Blogcritics Author: Victor Lana

Obama's Speech: Is It Plagiarism or Just Words?

Victor Lana — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 16:38:53 EST

Everyone must realize that, yes, they are just words, but in academia, politics, and every day life, words really do matter.
Over the course of 25+ years in education, I have dealt with many nefarious things, but plagiarism has been one of the most complex and annoying issues of all. As a classroom teacher (6 - 12th grade), a school administrator, and college instructor, this has been a recurring problem for me in various degrees of seriousness. Technology has made...

Is Johan Santana Really Good for the Mets?

Victor Lana — Fri, 8 Feb 2008 12:44:07 EST

The thing that worries me the most: long-term deals with pitchers are usually a bust.
As a lifelong Mets fan, I really wanted to be happy about the deal that brought Johan Santana to the Mets. I really did. I mean, we only gave up Carlos Gomez and several other assorted Cratchits. There was no loss here. No Jose Reyes in the mix, so I should be happy, but sadly I am not.I guess there is the thing that worries me the most: long-term...

Has Enough Time Passed To Start Forgetting 9/11?

Victor Lana — Mon, 10 Sep 2007 11:36:22 EDT

If you want us to forget 9/11, you�ll have to wait until all of us who lost someone that day are laid to rest ourselves.
The past is not dead. It's not even past....

Love's Labor Is Not Lost: Why Labor Day Really Matters

Victor Lana — Mon, 3 Sep 2007 01:37:09 EDT

I find the turn of the calendar to September exhilarating, and I have felt this way since childhood.
For many people (especially children) there is an uneasy feeling when the calendar page is turned from August to September. The primary reason for this is that “no more pencils, no more books” time is winding down. Children and teenagers have to shake the dust (and sometimes sand) off their thinking caps and have to face the realization...

Announcement: Short-content feeds

Phillip Winn — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT

Sunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding.

