On September 22, 2021, I attended the world premiere of the new Sopranos prequel and HBOMax original film, The Many Saints of Newark. It was a mild evening on the Upper West Side except for the seemingly never-ending line to get inside the Beacon Theatre. I was one of the few (if not only) audience members to show up alone: the majority of moviegoers were middle-aged Italian men with thick New Jersey accents, their wives, industry workers dressed glamorously for opening night, and young Millennial couples who, like myself, probably binge-watched The Sopranos during quarantine.
I first fell in love with The Sopranos in 2015 during my freshman year at Sarah Lawrence College. Most of my cis-male friends were film and TV buffs, so naturally I was coerced one night into watching the pilot of the “greatest show in the Golden Age of television.” On top of having a powerhouse cast, the HBO series is a masterful character study of the American nuclear family. It dives deeply into upper middle-class bourgeois life that serves as a flimsy façade for the Sopranos family business of crime and murder. (Because what rich white family doesn’t have blood money in some form or another?) The series also fed my unhealthy addiction to the Americana gangster aesthetic: tailored suits, slicked back hair, minimal gold accessories, and, of course—that quintessential B.D.E. Safe to say, I was easily seduced by David Chase’s six-season crime family saga.
For those of you who may be wondering about the meaning of the prequel’s title, “Many Saints” translates to “Moltisanti” in Italian. A fitting name for a story that centers around the semi-fictional Italian Catholic mobsters who ran Newark in the late 1960s-1970s, and whose antihero protagonist is none other than Sopranos-lore martyr, Dickie Molitsanti—father of Sopranos fan favorite, Christopher Moltisanti (who is a baby in the movie). Ever since the show wrapped its final season in 2007, fans have been dying for a Tony Soprano origin story. The Many Saints of Newark tells the story of Dickie Moltisanti: the man who mentored Tony as a kid and left a profound impression that would shape the trajectory of America’s favorite depressed mobster.
Thanks to Instagram’s omnipotent algorithm, I was able to purchase a single ticket only a week before the premiere. I was fortunate to be sitting on the aisle because for the entire movie I had to rub thighs with an overly friendly and chatty advertising agent (for narrative purposes, let’s call him Phil). When I told Phil that I had come by myself, he looked me up and down, almost pitifully, and then leaned in with a palsy-walsy smile: “Don’t worry, hun, I’ll be your date for the night.” (I should mention that Phil’s wife was sitting on the other side of him).
Fortunately, my awkward forced attempt at laughter was interrupted by Robert DeNiro and Jane Rosenthal, the founders of the Tribeca Film Festival, who walked on stage to introduce David Chase and his star-studded cast. Many Saints of Newark features a heavy lineup of A-list actors. Ray Liotta (Goodfellas) plays “Hollywood Dick” Moltisanti, the head of the fictional DiMeo crime family that ran the New Jersey numbers racket from the 1940s–1980s. Liotta also plays the younger, incarcerated brother of Hollywood Dick, whom Dickie Moltisanti (Alessandro Nivola) visits multiple times in prison after his father’s untimely death. I know—that’s a lot of Dicks and Dickies to shove into one sentence, but I should warn you, there are more outlandish names in the Sopranos universe, and much dick-swinging afoot.
In addition to Ray Liotta, Many Saints of Newark stars Cory Stoll as Junior Soprano, John Bernthal as Johnny Soprano, and Vera Farmiga as Olivia Soprano, but its most notable cast member is Michael Gandolfini. Son of the late James Gandolfini (who played Tony in the TV series) Michael reprises his father’s iconic role as a shaggy-haired, adolescent Tony Soprano who loves jamming out to The Rolling Stones. Sadly, Michael’s performance falls flat in comparison to an ensemble of heavily seasoned actors, and Chase spends more time with the character of Dickie Moltisanti than he does with young Tony. Despite my feelings about Michael’s acting, watching Gandolfini’s son play his younger self in a film about the death of father/son relationships was poetic cinema.
Reader, now is the time to warn you that there are *major spoilers* ahead. . . So, if you’ve already seen the film or don’t mind having the plot spoiled, pour yourself a glass of ‘buca and get comfortable.
TW: mentions of racism, misogyny, and graphic violence.
