So this weekend, the F-word and I watched the last episodes of the Sopranos, and the finale seemed like an utter damp squib to me. And I'm not talking about the eight seconds of black, which in a way was a nice touch, although a touch overdone. Ambiguity? HE'S DEAD, PEOPLE. Do you need a fucking black-trimmed letter? Not to mention they'd spent the whole seventh, pardon me, sixth season reminding us he was a giant asshole by shit like having him kill Chris on a whim and say 'poor you' all the fucking time like his mum so that the public would find his death easier to accept than J.R.'s off Dallas.
No, the damp squibbiness was in the fact that the last twenty minutes of the finale was fucking pointless - as soon as they managed to get in a final revolting death (complete with onlookers chucking up, touché) we were at the end of the visual jolts the series had to offer and had to put in twenty more minutes of ungarnished product placement and those awful children of his, who illustrate every dramatic danger involved in hiring child actors.
I have a lot of anger towards the Sopranos because it should have ended a long time ago. They should have pulled the plug at the end of season four if this show was going to be distinguished in its arty merit for an American broadcast production. The last three, pardon me, two seasons were utterly pointless and they'd only stepped up the product placement. My disbelief was long unsuspended by the end - it was sprawled on the floor, facefirst in its own sick. But because of the first four seasons, I was emotionally engaged enough in the characters to NEED to watch until the end, wasting hours and hours and hours of my precious time. D.V., for all my fine words, this is truly the end of me NEEDING to watch any television show, and I've been taken in by those cunts for the last time.
Oh, and while I'm in a spoiling mood - Harry sleeps with Ginny at least twice, and the chick in the Crying Game is a dude.