Movie Review: Disney's High School Musical 2 - We're All in This Together

Victor Lana — Sat, 18 Aug 2007 10:29:24 EDT

When I first reviewed the original Disney movie High School Musical, I had no idea what I was getting into. Before I watched it, I believed (rather naively I might add) that this was going to be just another TV movie concocted for kids, some pabulum-like entertainment that wouldn’t hold my interest. Boy, was I wrong, and then some. The first film was intelligent and fast-paced, with bright young actors and actresses who brought out the best in the music and dance numbers. Repeated viewings didn’t lessen how much I enjoyed the film, and since my daughter (now six) has watched it at least twenty times since its premiere, I’ve had plenty of time to absorb the overall message of the film and understand its lasting impact. Of course, along the way, it became a cultural powerhouse that has affected people of all ages. Students everywhere are putting on their own versions of the film in school productions, and the concept of “musical theater” is now more popular than it has been since John Travolta strutted his stuff in Grease (1978). My daughter understood right from the start that this was something bigger than “big,” just the way I did when I sat on the living room floor and stared in excited wonder at the Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show while my parents felt they were nothing more than a flash in the pan. Yeah, right! After my first review received over 2,500 comments (and still counting), I realized that High School Musical was a Disney juggernaut comparable in some ways to the success of the Fab Four with tweens and pre-tweens like my daughter. Anything somehow related to the movie (posters, lunchboxes, backpacks, pajamas, T-shirts, toys, etc.) was selling out fast and, as the young stars made the rounds on talk shows and other appearances, the squealing girls certainly reminded me of that Beatles phenomenon from my youth. With my skepticism thrown to the wind, this time I was enthusiastically on board for the exciting ride and my daughter and I watched the movie together as I sat with pen and pad in hand. I can happily announce that director Kenny Ortega and his singing and dancing minions (all the original cast returns, even Zac Efron with slightly darker hair from his tour of duty in Hairspray) deliver a slam-dunk sequel that in some ways is even better than the original (and I don’t think I’ve said that since... gulp... Godfather II). In an obviously more lavish (and thus expensive) production, all the stops are pulled out as the East High kids prepare for summer vacation. The old stomping grounds at their Albequerque high school (the film was actually shot in Utah) are revisited during the opening number “What Time Is It?” We briefly see Troy (Efron) and Gabriela’s (Vanessa Hudgens) tormentor Mrs. Darbus (Alyson Reed) from the first film, but she is merely part of a fast-paced exposition that sets the East Siders free for what should be a carefree summer. The kids go through the now familiar hallways, cafeteria, and eventually finish on a high note on the outside campus with the school building in the background. The message is clear: school is out for summer; let the party begin.Unfortunately, reality wriggles its way into the story. Troy and his teammates play basketball with his father (Bart Johnson), who happens to also be the team’s coach. Dad/coach establishes the idea that summer is also a good time to make some money to either buy a car, get things they want to buy, or perhaps save for college. This is the pivotal point in the rising action, for Troy’s concern about the cost of college leads him and his friends to take jobs at local resort. Unbeknownst to them, this has