College is arguably the best episode of The Sopranos' first season, and certainly among the ten best of the entire series. Marking a departure from the show's traditional story structure, it ends up being more fundamental in defining Tony's personality than a lifetime of therapy sessions with Dr. Melfi.
Why is this episode a departure? Simply because only a small part of it takes place in New Jersey - most of the show sees Tony travel to Maine with Meadow so that she can check out colleges. On the way, she openly confronts him about his activities, an event that upsets the depressed gangster considerably. It doesn't take long before he gets his energy back, though: while his daughter visits a school, he sees a man he believes to be Fabian "Febby" Petrulio, a former mafioso who entered the Witness Protection Program after becoming an informant. Since this guy put several valuable men in prison, Tony decides to seek long awaited revenge. His wife Carmela, on the other hand, sets out to find (spiritual) comfort in the arms of Father Phil (Paul Schulze) after discovering Dr. Melfi is a woman.
College is a great piece of television because it sets the tone for things to come: the seeds of the crisis between Tony and Carmela, a fundamental part of the show's later seasons, are planted here (and Edie Falco uses her limited amount of scenes admirably), and the fat mobster's relationship with his kids, already in a rough spot after the events of the previous episode, gets to new, unsettling levels. But it's the protagonist's visceral, brutal attitude with "rats" that truly initiates one of the serial's most shocking trends: they might even be his best friends, it doesn't matter - Tony Soprano never forgives snitches.
Ironically, HBO bosses initially objected to the idea of Tony murdering people in cold blood, claiming it would make him unlikable to audiences. David Chase argued that these characters have their own code of ethics, which requires extreme methods at times. His point is evident in James Gandolfini's expression when the payoff arrives: there's no pleasure in his eyes, just the family's honor being vindicated in a brief, violent scene that reminds of Scorsese in his prime. Maybe that's why one of Empire magazine's splendid definitions of the show was "the finest gangster epic never to star Robert de Niro". Then again, why bother? Gandolfini is just as mesmerizing.
Why is this episode a departure? Simply because only a small part of it takes place in New Jersey - most of the show sees Tony travel to Maine with Meadow so that she can check out colleges. On the way, she openly confronts him about his activities, an event that upsets the depressed gangster considerably. It doesn't take long before he gets his energy back, though: while his daughter visits a school, he sees a man he believes to be Fabian "Febby" Petrulio, a former mafioso who entered the Witness Protection Program after becoming an informant. Since this guy put several valuable men in prison, Tony decides to seek long awaited revenge. His wife Carmela, on the other hand, sets out to find (spiritual) comfort in the arms of Father Phil (Paul Schulze) after discovering Dr. Melfi is a woman.
College is a great piece of television because it sets the tone for things to come: the seeds of the crisis between Tony and Carmela, a fundamental part of the show's later seasons, are planted here (and Edie Falco uses her limited amount of scenes admirably), and the fat mobster's relationship with his kids, already in a rough spot after the events of the previous episode, gets to new, unsettling levels. But it's the protagonist's visceral, brutal attitude with "rats" that truly initiates one of the serial's most shocking trends: they might even be his best friends, it doesn't matter - Tony Soprano never forgives snitches.
Ironically, HBO bosses initially objected to the idea of Tony murdering people in cold blood, claiming it would make him unlikable to audiences. David Chase argued that these characters have their own code of ethics, which requires extreme methods at times. His point is evident in James Gandolfini's expression when the payoff arrives: there's no pleasure in his eyes, just the family's honor being vindicated in a brief, violent scene that reminds of Scorsese in his prime. Maybe that's why one of Empire magazine's splendid definitions of the show was "the finest gangster epic never to star Robert de Niro". Then again, why bother? Gandolfini is just as mesmerizing.