The things you see the second time round: “The Sopranos”, season 3

Beth mentioned that in the third season the producers became worried that the mobsters had become too sympathetic and decided to increase the violence towards women. It shows.

I’ve been catching episodes in concentrated bursts recently, and the theme of women as chattels or subjects (in the sense of being acted upon, not acting) is terribly strong. Ralphie murders a girl in the Bada Bing! carpark, Tony continues his womanising, Meadow has two emotionally abusive boyfriends (one coldly careerist, the other, Jackie Jr, old-fashioned sexist and unfaithful), and Dr Malfi is sexually assaulted. When Tony seeks to discipline Ralphie, he’s counselled against it “She wasn’t your daughter, not even a cousin. She wasn’t your goom-bah,” says Silvio. The wording is no accident – women are owned. Tony’s rage at Jackie Jr’s feeling up a stripper has everything to with the disrespect for his daughter, and nothing to do with Tony’s own adultery or use of prostitutes.

Female power is, at first, much less evident in the series than with Livia as a toxic, scheming presence. But there is Gloria’s manipulative ways and, more positively, Carmella’s first steps towards seeking financial independence from Tony.

For all that, the show retains a genuine moral and emotional complexity. The love/antagonism Tony shares with his sister is engaging, Tony’s vacillation over getting a cop fired, his ambiguous responses to the deaths of Stacee and Gloria and Carmella’s wrestling with her religious guilt over living on the proceeds of crime all suggest the Soprano family live in a more complex moral world than those around them. Watching Dr Malfi struggle with the knowledge she could easily have Tony kill her attacker ads a depth to the series, too.

That said, my favourite episode still remains two members of Tony’s crew trying to “bury a package” (being a Russian ex-commando and Chechnya veteran) in the snow-filled pinewoods of South Jersey. The black comedy of the episode is spectacular.

More of that Melbourne experience

Missing a train after cocktails at the Kitten Club and walking home in the light rain from the tram stop to the where I’d left my car. Droplets beading on my overcoat. A rare hill-crest view of city lights in flat Melbourne. Rain, dark streets, Miles Davis’ “Kind of Blue” on my headphones. Walking alone and unwatched past the post-war Californian bungalows and federation-style weatherboard houses of Westgarth and Northcote, little details of roof line and chimneys stencilled against a purple sky. So easy to slip into a jazz-age film noir mood.

Speaking of which Naylor is up.

PS Today, for reasons unknown, my damn comments are up and running one moment and crashed in a heap the next, so please feel free to use the guestbook.