Morality and 'The Sopranos'

Early in the first "Godfather" film, Marlon Brando's Don Corleone character arranges for "justice" requested by a local undertaker whose daughter had been raped. Corleone is careful to stress that those doing this job should keep their heads and only hurt, not kill. "We're not murderers," he observes, without irony.

Such blatant denial seems an integral part of tales of organized crime, and it is not limited to the self-image of the fictional characters. As viewers, we have shown ourselves all too ready to overlook truly heinous behavior in certain characters because we like them. That was true in the "Godfather" films and even more so in "The Sopranos."

Fans of that HBO series (I'm one of them) talk admiringly about the program's very real and identifiable characters, especially Tony Soprano. Tony. He's a first-name kind of guy, like a favorite uncle. Except for the fact that Tony deals in murder, maiming, extortion, money laundering, bookmaking, and other criminal activities, his home and business worries seem like those of any other middle-age dad. He can't understand his children. He's not sure about his wife. He's under pressure at work. He can't figure out where he fits into the grand scheme of life. No wonder the man is seeing a psychiatrist.

Inevitably, a generalization flows from viewing the series: We're all a lot like Tony Soprano.

I hope not.

There's a lot behind that "Except for ... " list of murder and mayhem that we should not slide over. Yes, this is one of the best shows on television, but it is important not to confuse well-done stories with testimonials to a fictional character's way of life. There are ugly realities to Tony that are easy to forget, especially when the stories often present him in the best possible light.

In this year's Emmy Award nominations, "The Sopranos" landed four of the five slots in the category of Best Dramatic Writing, just as in the program's first season. Though there have been extraordinary performances throughout the series (most notably James Gandolfini as Tony), these writing awards have been particularly well deserved. In story after story, the scripts have not only explained a world in which the indefensible is a way of life, they have also had us pulling for the perpetrators.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in protecting Tony's sympathetic persona. He's been allowed plenty of vices (racist remarks, philandering, a foul mouth, a temper), but his quota of reprehensible actions on camera has been carefully limited, and sometimes wrapped with perverse humor. Though Tony gives the orders, it is usually the other characters that act like ruthless murdering jerks. Often the plots let him off the hook, even when he would be the logical one to initiate murderous action, as when his sister Janice kills Richie Aprile (a thorn in Tony's side and already marked for extinction). Instead of being the killer, Tony becomes the put-upon relation there to clean up (literally) his sibling's mess.

In the Emmy-nominated episode "Employee of the Month," the decision by Tony's psychiatrist not to tell him she had been raped saved him from dispensing his own brand of "justice" (and saved viewers the moral awkwardness of rooting for it). Even when Tony executed one of his own men turned snitch it was as one of several firing the fatal shots, with their action artistically set to music.

One of the best examples of plot manipulation took place in the first-season episode, "College," in which Tony coldly commits murder on camera, strangling a one-time informant. This episode has been touted as an example of how the series shows the unsavory side of Tony. Yet, even here, the set-up stacked the deck. While away with his daughter, Meadow, looking at colleges, Tony spotted a former government informant now living in the area, never realizing that he, in turn, had also been recognized. The informant traced Tony and Meadow to their rustic motel and took aim as they prepared to enter their cabins. Circumstance thwarted that murder attempt, and Tony had no idea what had almost happened.

But viewers knew. Viewers also learned that the informant was a local drug dealer in his new identity. So, by the time of the strangling, Tony came off less as a murderer and more as an aggrieved dad acting to protect his daughter from a traitorous creep - even though Tony had no idea they were ever in jeopardy. Tony dispatched his enemy in triumph and departed, leaving viewers with a disquieting sense of vindication.

If "The Sopranos" were a documentary series, I'd resign myself to the fact that Tony Soprano will get away with everything, set up some charitable foundations, and live out his days comfortably. Because this is fiction, I hope that as the series eventually wraps up, there will be a reckoning, as a reminder that these are not innocent actions and that there is right and wrong.

On one level, that will be true to the theme of guilt that brought Tony to the psychiatrist's office in the first place. More important, that will remind us as viewers that a character does not have to appear evil to do evil things, and that even the most likable people might not be admirable.

The producers have been particularly proud of the fact that they have engaged viewers with these characters, and that "The Sopranos" has been called one of television's best, practically since Day 1. To do that accolade justice, we as viewers have to be willing to seriously consider the moral and ethical values in play here, not forgetting to "hate the sin" while "loving the sinner." Otherwise, we risk sliding down a slippery ethical slope that blindly embraces both. If all we get out of "The Sopranos" is a warm and fuzzy image of Tony as a "godfather in the making," then organized crime (and other morally bankrupt forces) will have won a round without even trying.

Walter J. Podrazik is co-author of nine books on popular culture. He is the media contributor for the Chicago Public Radio program 'Eight Forty-Eight' (also online at www.wbez.org).