Skip to main content

Michael Imperioli: "The Sopranos"

 Jessica Lange has said, when she takes on a new role, she makes time to watch old Kim Stanley films. She does this to remind herself that great acting is undeniable; worthwhile acting is a way of tapping into a universal human truth. A strong performance is evergreen; it's unassailable, year after year after year.


"The Sopranos" is the mesmerizing story of Tony--but, also, it's the story of Christopher. 

If a less skilled actor had landed the Christopher role, it's possible fewer scripts would have dug into the Moltisanti story. (For a long while, David Chase had no real plan beyond Season One.) But Michael Imperioli is very good; I think he is as compelling as James Gandolfini. 

Imperioli wins his Emmy in Season Five; in Season Six "A," he is the one and only cast member (one set apart from Gandolfini, Falco, Bracco, etc.) to earn an Emmy nomination. All this time, Imperioli struggles with addiction; it's easy to imagine that the pain he explores on-camera is somehow "bleeding into" his own personal life.

Christopher's tragedy is that he is an artist; he has spectacular acting talent. His film script, "Cleaver," is clearly bad--but, also, it's a viable film script. It leads to a film. Christopher--who has very little education and cannot spell most polysyllabic words--does pull himself together to the extent that he can make a movie.

In a great penultimate scene, Christopher pays a visit to a literary colleague, J.T. Dolan. Ostensibly, he is seeking help for a relapse. But--really--Christopher seems to be making a final effort to reconnect with the life he "should" have. J.T. Dolan has artistic success, and he has kicked his addiction. He seems to have moved past his "criminal" phase. Christopher has an impossible, unarticulated request: Make my life more like yours. When Dolan is impatient and even contemptuous, he seals his own fate. He is a goner. Agitated, Christopher decides he has had enough of Dolan; he takes out a gun and commits his last murder.

Christopher's final "domestic" scene involves a planting. Having stumbled home, Chris notes that a little tree is askew; a mob rival has ruined the tree. As Chris pitifully attempts to cope with the wreckage, we fade to black. The tree evokes thoughts of Christopher's marriage; grasping at straws, Chris has agreed to be a family man (but, he concedes, he doesn't care about his wife, and he has no interest in fatherhood). The tree is important because Christopher never, never ends his internal war; as bad as things get, he (foolishly) keeps lying to himself. He tells himself that there is still a way to "course-correct."

I really love Imperioli in this role; he reminds me of certain real people I've met. (I mean this as a high compliment.) I think the series doesn't fully recover after Christopher is written out of the scripts.







Comments

  1. You wrote, as you always do, very beautifully about the very hard, profoundly touching work of this very captivating, powerful actor. Mazel tov! I look forward to reading YOUR first novel and/or memoir!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

On Being Alive

Life, you’re beautiful (I say) you  just couldn’t get more fecund, more   befrogged  or  nightingaley , more   anthilful  or  sproutsprouting . I’m trying to court life’s favour, to  get into its good g races ,  to  anticipate its whims. I’m always the first to bow, always  there where it can see me with  my humble, reverent face, soaring  on the wings of rapture, falling  under waves of wonder.... This is the opening of "Allegro Ma Non Troppo," a poem by Szymborska. The speaker is a powerless courtier; life itself is Henry VIII. You try to make the King happy.  The speaker thinks she can please life itself by being appropriately joyous, soaring "on wings of rapture," falling "under waves of wonder." If you demonstrate enough wonder and rapture, you might impress God, and then God might reward you with an easy pathway. Of course life doesn't actually work this way, an...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...