The Many Saints of Newark is set against the backdrop of the 1967 Newark Riots, which erupted after a Black cab driver named John Smith was beaten and arrested by Newark police. 26 people were killed, many of them Black residents, and more than 700 people were injured. One doesn’t need to open a history book to understand the root causes behind these riots. America in the 1960s was still very much segregated, and many Black neighborhoods in cities were crumbling under the weight of poverty due to housing and work discrimination. More specifically, urban renewal projects of the 1950s displaced hundreds of thousands of people of color in ghettos while white residents, encouraged by federal highway and redlining policies, began to flee to the suburbs (Giles R. Wright, “Afro Americans in New Jersey: A Short History,” 1988). Lack of municipal resources and jobs, not to mention the devastation of the Vietnam War, caused disenfranchised Black communities in New Jersey, such as Newark, to fight back against a city—and country—that abandoned them.
The fire was set. All the city of Newark needed was that initial spark. In The Many Saints of Newark, David Chase toys with history by imagining Dickie Moltisanti as the passenger in John Smith’s taxi, who, moments after Dickie pays his fare, is torn from his car by two white cops.
The Many Saints of Newark conveniently rides the wave of socially-conscious content that Hollywood has produced on a massive scale due to the resurgence of racist media coverage that has sparked national conversation about our country’s history (and present reality). A country systemically built on white supremacist policies, state-mandated violence, and class inequality. Chase bases the Sopranos prequel around the real historical events of the 1967 Newark Riots, which, story-wise, makes sense because fans know that Tony Soprano was a kid around this time. It also works within the larger genre of American gangster-lore and history, which was strongly fueled by racial tensions and territorial disputes among factions of the Italian, Irish, Jewish, and Black mafias.
The Many Saints of Newark examines this violent chapter of American history from multiple perspectives. We first gaze at the riots through the eyes of a disgruntled Dickie Moltisanti, more concerned about his car being damaged than his own life. Then, from kid Tony’s point of view, we watch the amber glow rise above the city from his bedroom window while sirens blare in the background. More notably, we get a closer look at the riots from the perspective of new Sopranos’ character, Harold McBrayer, played by Hamilton actor Leslie Odom Jr. Harold is a long-time associate of Dickie’s and runs numbers for the DiMeo crime family in Newark’s Black neighborhoods. Despite his many years of loyalty, Harold is still the subject of unfettered racism. After witnessing a young boy’s murder by police during the first night of the riots, Harold decides to sever his ties with the Italians and start his own operation to financially empower the Black community of Newark. At first, Harold’s friends have reservations.
“The Italians got soldiers over there,” Harold’s friend Cyril says to him.
“What’s the matter, you ain’t no soldier?” Harold chimes back.
The violence between Dickie’s and Howard’s crews escalates quickly.
There is something to be said about the level of agency and physical power exhibited in the character of Harold. As the first major Black character in Sopranos history, Harold’s story arc is a refreshing change from the way the TV series treated characters of color. In Many Saints, Harold is constantly devalued and underestimated by Dickie Moltisanti and his crew until he gains enough leverage to infiltrate the Italians’ laundering fronts in Newark’s Black neighborhoods. Tensions between Harold and Dickie come to a head when the Italians brutally murder Harold’s best friend, Cyril. We, the audience, are forced to watch this scene. As if Chase himself, the cruel puppeteer, is manipulating and tugging at the heart strings of an audience that paid good money to watch bloody carnage on a 35mm screen.
Cyril’s death is beyond graphic and uncomfortable to watch, but the most disturbing part about the scene is the comedic choice of having Silvio’s wig fall off as he fires several bullets into Cyril’s chest. Some fans may argue that this is David Chase and director Alan Taylor’s niche—depicting mob violence as a messy, unglamorous business—where even the coldest stone gangsters can succumb to sweat, nausea, and flatulence. It’s this judicious blend of realism and absurdity that works so well in the TV series. It allows the audience to laugh in spite of themselves and perceive these murdering wise guys as human. Another common defense made by Sopranos fans is that creatives like David Chase are showing their audience the “truth” about the Italian Mafia: racism, wife beating, and all.
