TV Quote of the Day (‘The Sopranos,’ in Which Tony Displays His Familiarity With Mysticism)

[Mobster Tony Soprano has returned to his sessions with psychiatrist Jennifer Melfi, who has brought the discussion around to existentialism and the meaning of “dread.”]

Dr. Jennifer Melfi [played by Lorraine Bracco]: "Carlos Castaneda said, “‘Live every moment as if it were your last dance on earth.’"

Tony Soprano [played by James Gandolfini] "Who the **** listens to prizefighters? Ali, maybe—he had a little wisdom."—The Sopranos, Season 2, Episode 6, “The Happy Wanderer,” teleplay by Frank Renzulli, directed by John Patterson

I had only seen about a half dozen or so episodes of The Sopranos during its original run, and for a long time after it left the air in 2007 I had no interest in revisiting it.

But with the recent upsurge of attention for the 20^th anniversary of the groundbreaking HBO series—and especially with my brothers’ increased interest in the show—I became curious about what I had missed.

My memories of the show stemmed largely from its heavy violence and its focus on family dysfunction. When I started watching the second season on DVD, those impressions not only remained but intensified.

But what I hadn’t grasped the first time around was the show’s offbeat—sometimes laugh-out-lough—sense of humor. Much of that came from Miami Steve Van Zandt’s Silvio Dante, with his impersonations of Michael Corleone and his sputtering over cleaning up after cheese droppings on the floor while he’s in the midst of a high-stakes card game. Some of it came from Tony’s nephew Christopher and his preposterous desire to become a screenwriter.

Some of it came from Tony Soprano himself, and this particular exchange made me guffaw. In his aggressive befuddlement over popular culture, I hadn’t seen anything like it since the heyday of Carroll O’Connor’s Archie Bunker on All in the Family in the Seventies.

But much of the show’s humor stems from its overarching sense of the absurd, something I associate with a genre originating in a couple of Sixties sitcoms I watched as a kid: The Munsters and The Addams Family. In these shows, a figure who inspires fear tries to live like a regular guy in a neighborhood, only to see his interactions with “normal people” who enter his sphere producing only chaos and damage. It’s an inversion of the Nuclear Family so in vogue at the time.

You’d soon regret getting close to a paterfamilias on one of these shows. A backslap from Herman Munster guffawing at a joke could send you flying across the room or break your ribs. Guests are alarmed not only by Gomez Addams’ favorite hobby (blowing up toy trains) but by his pet (a lion named Kitty Cat).

As for Tony Soprano: Sure, he might agree to let you in on a friendly card game, but you’d have to be prepared to have him beat you to a pulp when you ended up thousands of dollars in debt and unable to pay up. 

Even then, you’d count yourself lucky to come out alive.

The Sopranos proved, as surely as those other shows did, that monsters could indeed live among us.