Somebody ought to talk to David Chase. With a pipewrench.
With the whole nation sitting up on Sunday night to see the grand finale of The Sopranos...with people making book on whether Tony gets hit or rats out his own people to the FBI to save his own hide...with eight years of loyal Soprano-watching audiences demanding a grand finale...
Chase pulled the ultimate copout.
Actually, it was worse than nothing. In the last few minutes of the last episode of The Sopranos, the screen suddenly went blank and silent.
Big joke on the audience. Get it? A lot of us went crazy thinking our TVs had suddenly died, or the cable company went kerflooie.
That's not drama. That's sadism. That's an attack, an attack against the very people who supported you and stayed loyal to you all these years
Film snobs may argue that Chase did that to let viewers come to their own conclusions, write their own ending.
I crankily declare that Chase is a little rat. No worse, he's a rat's turd. We paid our admission and he turned off the projector. That's the equivalent of putting a contract out on his own family.
So let me tell you what, David Chase. Don't come around my TV set no more. If I see you, if I see any program you're behind, it's dead. Got that? Dead. I'm going to blast it with my remote like it's a clay pigeon.
You're finished, Chase. You'll never eat calzone in this town again.