all been set-up by the snooty Sharpay (played with a touch of evil glee by Ashley Tisdale) in order for her to get closer, much closer, to Troy. As the old gang descends on an upper-crusty New Mexico country club, we discover that Sharpay’s parents own the place, and she has not learned her lesson from the first movie and still foolishly has her eyes focused on Troy Bolton. Troy has wisely found a way for all his buds from East High, along with his favorite gal Gabriela, to get hired with him, making the situation ripe for sparks to fly as the annual talent show literally sets the stage for conflict.There are solid dance numbers performed throughout, with some of the ancillary stars from the first film getting a little more to say, do, and sing this time around. The best one is “I Don’t Dance” set on a baseball field under a crystal clear blue desert sky. Here, Chad (Corbin Bleu) and Ryan (Lucas Grabeel) face-off in a battle of wits and physical prowess. It is what was once called a “showstopper” and manages to lift the spirits while propelling the plot forward nicely, slipping Ryan into the “in” crowd he never thought he could ever join.Sharpay somehow manages to suck Troy into singing with her in the talent competition, based on the notion that it will help him land a college scholarship (and she mistakenly believes this will gain Troy’s affection). This temporarily alienates his friends and his lady love, thus giving Efron even more opportunities in the spotlight to flex his acting muscles. He earnestly proves his worth here, singing stronger and better than in the original and showcasing the maturity that will inevitably make him a really big star like the previously mentioned Travolta.As in the first film, major conflicts seem to be quickly dissolved or resolved at the end. I won’t ruin the denouement for those who have not seen the film, but let it suffice to say that the overriding theme of the first movie (we’re all in this together) resonates in this sequel, and by the time we see everyone singing and dancing in a rousing finale, we can rest assured that all will be well with the East Side gang until the next sequel (if Disney can somehow find a way to lasso Efron’s rising star). Credit must be given to all involved in this production, especially director Ortega. Obviously Disney gave him the time, money, and talent to mount a superior production, and (just as he did in the first film and Cheetah Girls 2) Mr. Ortega knows his audience and shows deference to their cultural touchstones, such as previous Disney films they have all grown up with. The sub-textual references to all the princess movies are obvious here, with Sharpay literally in her ivory tower staring down at Gabriella and Troy, her dashing Prince Charming to be sure. No matter how much Sharpay stares into the mirror, Gabriela will still end up being the fairest of them all and manage to snag her Prince in the process. All the sprinklers in the world can’t be turned on to douse that kind of love, and Ortega not only knows that his audience understands that but he also respects it, too. Thus, I tip my cap to all involved in making this wonderful film. It actually does more than entertain; it motivates kids (and their parents) to get up and dance and sing. Besides the aerobic benefits from all this, it’s just good, sweet fun and, in an ever more troubling world, we can all use that.

Victor Lana has published numerous stories and articles in literary magazines and online, including his favorite haunt here at Blogcritics. His novels A Death in Prague (2002) and Move (2003) and his new book The Savage Quiet September Sun: A Collection of 9/11 Stories are available at online bookstores.

Bonds, A-Rod, and Glavine: Are Their Accomplishments Really Historic?

