Baggage Check: Storybook Endings

Dr. Andrea Bonior dives into the world of psychology.

MUCH HAS BEEN MADE of the finale of The Sopranos. There appear to be two distinct camps — those who wanted the entertainment and closure of knowing what happens to the characters they have dutifully followed, and those who are willing to marvel at the innovation of how the story itself ended, whether or not clues were given into the fate of the characters themselves. But I think a more interesting psychological phenomenon is the way that we react to an artist's vision — a total fiction — as if it was self-perpetuating. Most people in either camp are speaking as if there was an ending that the writer just didn't tell.

But the opposite is true. There can't be any happenings, or endings, or onion-rings eating unless they are told by the writer. And though it's another debate what exactly he told — that black screen and the moments before it are as good a Rorschach as some inkblots, with some people sure it was Tony's perspective of death — it's fascinating to watch our minds play tricks on us, convincing us that there's a truth out there unrevealed.

Anyone who's ever watched an alternate ending of their favorite movie knows the surreal confusion I'm talking about — our tendency to believe that fiction is nonfiction that's happening in some parallel universe that only the writer has access to. Perhaps that's a beautiful way of helping art maintain its magic, as it lets us connect
to a world apart from our absolute reality.

But when people start cursing and haranguing the writer about what he's "keeping from us," it's time for a reality check. The Sopranos are an artistic creation. And the artist has cut to black. And despite the various imaginings we have for their continued lives — I myself am positive Tony ended up joining the mud-wrestling circuit — in truth, the characters have cut to black as well.