Issues of identity once again took center stage in last night's episode of "The Sopranos." This has proved a dicey avenue of discussion for the series, the embarrasingly bad Columbus Day installment of several seasons back being a prime example. Yet for anyone who has paid more than passing attention to the Italian American experience, identity insecurity is never very far below the surface. Thus "The Sopranos" is obligated to examine it, no matter the risks (risks like earnestness, preciousness, over-simplification, or simple misguidedness).
But the concise, post-romancin' roundelet between Meadow and Finn really hit the mark. Meadow expresses respect for the white-collar scam the firm for which she is interning is prosecuting (forget med school or law–the girl's got organized crime in mind). Finn dismisses her romanticism of the "impoverished mezzogiorno" while expressing legitimate fears for and of the man he's officially outed. Meadow castigates her prospective father-in-law for his dumb Italian jokes. Meadow's name is Meadow. Finn's is Finn. What kind of Italians are these?
Which is exactly the point. Anyone who says "The Sopranos" stereotypes Italian Americans (and in the experience of Epictetus, it's Italian Americans who say this the most) is wrong. The opposite is true. If "The Sopranos" stereotypes anyone, it's human beings–all the behaviors of man/woman are examined under a bright, but not always harsh, light. It's what keeps everyone watching. The Italian Americans of the show are tribal and clannish and exhibit similar surface behaviors, but really they're individuals representing all types, creeds, colors, ethnicities.
Identity is also at play in the shifting dynamic between Carmella and the other ladies who lunch. "She's seeming not like one of us, but one of them," is the comment from Rosalie Apriele as they witness the transformation of Pussy's widow from helplessness to ruthlessness. Carmella rubs vitamin E into Tony's scar–the almost pathetically good wife–while awaiting her husband's special kind of help with the building inspector. It's anther typically on-target update of the old stereotype (yes) of the American housewife.
Consider too the reactions of various characterize to Vito's homosexuality. Chris basically laughs; Tony is uncomfortable but pragmatic (Vito is a good earner)–and even shows some signs of kindness. Paulie sees it in terms of himself ("how much more betrayal can I take?"). The others inhabit various points on the spectrum, from disgust to rage to confusion. There is no monolithic belief or prejudice or opinion among this group–except that maybe getting ahead is what counts. Their common faith is capitalism, and even "Qaedas" (as Tony calls them) have a place if they're helping the marketplace work its magic. It's a restatement of traditional conservative ideals, leavened with Clinton-era DLC global villagism.
Speaking of which: While it would be nice for Vito to live out his days in blissful, liberated immersion in Americana, the thinking here is that paradise will offer limited shelter. Philly Leotardo asks Vito's wife where he might have gone, and though the question goes unanswered, doesn't it stand to reason that she knows he has/had cousins in New Hampshire? "Live free or die" works well as a motto, but if you think New Hampshire has always literally practiced the sentiment engraved on its license plates, think again. Epictetus sees it as ironic foreshadowing.
Epictetus 