The Genius of the Sopranos The Washington Post reports that Sopranos fans are furious about the way the show ended.

So many angry "Sopranos" fans tried to register their complaints on HBO's Web site, the channel shut it down temporarily Sunday night.

...A bunch, who were way mad at the way Chase had messed with them in the finale, started messing with his Wikipedia entry, adding lines such as: "[Chase] gained mainstream recognition for creating and then destroying the HBO series 'The Sopranos' which is currently being debated as the worst ending to an American Television series in history."

Finally, the brain trust at Wikipedia locked the page from further "editing" until June 18, citing "vandalism."

Are they nuts? I'm surprised at this reaction to the brilliantly ambiguous ending. What did they expect, that creator David Chase was going to take all the plots and subplots of the most ambitious show on television and wrap them up all in a little bundle to take home on DVD? It just isn't possible.

Here's my take on the ending, which featured Tony and his family sitting in a diner as various suspicious characters move about. From the camera work and the intercutting of perspectives—it reminded me of the editing of the toy store scene in which Bobby got killed the week before— it appears that Tony is on the verge of being whacked. But then, the screen abruptly goes dark for eleven seconds, after which the credits roll.

A friend of mine is convinced that this means Tony did, in fact, get killed—that the sudden darkness was a representation of unexpected and sudden death. Maybe. But I have a different theory: I think it's the projection of a blank slate. (A blackboard, if you will.) It's David Chase saying, You folks have been predicting endings for months now, go ahead—project your own onto the screen.

And of course Americans are furious because we are pathetic, passive creatures who want to be spoon-fed our entertainment.

For what it's worth, here's my take on the last scene: It represented Tony's future, a future in which everyone and everything is a potential threat. (And given the last episode's commentary on Bush, terror and Iraq, mightn't Chase be saying that this is, in fact, the United States' future?)

Tony is with his family in a diner booth—a cordoned-off area, but still vulnerable—trying to enjoy the simple pleasure of family. But, as always, the imperatives of his other family constantly intrude. The threat of law enforcement; the threat of murder; the possibility of betrayal. The space in which Tony can enjoy his family has shrunk, become so small that the four Sopranos are literally squeezed together. Really for the first time, there's the sense that Tony's wife and children might also be in danger.

Tony may be shot by the man emerging from the bathroom. It's possible. More likely, I think, Chase is suggesting that this scenario of tightening pressure and shrinking pleasure defines Tony's future. We don't need to see it, because we can imagine it; Chase has given us all the information we need for that.

One of the most interesting themes of the Sopranos was that you can't leave the Mob voluntarily. (And how weirdly that theme began to echo Chase's own relationship to his creation.) Once you're in, you're in, until you either go to jail or die, usually violently. I thought that this last episode illustrated that theme wonderfully. Note Paulie's attempt to turn down a new responsibility; he wants to get out before he gets killed. But Tony knows just how to push his buttons, and with a sigh, Paulie concedes. There is no getting out.

This is true too with Uncle Junior, who may have, in a sense, escaped by losing his mind. But Tony, with his inimitable cruelty, reminds him: You and my father used to run north Jersey. You were a gangster, you are a gangster, you will always be a gangster. And if your memory ever returns, you have a gangster's responsibility, still: Give your stash of ill-gotten gains to the children of a murdered man.

There is no escape.

So let us give Chase credit for mining his themes with depth and consistency, and consider how this theme would apply to Tony himself. The Sopranos gave us plenty of examples of the fate of Mafia chieftains. They die badly. We don't need a neat and tidy ending to know that. Far preferable is the way that Chase continued to challenge us with his blank screen. He's been pushing us all along to engage with his characters and their nuances and the realities of life, which sometimes has loose ends. (The Russian!) Now, he's saying, this has been my responsibility for eight years. Now, it's your turn. You take the responsibility. You write the script.

The song playing in that scene is more evidence of that interpretation. It is, of course, by Journey, which is certainly what the Sopranos was for both its characters and its audience. It's called "Don't Stop Believing," and not only is it perfectly consistent with Tony's musical taste, it's loaded with suggestion.

Payin anything to roll the dice,
Just one more time
Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on

Perfect, no? And then Chase cuts it abruptly short as singer Steve Perry utters the imprecation, "Don't stop." Boom. Black screen.

Don't stop, meaning what? Is Chase telling us to keep imagining, to continue the show in our own minds? Is he tweaking our desire to have the Sopranos continue forever? Is he making a statement on how we live life in defiance of mortality, plugging (heh-heh) away despite the fate that befalls us all? Pick the answer you want, or suggest one of your own. But appreciate Chase for his brilliance: This is one small detail in an hour-long show, and it alone provides more food for thought than a full episode of anything else on TV.

We have been conditioned by movies and half-hour sitcoms and hour-long dramas to think that everything has a neat and tidy ending. (It's happy! It's sad!)

It ain't so, of course. We owe Chase thanks for reminding us of that truth of that, and for not betraying the wonderful subtlety and nuance of his show in its last episode. Because, you see, by not telling us what happened, Chase did not, in fact, end the show. He gave us those eleven seconds of blank screen, time enough for our minds to ask questions, form memories, suggest possibilities—to wonder and imagine. Isn't an ellipse better than a period? Or, if not better, isn't it truer?

What happens to Tony Soprano after our screens go blank? The answer is up to us, and what a generous gift that is.  ¶ 7:31 AM