Victor Lana — Tue, 7 Aug 2007 11:15:49 EDT

This week we have been witnesses to three players making history: Barry Bonds of the San Francisco Giants hit home run number 755; Alex (A-Rod) Rodriguez of the New York Yankees hit home run number 500, and pitcher Tom Glavine of the (my beloved) New York Mets notched his career win number 300. All impressive Hall of Fame achievements, right? Shouldn't we be honored to have seen baseball history in the making? I'm not so sure about that. First of all, as a Met fan I am not so giddy about Tom Glavine getting his 300th win. Mostly this is due to the fact that the majority of those wins came when he was wearing another uniform, and it wasn't just any uniform, folks: he was an Atlanta Brave. Now, many of you non-Met fans are probably saying this is crazy, but I have trouble with the Mets celebrating the achievement of a guy who used to beat them while pitching for an opposing team in the same division (by the way, the only more despised opponent is the Yankees).I know that many of his current teammates celebrated with him, but whom do the guys on ESPN call when they want some perspective on this accomplishment? Glavine's former Braves teammate and bud John Smoltz, that's who. Gets me thinking that Glavine is still in his heart of hearts a Brave and wishes he won this game down in Atlanta and not on some sultry night in Chicago wearing a Mets uniform. Still, by all accounts Glavine is one of baseball's "good guys" so I can tip my (Mets) cap to him if ever so slightly. Not even considering the steroid factor in any way, baseball fans (besides those McCovey Cove zealots in San Fran) have not embraced Bonds in his quest for the Everest of baseball records. Think how McGwire and Sosa were seen as baseball's darlings as they raced for the single season home run record. That good feeling was akin to watching Cal Ripken ride around on a horse in Baltimore when he had his farewell ceremony. But Bonds seems to have always been not the straw that stirs the drink but more the one that blows bubbles into it. Even if steroids were not an issue (and believe me, they are no matter how you want to look at the matter), I'd say Bonds is not liked and that has all to do with him reaping what he has sown.A-Rod is another sour pill to be sure. He talks a good talk but struggles with his walk. He came over to the Yankees expecting a ring and all the associated bling, but things haven't turned out the way he planned. Yankees fans will always like Derek Jeter better (hey, they even like a guy like Robinson Cano better) and feel like A-Rod has waltzed in as a golden boy, anointed by George Steinbrenner to be the next B-Ruth. Unfortunately, A-Rod is right-handed and even though he hits all these homers and knocks in all these runs, all Steingrubber's men really can't put him back together again after stories about cheating on his wife and ego clashes with Derek. Despite all the things noted above, the main problem I have with these achievements is that they have not occurred in the consistency of service to one team. Bonds and A-Rod have bounced around a bit, while Glavine only took the Mets' offer because he couldn't get the same from Atlanta. This is a bit of pure mathematics that has nothing to do with baseball statistics and everything to do with dollars and cents. Yes, I know this is the world of free agency and that Catfish Hunter paved the way for the poor baseball players, freeing them from the oppression of working for the baseball owners who made Simon Legree look like Little Orphan Annie. Still, no matter how we slice it, the piece of the American Pie is a lot bigger for these ballplayers, even the ones who make less like David Wright and Jose Reyes. I mean, wouldn't you rather work seven months a year (hopefully eight if you make the playoffs) playing a game you love rather than doing something else? In the end, when I think about these records the feeling I get is nothing close to warm and fuzzy but more like moist and fetid. These guys followed the bucks and they didn't care about the fans, the most important people in the baseball kingdoms run by these baseball kings and queens. If anyone has "serf" status it is the fans, since we have to work the land and still pay for it (whatever happened to the $1.50 general admission seats of my youth?). The players are less than knights in shining armor to be sure, but they have been touched by the sword and certainly live a charmed life at home and on the road. It doesn't help that Bonds plays for the Giants (who left New York for sunny California and put a hole in so many hearts), A-Rod saunters around for the Yankees (a team that believes it's royalty as much as its owner thinks he's King George), and Glavine pitches for the Mets (working class scrubs to be sure but still hated because the team is in New York). There is also the truth that loyalty is a forgotten notion and that really hurts. While I hope Wright and Reyes play their whole careers in Queens, I am not certain of it. Jeter (no matter how much I hate his team) is probably the last stand-up baseball guy; the last future Hall of Famer who played his whole career with one team. There's a reason Lou Gehrig said he was the luckiest man on earth (even when he was dying), and the fans in attendance at Yankee Stadium that day intimately knew why because they were fortunate too since Gehrig played every inning of his career as a Yankee. We will never see the likes of those kinds of days again. Free agency, steroids, and greed have seen to that. So these records mean nothing more than numbers in the book when they should mean a whole lot more. For that, every baseball fan should be more than angry because as we are witnesses to baseball history we can also testify to the fact that it has been compromised probably beyond repair, and that's more than a damned shame, it's a disgrace.

