawling infant grandchildren rolled over his head—a great, big, freakin’, graphical, metaphorical bada bing! for all that creator David Chase has tried to portray about da mob: cold hearted violence, cruelty, and distorted familial relationships.