Too bad about The Sopranos. The second part of Season 6 had been almost flawless, with carefully doled out moments of revealing raw emotion and violence arising organically out of the narrative situations. But the finale was an awful disappointment. After jerking our chain for an hour with hints and allusions (the orange and the cat said Godfather to me) and false starts to fill us with dread, after stretching to make banal political points via A.J.'s laughable identity crisis, after squishing Phil Leotardo's head under the wheel of his own vehicle in a move more worthy of splatter films, after cranking the Journey and planting the notion that Meadow might parallel park them all to death, the screen just goes black and the sound cuts out, and that's it for Tony and Carm and Med and A.J. and everyone, dead and alive. Does Tony live or die, does he go to jail? Yeah, one of those. An end but hardly an ending. Not artful but arty, and totally unlike the classic novels to which snooty critics would so often compare the show. The show's comedy is typically darker than black, but now it's at our expense. That's it; like the characters might say, what are you gonna do?