Movie Review: Live Free or Die Hard Is Ridiculous Good Fun

Victor Lana — Tue, 3 Jul 2007 13:39:27 EDT

As I watched Bruce Willis grind his way through the fourth film in the Die Hard series, I couldn’t help thinking of all the great moments that came before in those previous (especially the first) films and how this new one echoed that which came before. Of course, John McClane has come a long way since he walked into that office building at Nakotomi Plaza back in 1988, but so have we. That first film changed the course of the way action movies as we knew them were made, affecting so many films to come in the same way as films like Psycho and Night of the Living Dead altered the horror film genre. Bruce is up to the challenge in Live Free or Die Hard, and now his John McClane is a grizzled, bald, but still strikingly handsome man of fifty-two who sits in parking lots waiting to check up on his college coed daughter Lucy (Mary Elizabeth Winstead). Last time we saw her in the first film, she was a little girl answering the phone and appearing on TV with the slimy news reporter (William Atherton) who was eventually clocked by a nice right hook from her mother, Holly McClane (Bonnie Bedelia). Now years later, Lucy has inherited her mother’s feistiness and her father’s cockiness, which is a surefire way of saying she has a date with the terrorists. In this film the terrorists are led by Thomas Gabriel (Timothy Olyphant from Deadwood fame). He is rather slick with the computers, and his Chinese girlfriend (a cold martial arts expert played by the beautiful Maggie Q) is part of the gang of terrorists riding around in a large tractor trailer that is actually a hi-tech mobile headquarters. There is some sort of gobbledygook about codes and hackers who helped them set a plan in motion to stop the country in its tracks and also steal its collective wealth electronically.If you’re still with me (yes, I know the premise sounds ridiculous) I think that the whole point of this movie is to not care about the plot. No one comes to these films wanting logic or reasoning; we’ll save that for other genres and certainly not the blockbuster summer season. Live Free or Die Harder goes from impossible to improbable in the first thirty minutes, but that didn’t stop me from going along for an enjoyable, but rather bumpy, ride. McClane has been sent to escort Matt Farrell (Justin Long, as one of the aforementioned hackers) to Washington D.C. for questioning. Why an NYPD detective is being sent to New Jersey to do this begins the string of unanswerable questions, so make a list if you like, but it really doesn’t matter. McClane barely gets the kid out of the apartment alive after a battle with some killers sent to take him out. Yes, McClane is showing his age and then some, but he still has the ability to take on the bad guys (some obviously half his age).Of course, trying to duplicate the tension and anxiety that built in the first film is no longer possible. What happened then was unique: McClane in his bare feet and undershirt, battling a group of terrorists single-handledly while trapped inside a skyscraper. It was a lovely cat-and-mouse game, pitting Willis against an incomparable Alan Rickman as Hans Gruber. There was a wit and sensitivity in that film that has been lacking in the rest, and also the undercurrent of humor is notably missing, especially in this fourth installment. One may recall that even the terrorists were humorous in Die Hard (remember the Asian terrorist looking both ways before stealing a candy bar and then eating it as he shot at some cops?). In particular, McClane was sarcastic, witty, and more than an intellectual match for Rickman’s seemingly sophisticated and superior Gruber. That was the beauty of the first film, and its climax still stands as one of the best I’ve seen, creating that iconic line of dialogue, “Yippee ki yay, mother^%$#*$” that has managed its way into the ending of the other films. By the time McClane and Farrell get to Washington, everything is a mess. The traffic lights aren’t working, the Internet is done, the terrorists control all TV networks, and even the fries at McDonald’s are messed up. McClane gets little help from the FBI, but he does get support, and that’s another thing that is notably missing here. Especially in the first film, McClane was not only pitted against the terrorists, for even the cops and the FBI were unappreciative of his efforts inside the skyscraper. Just as Jack Bauer of 24 works best when he is on his own and being chased by good and bad guys, John McClane should be as he described himself best in the first film: “A monkey in the wrench, a fly in the ointment, a pain in the ass.” McClane eventually has a great battle with the Asian girl, and though she bests him with her martial arts skills, McClane ends up the winner as he drops an SUV on her in an elevator shaft (please, don’t ask me how), and this sets Gabriel into revenge mode, and this means a kidnapping of Lucy that will lead to a final showdown.One might be hoping for a “Happy trails, Hans” ending, but that is not in the cards. McClane foolishly walks into a trap (I can almost hear him as Hartigan in Sin City calling himself a stupid old man) and almost loses to Gabriel, but a couple of quick moves by Lucy and Matt turn the tide. But when McClane takes out Gabriel he barely manages to utter the iconic line, and even loses the last part of the phrase (remember, this film is not rated "R") since he has shot himself in the process (again, it's better not to ask how). I still think the first film of the series was the best, with the third film Die Hard with a Vengeance coming in number two, this one coming in number three, and the second film, Die Hard 2, being my least favorite. Many years ago, the first Die Hard promised to blow us out of the back of the theater. That was true then and I wish I could say it was true now, but Live Free or Die Hard is simply good ridiculous fun, and in this summer season featuring less than satisfying sequels like Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End and Spider-Man 3, that is just fine by me.