However, that begs the question, should Chase hide the “truth” in order to protect the viewer’s feelings? I agree that it would be dishonest to gloss over the Mafiosi’s historical bigotry. Yet, it brings up another crucial question: how does watching such gross displays of simulated violence impact the real-life violence inflicted against Black people and other marginalized identities to this day?
At the premiere, the audience almost disturbed me more than the scene itself, as they started hooting and clapping when Silvio’s wig fell off. I imagine it was a creative choice on Chase and Taylor’s part, to alleviate the viewer’s discomfort while watching a Black man’s graphic murder at the hands of beloved characters. This choice, however, makes me wonder: whose comfort are they concerned about? One of many symptoms of white fragility is the notion that white people should be subjected to watching racially motivated violence, but only in doses. In doing so, it reinforces a kind of liberalism that is so rooted in white supremacy, it has become invisible to many white liberals (like myself). A belief system that applauds white people for bearing witness to racism instead of ignoring it, while excusing them from participating in anti-racist efforts. A friend of mine, who is a woman of color, pointed something else out to me about the scene that I missed. The decision to have Silvio’s wig fall off after he shoots Cyril inadvertently makes a mockery of wigs and weaves in Black culture. (I say the word “inadvertently” not to downplay the perverse racial implications, but because sometimes seemingly “innocent” choices like this can be rooted in preconceived prejudices that Chase and Taylor may not have been cognizant of when filming.) Once again, this just proves how insidious depictions of racial violence can be when in the hands of white creatives who have “good” intentions.
By far the most uncomfortable part of the evening, other than sitting next to Phil, was having to watch the scene where Dickie Moltisanti murders his mistress, Guiseppina (Michela De Rossi), after she confesses to sleeping with his archnemesis, Harold. “You slept with that [expletive] murderer?!” Dickie screams, furious and heartbroken, before he drowns her in the ocean.
I should mention that Guiseppina was the former young bride of Dickie’s father, Hollywood Dick—remember him? But when Dickie confronts his father (Liotta) after finding out he threw Guiseppina down the stairs in a domestic dispute, the confrontation escalates, and Dickie kills his father in a heat of passion. Movie buffs and those of us familiar with the Old Testament would probably agree that when Dickie commits patricide, he writes his own death sentence. I’m going to take this Biblical analysis one step further and suggest that Hollywood Dick’s murder is the origin of the Moltisanti father/son curse. It is a ripple in time that seals the tragic fate of the Moltisanti men, setting the stage for Christopher and Tony’s fraught father/son dynamic in the TV series. The poetic irony of having Tony kill his mentor/surrogate father’s son is certainly not lost on us fans of The Sopranos.
Shortly after the camera pans to Guiseppina’s corpse, the viewer witnesses another bromidic conversation between Dickie and his incarcerated uncle, Sal Moltisanti, (also played by Liotta, *deep sigh*). The character of Sal functions in the film as an intermediary for Dickie’s good and bad side, his capacity for love and violence, much like Dr. Melfi (Lorraine Bracco) functions in the TV series as Tony’s therapist, who often evokes Freudian theory in reference to his complicated family relationships. When learning of Guiseppina’s death, which Dickie chalks up to pneumonia, Sal remarks in a comically deadpan voice, “So much tragedy in your life.”
The laughter that followed Liotta’s punchline rippled through the Beacon Theatre like a crowd of beer-bellied men doing the “wave” at a sports game. It didn’t seem to matter that they just watched a young woman get drowned. The audience, myself included, knew it was coming anyway. What other end was there for a female character in a Mafia movie who cheats on her gangster boyfriend? Those of us familiar with Mafia movies and TV shows know there’s a recurring trend of violence against women, usually played out in graphic detail (Scarface, The Godfather, dare I mention Once Upon a Time in America). Fans and creators of the Mafia genre have uttered the same defense for decades: Famed directors like Martin Scorsese and Sergio Leone don’t hate women! They’re just being “truthful” in how they represent Mafiosi culture, which is rife with misogyny. Surely, these directors aren’t showing graphic displays of sexual violence and/or domestic abuse to satisfy any of their fans’ secret appetites. . .
We’ve had a hundred years of predatory behavior in Hollywood, both on and off screen, and this defense is not only insulting but glaringly ignorant.
