H.E. and I had been anticipating the final episode of The Sopranos for a long time, so we watched it together with some munchies, like most people get together to watch the Super Bowl. We spent practically the entire hour sitting on the edge of our seats, leaning forward, expecting at any moment that somebody was going to get shot. From this corner. From that corner. Out of that door. Through that window. From behind. Whatever.

We weren’t surprised when Phil got shot. But we were surprised that it happened in front of his family, and we were surprised at what happened immediately afterward.

However, what surprised us even more was that pretty much nothing else happened. We kept waiting for something to happen. We were on tenterhooks watching for something to happen. But nothing happened. Everybody continued their lives just as they always had, living their criminal and enabling lives in total denial, but everywhere and every moment, especially as the Soprano family got together for dinner, we kept suspecting someone to leap out and shoot somebody, effectively ending the painful suspense.

And then that prick tease David Chase had everything go black. Just like that.

H.E. and I howled in protest, “What the hell kind of ending is that?!” Our disappointment knew no bounds. I’d never been so completely dissatisfied, and H.E. kept saying, “If only they’d…” Like if only they’d put in a short scene after it faded to black—maybe something that showed the Russian back in the game. Even that would have satisfied us somehow.

The Russian.

But that in itself should have clued us in on how the entire show would end. David Chase is not the sort of writer who ties up all the loose ends. He likes to leave a few of those hanging and a lot of people wondering. The old episode with the Russian aired again recently on another channel, and I’d completely forgotten about how that was somehow never really resolved. Just like the entire series.

Purposefully leaving everyone wondering.

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