What Will You Say When Barry Bonds Hits No. 800?

Victor Lana — Tue, 26 Jun 2007 18:12:33 EDT

As Barry Bonds was playing the Yankees this weekend, I was watching the game in between commercials during the Mets game on SNY. I am a Mets fan, but since Bonds was conveniently playing the other team in town, I took the opportunity to flip channels and get a glimpse of him. This is when I started grumbling (to myself since no one else was in the room) that he was bound to break the home run record set by the legendary Hank Aaron this year. I usually like to see records broken, but this thing called "steroids" sort of ruins it all for me. I recalled the time Hank Aaron hit number 715 as if it were yesterday. Since I was not around for Babe Ruth's dingers, I felt privileged to have witnessed Hank's home run and remember the frenzy of talking about it the next day with my friends at school. We felt like we were all part of history, and since we were Mets fans, the idea that he broke a record held by a Yankee didn't bother us at all. Still, there was a good deal going on back in those days that we kids didn't know about. We didn't know how difficult it had been earlier in Hank's career, when he suffered indignities coming into baseball less than a decade after Jackie Robinson paved the way for black ballplayers. We didn't know about the death threats he had received as he inched closer to the Babe's home run mark. There must have been a good deal going on inside Number 44's head as he stepped to the plate and hit the record-breaking homer off another guy wearing the same number on his uniform, but we didn't know about any of this other stuff. No, all we knew about was the glorious swing and the great strides taken by Hammerin' Hank as he rounded the base paths. We saw the stupid fans running after him, forever immortalizing their bravado and foolishness on video. Hank had broken the record and that was fine, but the record almost didn't matter as much as the idea that we got to see a moment of baseball purity. Ball thrown cleanly; bat against ball; ball soaring over the left field fence into baseball history. It seemed all about the moment: surreal and eternal and it makes me shiver still just thinking about it. Back in those days we didn't take for granted when we got to see Hank playing at Shea when the Braves visited New York. I still recall going to games to see opposing players: Johnny Bench, Mike Schmidt, Willie Mays, Lou Brock, Fernando Valenzuela, Ozzie Smith, and so many others. One of the amazing things about baseball is the connectivity between generations, the feeling that I having saw Hank play could last forever because I would tell my kids, just as my grandfather told me about seeing Babe Ruth or Ty Cobb, and my father spun tales of Mickey Mantle and Stan Musial, and that kind of thing lasts forever, even long after the ballplayers are pushing up daisies in their personal field of dreams.But at that moment watching Bonds step to the plate (against Roger Clemens no less) I had a bout with the Angel Vic on my right shoulder and the Devil Vic on my left. Angel said, "Oh, let's give this fellow a pass no matter what he has supposed to have done. He still has accomplished something wonderful." This was working for a few seconds until Devil groaned, "What's he going to say when Bonds hits Number 800?" Now, I really was feeling benevolent until Devil said that, and then I started wondering about it all, and Devil added, "How many of those homers were hit when he was juiced?"In the end the "dramatic" showdown between Roger and Barry resulted in a base on balls. I sighed in relief that number 750 didn't go sailing over the wall, but it also seemed like Clemens bailed out. I thought he was so tough (you know, this was the guy who threw a splintered bat back at Piazza because he thought Piazza broke his bat on purpose), but in the end he was more Roger Dodger than Buck Rogers. How many homers will Bonds end up hitting? He could make it to 800 if he hangs around long enough, so this will be the target for A-Rod and any other guys who follow. But, considering what Devil Vic said, there is a serious question hovering over some of those homeruns. How many of his homeruns actually should count? Well, when did Barry start looking like one half of Hans and Franz on Saturday Night Live? We can do the math and subtract however many from the total, but in the end Bonds will retire with his copious amount of homers intact (even if a phantom asterisk forever haunts the final total). I watched Bonds the other day, but as the countdown brings us closer to the inevitable breaking of the record, I know that I won't be glued to the set watching as I was the night Hammerin' Hank thrilled the world. Hank's homers were all about talent, the purity of the game, and the notion that what happened on the diamond mattered because it was sacred ground. Unfortunately, today we have ballplayers who take steroids and deny it, and they are the worst kind of heretics, because in the end they claim to profess the faith even after they've broken the commandments.Some people don't care if Bonds breaks the record or not. Some even feel it's still a record no matter what and must be respected. What will you say when Bonds breaks Aaron's record? I know I will not have anything to say because I will be speechless. Nothing will ever bring back the purity of the game the way it should be played, the way it was played on that April night so long ago when Hammerin' Hank sent a ball sailing into the bullpen, broke the Babe's record, and set the bar so high that some players decided that the only way to reach it was by less than natural means.

