Not the Way it Used to Be:
Review of The Many Saints of Newark
Stephen Hanafin, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
By Geoff Carter
After watching The Many Saints of Newark, HBO’s celebrated prequel to its blockbuster series, The Sopranos, I can only imagine how much more disappointed the average fan is with this production than with the controversial series finale. Although both failed to meet expectations—expectations inflated by creator David Chase’s stellar production values—Saints seems to be more of a disappointment because it offered the hope of an in-depth look into the formation of Tony’s psyche and his development as not—in his own words, “a fat crook from New Jersey”—but as one of the most beloved and complicated characters in television history. Unfortunately, the feature-length production attempts to address so many strands of the Soprano narrative that it fails to adequately address any.
The Many Saints of Newark takes place about twenty-five years before the series proper and—if viewer expectations had been fulfilled—might have detailed the backstory of Tony Soprano’s formative years, including his relationship with Dicky Moltisanti (Alessandro Nivola), Tony’s mentor. It could have been about Tony growing up with Silvio Dante (John Magaro), Artie Bucco (Robert Vincent Montano), Paulie Gualtieri (Billie Magnussen), and Pussy Bonpensiero (Samson Moeakiola) on the mean streets of Newark. It could have been about the circumstances behind the Soprano family dynamics, the never-ending drama involving Tony’s mother Livia and his sister Janice.
This all might have happened, and some of it does, but the result is far from satisfying. Our favorite mafioso are here, but it almost feels as if they are making guest appearances rather than doing serious portrayals of major characters. While some aspects of Tony’s teenage years are shown, we only see his peers (our old friends)—and future cohorts—Paulie, Sil, and Big Pussy—as if from a distance. As characters, they seem to be more window dressing than actual people, almost acting out an affirmation that this is really the genuine Sopranos story. Even the casting of Michael Gandolfini (who bears a striking resemblance to his father James—the original Tony Soprano) as young Tony seems to be a nod to superficial similarities; while doing a passable job, young Gandolfini does not convey the necessary gravitas of the Tony Soprano persona.
In fact, at times the actors go a little overboard recreating the original characters’ mannerisms and speech patterns—sometimes coming close to parody. It’s as if the creators anticipated viewers seeing an old friend and exclaiming, “There he is. There’s our Pussy.” For example, we only see Carmela (Lauren DiMario)—Tony’s future wife—as a bystander in only one all-too-brief scene. It seems as if the narrative barely scratches the surface of the original series characters and takes a left turn into the life of Dicky Moltisanti and—of all things—race relations during the 1960s civil unrest.
The main narrative spends most of its time following Dickie Moltisanti, Tony’s uncle, and his struggles with family, conscience, and guilt, especially his rather deep fraternal (and Oedipal) conflicts. After his dad “Hollywood Dick” (Ray Liotta), mysteriously dies during the riots, young Dickie immediately takes his dad’s beautiful new Italian trophy wife under his wing, a relationship that soon turns creepily romantic. He also suddenly starts visiting his father’s twin brother, Sal, in prison.
The story then takes another left turn into Dickie’s relationship with Harold McBrayer (Leslie Odom, Jr.) an African American crime associate who is wrestling with his own issues manhood and identity in a white world and who decides he wants to split from the DiMeo family and start his own operation. When a police attack on a Black man sparks widespread rioting in Newark, McBrayer tries to use the chaos to assert his own sovereignty, a strategy that puts him at odds with Dickey. McBrayer then forms an unlikely alliance with Giuseppina, Dickey’s stepmom, who has plans of her own.
These various plot lines, compelling on their own, never seem to find a collective coherence. It’s enjoyable to see the younger versions of these people we got to know, but their existence is ancillary to Dickie’s story, which in itself is too jumbled and incoherent to make much sense.
We get the whole thing with his dad and uncle and his stepmom—creepy as that is. We understand MacBrayer’s frustration with Dickie and the DiMeo family and how the race riots reflect that frustration. We understand the Soprano family dynamic, but during Johnny’s homecoming from prison, the relationship between Tony’s mom, the caustic Livia (Vera Farmiga) and his dad Johnny (John Bernthal) seems wooden and artificial. Livia’s nastiness doesn’t seem genuine enough.
Perhaps it’s unfair to compare the original to the prequel. The Sopranos was, after all, a milestone. Its deft characterization, compelling plotlines, spot-on characterizations, and inherent humanity were one-of-a-kind. There have been other good series since, but none touch the quality and appeal of this show.
Saints was all about expectations. The audience wanted to see a younger version of their favorite show. They wanted to see Tony rising in the family; they wanted to see his relationship with Dickie as something more than a pinky swear. They wanted an amplification of Tony’s relationship with his parents. Instead, they were taken out of their comfort zone and put into Dickey’s weird world. He’s fairly compelling as a main character but not nearly as likeable as Tony. And his odd relationship with his imprisoned uncle is understandable but seems (especially with the double-casting of Ray Liotta), little contrived.
The one character that truly resonates in Saints is Uncle Junior. Corey Stoll’s portrayal of him is dead-on—not simply in appearance or mannerisms, but in his essence. There is a scene in which he wipes out on some wet stairs; his burst of self-pitied outrage is hilarious and priceless. Nobody whines like Uncle June.
But sadly, these moments are few and far between. Not only is The Many Saints of Newark a disappointment for fans of the original series, it is also a disappointment as a film in its own right. While beautifully shot—particularly the riot scenes—it is disjointed, incoherent, and scattered, seemingly unable to decide whose story it wants to be.
