When the screen suddenly went blank at the climactic moment of Sunday night’s finale of “The Sopranos,” we imagine that many Americans reacted the way we did. We started panicking, angrily jabbing buttons on the remote control, checking the connections, wondering if somehow the broadcast had been interrupted. But no. That was it. Tony and Carmela and A.J. in a diner, Meadow rushing toward the door, Tony glancing up and then — nothing. Blank screen. No music. After a few seconds, the credits roll.
After eight years — some glorious, some not so — viewers got whacked by an ending that few saw coming.
Have to admit: It was terrific. No, it didn’t tie things up neatly with a mass killing in blood-spattered slow motion in the diner. It bestowed on critics and fans a gift: a never-ending argument about what will happen next. Will Tony get indicted? Will A.J. join the Army? Will Uncle Junior spill about a secret stash? And on and on.
Creator David Chase invited such questions not just by the unorthodox ending, but by filling the finale with clever foreshadowings, beginning with the opening scene. The camera lingers on Tony’s serene face. He’s asleep, but he looks as if he’s resting in peace in a casket. Later, there’s the spooky cat that fixates on a portrait of the deceased Christopher on the wall at the Bing and then starts eyeing Paulie.
The ending of the series was reminiscent of the abrupt halt of John Sayles’ 1999 movie “Limbo.” The movie ends as the characters hear a distant airplane approaching — carrying probably either a rescue from an island or a violent death. The viewer never discovers which. Like all great endings, it leaves you craving just a little more. As did “The Sopranos.” (Which also keeps alive the possibility that it’s not really the end, that a “Sopranos” movie or sequel or spinoff could materialize at some point.)
Some viewers were offended by the cliffhanger that will never be resolved. They figure that Chase whiffed. Maybe he figured he couldn’t satisfy everyone; maybe even he couldn’t decide or couldn’t stand to part with these characters.
Endings are hard. Beginnings are easier. They’re full of energy and possibility. The middle you can coast through.
But the end demands something more. It demands a payoff, an epiphany. If the ending doesn’t deliver, a book, a movie, a TV show (even an editorial?) is judged harshly, no matter how brilliant the rest. There’s a lot of pressure. So if we’ve learned anything at all from “The Sopranos,” it’s