The Sopranos Fade to Black

Victor Lana — Thu, 21 Jun 2007 14:14:53 EDT

Okay, it has been over a week since The Sopranos finale aired, and I still can’t get that song (“Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey) out of my head. What is worse is that I’ve been hearing it on commercial radio when I’m surfing stations, and even Hillary Clinton has jumped on the bandwagon, using the song as part of a slick advertisement featuring her husband Bill. Ironically, Hillary is in the Tony Soprano role and Bill is playing Carmela’s part. Strange but effective little commercial that it is, it reinforces the power of The Sopranos finale and its hold on our collective imagination.I still find myself evaluating the ending, debating as it were the “fade to black” as a metaphor for death. I know that Bobby and Tony were talking about death as they sat in the boat on the lake (a couple of episodes before the finale), a surreal moment of peace between the brothers-in-law that was a calm before a big storm (later that day when Tony and Bobby duke it out over a tempestuous game of Monopoly). During the boat scene Bobby thinks about what death might be like and wonders if everything goes silent and fades to black. Tony says nothing but we know that he has been doing everything but facing the inevitable: people in his line of work tend to die violently or in jail.If we look at the clip again there are obvious manipulations at work. Since the title of the episode is “Made in America,” Mr. Chase employs all sorts of connections to Americana for the viewer: a guy in a USA cap, boy scouts, a happy young couple laughing about something, and two black men checking out the food behind the counter. He even throws in a guy getting up and going to the bathroom, reminiscent of The Godfather scene when Michael went to get a gun in the bathroom of the Italian restaurant. All of this seems to work on a visceral level, and the key to all these elements coming together is the people at the center of it all -- the Sopranos themselves. Tony is descended from immigrants, the backbone of America to be sure in its last century, yet he (just as his father and uncle before him) has not chosen to be a part of the legitimate rise of Italian Americans to all levels of society; no, Tony is a gangster and has blood on his hands. No matter how much we either accept or reject this fact, invariably Tony and people like him are part of the fabric of the country. “Made” in America indeed!Of course, there is still that troublesome fade to black. Many people have come forward stating that it means one thing -- it is obvious Tony has been whacked. The guy came out of the bathroom, pointed a gun, and shot, turning out Tony’s lights for good. There is only one problem with this scenario -- it is not consistent with point of view. If one studies the clip again, there are times when we get Tony’s point of view: he looks up when he hears the bells and sees various people come in, then Carmela, and finally AJ. All of this is consistent in the framework of the screen shifting to get Tony’s point of view.I would argue that in those last seconds of the scene we get a different point of view. We see Meadow rushing across the street and then heading toward the door. We cut back to inside the diner and see Tony as the bell rings. Clearly, we are in Meadow’s point of view here. She is seeing her father as she enters the diner. Tony looks up at her and the screen fades to black. I would argue that since we are in Meadow’s point of view that the lights have gone out for her. It could be someone was right behind her and put a bullet in her head. The last thing she sees is what we see -- Tony. I didn’t initially believe this fade to black meant anything, yet so many theories have been offered, but none that make sense. Just think of the implications of Meadow's murder: Carmela and AJ will never forgive Tony and, more importantly, Tony will be destroyed. I think that is why such a big deal was made over one of Phil’s men talking dirty to Meadow. She is his little girl and he loves her so and will defend her. They knew this was Tony's weakness and wanted to get back at him, so Meadow would be the ideal target. Actually, I still believe the fade to black was not ominous but a way to say it is over. The music goes on, the characters will live their lives, and we will not know what happens to them. Mr. Chase is not giving us a Six Feet Under kind of ending that even extends to the future for characters. No, Mr. Chase is comfortable with Hemingway’s Iceberg Theory, which is based on the text (in this case the scenes) giving just a small part of the bigger story that can only be found by delving into our own thoughts about what the text means. Just as we can only see a very small portion of the iceberg above water, this means that everything that can or will happen in a fiction is open to our own interpretation.I, for one, like Mr. Chase’s choice of ambiguity; I appreciate that he respected the audience enough not to ram an ending down its throat that would either be unpalatable or just tasteless. In this way, we can all make up our own endings after the fade to black. Mine is that Tony joins witness protection, moves to Arizona, and opens a small business in sales. He becomes Kevin Finnerty for real and lives happily with the kids forever. Justice? Catharsis? Payback? Fuhgetaboutit.

