Neither Melodrama nor Satire

With whom do we identify when watching a TV show/Movie: the writer or the character?

In examining my own feelings for a fictional narrative, I find that I go back and forth from moment to moment between identifying with an imagined author (or audience) and a character. Maybe the most interesting stories, the stories that last, are the ones in which you seem to inhabit both positions. You feel distanced from the fiction, able to pass judgment on the actions of characters, and yet you're also part of those actions.

I think my experience of The Sopranos bears this out. Most times, I'm laughing at Tony, at his malapropisms, his child-like impatience, his lack of foresight. I feel as though the author is making a general point about society (or a certain type of person) and the audience is understanding that point. The point might be something like: the contemporary American pursuit of professional success and familial stability and/or attempts to live by an old, outdated code in a modern world can often lead to absurd situations, or a feeling of hollowness (my interpretation only).

At times like this, the show plays as satire, at which points I feel as though I'm identifying with the imagined author/audience, agreeing with their critique of society. Other times, I feel immersed in the fiction, just as happy or as upset as the characters are.

The moments from the series that stick with me, that pop into my mind periodically, are just that: moments. Not extended stories, not concepts, not even actions. But moments in which characters seem to reflect on their lives. How odd that this visual medium that concentrates so much on action and spectacle only really sticks with me when I'm watching characters who are thinking. And I suppose that they mean more to me because I only have a sense of what those characters are thinking and feeling. Its never spelled out in a voice-over.

Example: Season 6.5, Episode 1: Tony sitting at the edge of the lake after getting the shit kicked out of him by Bobby.

What makes this moment resonate with me? Its everything around the moment, the long history of the character leading up to that scene. I'm only able to feel that sense of weariness because I've seen Tony go through so much, and I know that he doesn't like to lose, but that he has a reflective side, and is capable of seeing the hollowness of his pursuit of power.

The scene also sticks with me because of how its presented. The fact that the sequence features a straight-on close-up of Tony, battered and bruised, and a POV shot of the lake, with no music, make it mean something different than if it had been a single, slow dolly shot circling the character who is expressing his thoughts through dialogue to another character with poignant strings on the soundtrack. In fact, the scene (if I'm remembering it correctly. Maybe its a later scene) punctures the idea of non-diegetic music guiding our emotions by having the radio that's on in the background switch away from "This Magic Moment" to news coverage of the war in Iraq. This reveals the narration to be less manipulative than I thought it was, and pulls me (with Tony) out of my reverie.

Its all based around whether or not the character is aware of the absurdity of his/her situation to the degree that we, the audience, are. What I love about The Sopranos is it goes back and forth, giving me a break from identifying with the characters, allowing me to step back and laugh at the entire situation. It doesn't allow me to settle into that glib, above-it-all point of view that most satires prompt, but it doesn't rely on cheap tricks to guide my emotions the way most televised melodrama does.

Its not that I think melodrama or satire are inherently inferior to this hybrid mode of storytelling/identification, but I do believe that the stories that allow us room to vacillate between identification positions, between author and character - are ultimately the stories that we keep coming back to, the ones that withstand the test of time, that become classics. Stories with a fixed audience identification position (melodrama, horror, satire) are, in a sense, disposable. We cycle through them at a faster rate. They're like amusement rides or non-fiction essays. That said, there's plenty of subtle satire within a lot of melodrama (Douglas Sirk comes to mind), and some melodramatic moments in your average satire. But I haven't come across many shows or movies that balance the two in the way that The Sopranos does.

Its likely that its conclusion will be filled with more earnest, reflective moments than distanced, satiric ones. Here's hoping we're allowed to have another laugh or two at Tony's expense. Or at least Little Carmine's.