Sopranos
For All Debts Public And Private

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Money for Nothing (And Icelandic Chicks for Free)

Maison de Moltisanti. Lola and Adriana are gabbing about the various eccentricities of Versace flatware when Christopher comes home carrying a handful of ugly designer luggage. "Ugly" is of course a relative term in this case, especially when you consider that Adriana is voluntarily wearing a sky-blue velour pantsuit with white spiked-heel boots. Those of you brave enough to ponder the off-season timeline continuity of this show should take a moment here to try to determine whether or not it's after Labor Day at this point. Chris is in a pretty foul mood, which isn't helped either by the presence of Lola or by the incredibly annoying barking of Adriana's "pocket rat" of a dog. Lola tries to defuse the situation by saying she has to leave so she can get up early the next morning, and Christopher scores the best zinger of the episode with, "No matter how much the john pays you?" Bwah! A wide shot of her departure reveals a sweet-looking blue lava lamp on the buffet, which almost makes up for the ludicrous (yet utterly appropriate) leopard-print wine glasses that Adriana owns. Before Lola's even out the door, Christopher collapses on the bed, quickly strips off a sock, and begins preparing to shoot up. As he cooks his smack, he relates his bad day with Tony, including the fact that Tony mentioned Papa Moltisanti just so Christopher could "be compared all negatively." Adriana is quick to sympathize, though it's worth noting that she's not quite as tempted by the drugs as he is. Christopher continues his woe-is-me litany of work problems, referring to his boss as "Pope Tony the Twenty-Third" and exclaiming, "When the fuck have I ever not been there a hundred percent?" just as he injects heroin between his toes. He shudders with pleasure as the drug flows through his veins, and despite his earlier assurances that he's "just chipping" and that everything is "under control," it seems pretty clear that it's not.

Chez Soprano. Tony stands at the kitchen counter, assembling the fixings for what appears to be an absolutely epic hot-fudge sundae. Hmm. Do I detect a subtle metaphor for addiction here? I think perhaps I do. And furthermore, as an example of the type of compositional craftsmanship that makes me love this show so much, the only part of Tony we even see here is his gut. This also explains why David Chase is so damn slow, because it probably took them three hours just to line up that one five-second shot. Anyway, Tony makes his way over to the living room, where a cowboy that I'm just going to assume is Roy Rogers is crooning a ballad on TV. At one point the lyrics to his song include the phrase "Just my rifle, pony, and me," although on my first hearing I thought he said "My rifle, TONY, and me" which is sadly a fairly accurate description of the contents of my apartment now that I'm back to recapping. Tony's soon joined by Carmela, who sits down beside him and asks if they can have a little chat. Tony gets that familiar "little boy busted" look in his eyes, and sadly agrees to the sit-down.

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Sopranos

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