The The Sopranos Finale: It's All About the Journey

Victor Lana — Mon, 11 Jun 2007 16:11:33 EDT

"Don't Stop Believing" by Journey (an instantly recognizable hit from the 1980s) is the song Tony Soprano picks on the table jukebox as he waits for his family in the diner. Later AJ reminds him that he once said to "Remember the good times" as a way to get through current difficulties. Okay, Mr. David Chase, we get it: It's all about process, moving forward, the journey is literally more important than getting there. Thus, we got nowhere last night and, in essence, that's just where Mr. Chase wants us to be.Many viewers probably did what I did last night when the screen went blank as Tony Soprano looks up as the bell jingles on the door. I immediately reached for my remote and was worried something was wrong with my cable system. No such luck, right? We were all victims of the black screen and then the silent credits. I stewed for a few moments, wanting to throw the remote at the television screen. How could Mr. Chase do this to us? How could it be?The answer is that we the viewers got exactly what we deserved. For weeks everyone has been complaining about the series not being up to par; then we get a superior episode like last week's "The Blue Comet," and suddenly everyone is excited again and geared up for a bang-zoom grand finale. However, Mr. Chase has been true all along to an artistic vision, no matter how controversial or criticized, in which the development of characters and the plotline were to follow no format but what was true to the vision. For 86 episodes we have been treated to something that is nothing like what we're used to on television. Despite a few excellent recent broadcast television shows like 24, Lost, and Ugly Betty, the real deal has always been found on cable in the form of The Sopranos. No matter how angry I got (usually because I took exception with the portrayal of Italian Americans), I still watched because it was just like reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and getting the point that racism is an important part of the story because it is a truth about what life was like back in the 1840s. The Sopranos always has come across as particularly truthful, whether it was the violence that so influenced the lives (and deaths) of the characters, or the philandering of the men with women who were not their wives and girlfriends. There was also real human interaction between characters: love, hatred, anger, jealousy, and rage. The dynamics that were established could make us laugh one week (think Christopher and Paulie lost in the snowy woods), make us cringe the next (Tony and Carmela having a blow-up), or make us cry (like the death of Adriana). In thinking about the series as a whole, from the very first episode to the last, I must say that I don't believe I got what I was expecting, and perhaps that was the greatest gift of all. Just when I thought I liked Christopher, he would go do something that got me hating him again (like beating up JT). Just when I felt sorry for Paulie, he would do something horrific (like strangling the old woman) to qualify him as a bad guy underneath it all.These characters are always complicated and complex. There is depth and surface to deal with for most of them. On the surface, we see the person that the character wants the world to see. Paulie often goaded Christopher, sometimes unmercifully, and yet when Christopher dies Paulie has moments of introspection, realizing that he had been too hard on the kid and maybe pushed him over the edge. This is just one example of many throughout the years, and this is why I couldn't stop watching. These characterizations are so vivid, so honest in their brutality and ugliness and sometimes brittle but undeniable affection, that I just felt like I knew them all personally. This is the whole point, isn't it? We react to a fiction in a personal, almost intimate, way, to glean from the experience something meaningful and thus relate it to our own lives. In this way David Chase has been completely successful, for his characters were not in search of a story: they made the story, and none of them were more important in this achievement than Tony Soprano. He is the central figure, and there is no show without him, just like there could be no 24 without Jack Bauer or The Shield without Vic Mackey.Tony is the Everyman that we can relate to on our own levels; however, he also is a prince, mob royalty who lives in a castle of his own making. Here Tony spins his webs and runs his "business" with care, trying to match the personalities of his associates with work to make them earn money and generate more business. It's a classic model, and it makes me think that Tony should have retired and started his own company to coach potential businessmen. He certainly can juggle the many responsibilities that he has, but when there is a wayward fly in his ointment (a Ralph Cifaretto, for instance), Tony reacts ruthlessly and eradicates the problem.In essence, Tony Soprano is the most evil person that has ever been the protagonist of a television drama. He is an anti-hero, something like Satan in Paradise Lost, who rules his own New Jersey hell without ever worrying about being a servant in heaven. Yet, there are moments of introspection, never more obvious than in his weekly meetings with Dr. Jennifer Melfi. Tony's therapy was a convenient device for us in that we got to hear the equivalent of a Shakespearean soliloquy every week. Melfi lets him tell the tale and we listen in awe as he justifies everything from adultery to murder. No wonder in the end Melfi has to let him go. It is literally a battle for survival. Melfi listens to her own therapist and realizes that what she is doing will never "save" Tony Soprano, because he doesn't want or need saving. So Melfi does the only sensible thing she can do: she saves herself. Only by extricating Tony from her life can Melfi be healthy again.So now let's get to that ending. Remember, it's all about the journey and not the destination. That's why that Journey song is playing. As Tony hears the bell and looks up, we might be tempted to think this a For Whom the Bell Tolls moment, but that's not Chase's point. It is more of a nod to It's a Wonderful Life, a kind of "every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings" kind of thing. Meadow has been Tony's angel all along, and as he looks up and sees her, there is nothing more to say. The core family is alive, well, and together. The journey continues; we just won't be a part of it.Obviously, Chase isn't such a bad businessman either. This "journey" is left open-ended for many reasons, all of them rather lucrative. The DVD can be advertised to have an ending (or alternate endings), which would generate even more interest. Also, with all the talk about a movie being made, this ending leaves all sorts of possibilities for the characters. At the last second Episode 86 of The Sopranos, "Made in America," gives us a blank screen, and if that is not a surprise ending, I don't know what is. We don't have to like it; we just have to live with it for now. Bada-Bing!