The Many Saints of Newark imitates its predecessors by writing one-dimensional female characters that are shoved into the categories of nagging wife or clingy goomar (Italian slang for “mistress”). To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. Especially since the original TV show gave its female characters incredible depth, agency, and emotional gravitas. I mean, if you’re going to cast Vera Farmiga as a young Olivia Soprano, you better spin that story around her!
Which brings me to my final point:
In a post #MeToo, #BlackLivesMatter world, The Many Saints of Newark feels intentionally prescient, but ultimately fails to deliver a story that challenges the racist and sexist tropes that pervade American gangster cinema. While the introduction of Harold McBrayer is a positive development in the Sopranos universe, the character itself is somewhat superficial and written within the confines of race and his relationship to whiteness (the Italian mob and his affair with Guiseppina). Chase doesn’t explore much else about Harold. The character wouldn’t be nearly as interesting if it weren’t for Leslie Odom Jr.’s stellar performance as Harold. I can’t help but wonder what the movie could have been if Chase and Taylor worked with a writer of color to provide that interiority the story was sorely missing (not to mention creating more equity).
Same goes for the women in The Many Saints of Newark. Chase had the opportunity to imagine the story from the female characters’ perspectives. This could have strengthened the focus on young Tony’s relationships with the women in his life, which, if you have watched The Sopranos, is imperative to understanding Tony as a character. Instead, Chase delivers a compressed, heavy-handed tale about father-son dynamics *snoooze* with a smattering of a-ha moments referenced in the TV series. We get the beehive story: a pre-wig Silvio with male pattern baldness and the mischievous adventures of teenage Tony, Artie Bucco, and Jackie Aprile. We even catch a glimpse of Carmela Soprano sidling up to her future husband, but for some reason, that’s all we get of Carmela. To give Chase his due, there is an incredible plot twist revealed at the end of the movie. The mystery behind Dickie Moltisanti’s death is finally solved, and it makes the Moltisanti/Sopranos storyline in the TV series all the more fucked up.
Maybe I’m being too judgmental, too “politically correct” as the Boomers say, in my critique of the Sopranos prequel. Or, perhaps, I’m not as de-sensitized as I used to be. It’s a privilege to be able to watch violence re-enacted against Black people and other marginalized identities and not feel the prick of real-life fear under your skin. Being queer, non-binary, and having grown up socialized as a woman, I used to feel a sense of pride in my ability to watch violent, macho-masculine things. I was both attracted to and repulsed by these sexy fictional gangsters, intrigued by their Jekyll and Hyde duality that allows them to be murderers but also loving, protective fathers. Perhaps what compels me and so many others to watch these stories is the belief that bad people are capable of good and vice versa, providing a comforting escape from the black-and-white world we live in. Maybe, deep down, most of us long to hold a gun. To be our own judge, jury, and executioner when people of color and other marginalized communities are crushed beneath the heels of capitalism and white supremacy.
The Many Saints of Newark adds a wrinkle with Harold, who comes out on top at the end, but it’s not enough to dismantle the white supremacist narratives that have dominated Mafia cinema and television for decades. I wonder if there’s a way we can continue telling American gangster stories without milking the traumas of marginalized people. One can stray away from harmful tropes associated with specific genres through the power of perspective—on camera and behind the scenes. If Chase had decided to co-write Many Saints with a Black and/or female writer, perhaps we would have gotten a very different story. One that breathes life and dimension into characters like Harold and Guiseppina, and doesn’t portray them as mere pawns in a game of life-and-death with the white supremacist Italian mafia.
Here’s another thought: creatives like David Chase should redistribute a large sum of the proceeds to underserved communities of color, like central Newark. Otherwise, why keep telling stories about Black suffering if you’re not going to put your money where your mouth is? Naturally, I say all of this from a white progressive’s perspective. The issue of reparations and Hollywood exploiting Black Americans is nothing new, nor is the critique of racist and misogynistic Mafia films.
Although I left the movie premiere feeling frustrated and unsettled, it inspired me to examine my own participation in and consumption of Americana gangster lore. As a longtime fan of The Sopranos, the prequel failed to satisfy, but it did, however, give me a lot to think about.