Though I ceased traversing the advertisement-clogged pages of espn.com long ago, occasional return voyages are necessary due to the somewhat erratic writing schedule of Bill Simmons, one of the website's few remaining worthwhile contributors. While perusing the site this morning to see if its editors had posted Simmons' newest article, I happened upon this vociferous screed authored by ESPN football reporter Sal Paolantonio.
Paolantonio, apparently laboring under the delusion that the experience he gleaned from looking into a camera and regurgitating platitudes uttered by football coaches somehow qualifies him to be a cultural commentator, writes that he was angered to learn that his image had briefly appeared on a television in the background during an episode of The Sopranos. While some might be thrilled at the prospect of seeing themselves on a popular television show, Paolantonio reacts with infuriation, didactically proclaiming that The Sopranos is "just garbage. It appeals to the worst in all of us -- whether you are
Italian-American or not. And we should not care about that."
Unsurprisingly, I beg to differ. I consider The Sopranos one of the most important and fascinating television series ever made precisely because its characters uniformly exhibit the selfishness, callousness, and barbarity that Paolantonio righteously decries. For reasons that would probably be best elaborated in the confines of Dr. Melfi's office rather than on this blog, I tend to view the world from a somewhat pessimistic point of view, and often automatically assume the worst about people, regardless of evidence to the contrary. I find The Sopranos tremendously interesting because unlike almost any other television show in existence, it often confirms the validity of this mindset. The show is a masterfully written, gorgeously filmed, impeccably acted exploration of the lives of a group of morally deplorable people who continually attempt to explain, justify, and escape responsibility for their selfish actions. Though completely different from my own, the actions, motivations, and justifications employed by the show's characters are nonetheless frighteningly identifiable. As is becoming typical, Matt Zoller Seitz puts it best:
"More a curdled social satire than a straightforward gangster story, it
is arguably the most cynical long-running series of all time, a show in
which nearly every scene depicts characters being confronted with the
choice between selfish expediency and a higher good, and invariably
choosing Option A."
While the actions of Tony Soprano and Co. are certainly repellent, the show's brutally cynical mindset is consistently enlightening and compulsively watchable. However, I find it utterly baffling that someone could view The Sopranos and assume that because its characters frequently act in a morally reprehensible fashion, the show's writers therefore explicitly endorse these actions and expect the audience to like or even emulate the characters who commit them. Paolantonio's knee-jerk haughtiness reminds me of when I was required to watch the fantastic film Glengarry Glen Ross in an otherwise useless college English class. When asked for their opinions of the film, most of my classmates indignantly exclaimed something approximating the following: "I hated it! All of the characters are such horrible people! Why would anyone want to watch this?" When they quizzically inquired as to how I could possibly love a film populated with such despicable characters, I simply responded, "Why do you need to like the characters in order to enjoy the movie?" Stony silence greeted me.
Like many viewers
who think of television as little more than
background noise or a lighthearted morale booster after a long day of
work,
Paolantonio is seemingly incapable of taking The Sopranos at anything more than face value.
He sees a show in which Italian characters repeatedly do horrible things, and
concludes that creator David Chase's sole goal is to line his pockets by painting Italian-Americans in the most
negative -- while simultaneously entertaining -- possible light. Rather than examining why the characters who populate The Sopranos
behave the way they do, and what their actions reveal about the way we live our own lives, Paolantonio falls back on the tired canard that any remotely undesirable depiction of Italian-Americans -- or any ethnic group, for
that matter -- is offensive, unwarranted, and damaging.
Paolantonio's descent into politically correct moralizing further hinders his dismissal of The Sopranos. I'm an American of one hundred percent Italian heritage, and yet I have little tolerance for ridiculously overblown proclamations that works of art like The Sopranos or The Godfather propagate ethnic injustice against Italian-Americans. Aside from occasional jibes regarding my Uncle Vito (yes, I have an Uncle Vito) or my hirsute frame, ethnic discrimination is a phenomenon that I am virtually (and fortunately) unfamiliar with. I therefore find maudlin overtures like Paolantonio's closing lines extremely difficult to swallow:
"To justify our objection to the show, it doesn't matter how many of
us are doctors and lawyers and judges and teachers and sportscasters.
But just remember this when you tune in on Sunday nights: 'The Sopranos' is not who we are."
Who on earth is claiming that it is? A person in possession of a fully functioning brain should be capable of watching an episode of 24 without concluding that all Muslims are terrorists bent on destroying the United States, or an episode of The Wire without concluding that all African-Americans are violent drug dealers. Even if one were to accept Paolantonio's faulty premise, is the current status of Italian-Americans really the sort of issue that requires the publishing of lengthy editorials on espn.com? If the site's editors have suddenly formulated a newfound mission to call attention to racial injustice in American society, aren't there marginalized ethnic groups whose plights are far more worrisome than that of Italian-Americans?
If Paolantonio truly feels that making money by depicting the morally questionable actions of members of a certain ethnic group is a grievous offense, he should resign from his position at ESPN immediately. If a professional athlete commits a crime, it is a virtual certainty that Paolantonio's network will cover the story
relentlessly. The more popular the athlete, the more breathlessly feverish the coverage. Drunk driving, drug
dealing, spousal abuse, rape, murder -- no illegal activity is taboo. The more heinous the criminal charge, the greater the number of
television cameras that will be thrust in the offending athlete's face.
Wouldn't society be better served if Paolantonio's network devoted its coverage exclusively to stories about athletes triumphing over adversity, volunteering their time for charity, and generally being productive members of society? Does the fact that he receives his paycheck from a media conglomerate that sometimes profits from publicizing criminal activity committed by athletes render his network, his career, and his life "garbage"?
I often refer to ESPN and its website as synonyms of "garbage," but casting a light on people who commit immoral acts is a daily necessity for a television news network, in the same manner that fearlessly delving into subject matter that might shock or trouble some viewers is often a characteristic of great art. It's a shame that Paolantonio's moralistic preconceptions prevent him from engaging with The Sopranos, and an embarrassment that his editors would publish such an uninformed, ignorant, irrelevant jeremiad.
Though the words that most frequently escape my mouth when I refer to Los Angeles' 405 Freeway are "torture," "hellscape," and perhaps some variant of "sodomy," my morning commute on the evil expressway is actually relatively painless as far as L.A. journeys go; typically, I can accomplish my eight-mile drive in about 25 minutes. (I long ago abandoned any delusions about taking the freeway during the evening -- there are only so many 90-minute bumper-to-bumper morasses a man can tolerate before the desire to simply drive his car off an embankment and end it all becomes disturbingly palpable.)
Occasionally, a stalled car or accident doubles the duration of my drive; I assumed this to be the case yesterday morning, when it took me 25 minutes to even make it down the on-ramp onto the freeway proper. It took another 25 minutes to progress about a mile, at which point the presence of several wailing police cars and one of those giant trucks equipped with a blinking "----->" sign in the left-most lane indicated that I was approaching the scene of the accident. Plodding my way through the gridlock, I stole a quick glance to my left as I passed the cacophony, idly pondering the severity of the accident that had resulted in the doubling of my commute.
