The Sopranos, Season Six, Episode 16: “Chasing It”
That pervasive sense of dread and foreboding hanging over The Sopranos seems to be getting stronger as the end nears. Last week, Tony said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop; in this week’s episode, “Chasing It”, Carmela says that she feels like there’s a piano hanging on a rope overhead. As the metaphoric stakes have gotten bigger, the literal stakes have grown as well: this episode saw Tony (played to brilliant, implosive perfection by James Gandolfini) gambling away increasingly vast sums of money in a futile attempt to recover from some stumbles, in pursuit of a fortune he’s already losing. Listening to Tony describe his compulsive behavior, he sounded eerily like the Tony Soprano from the pilot episode – chasing a dream that’s already in the past.
Like the first three episodes of the season, “Chasing It” is all dark and broody atmospherics, more doom and gloom than explosive fireworks, but the oppressiveness is more palpable here, as though the series is inching its way towards something decisive. Note director Tim Van Patten’s shaky handhelds and awkwardly-framed close-ups, which give the episode an uncharacteristically jittery look and uncomfortable feel.
If we need further evidence that things are reaching a boiling point, we also get one nasty fight between Carmela and Tony (and how great it still is, after all these years, to see these two remarkable actors play off of each other). Tony and Carmela know how to hurt each other better than anyone else: she’s the only person who can really call Tony on his selfishness; meanwhile, he sees the hypocrisy in her minor pangs of conscience, well aware that she cares enough to lose sleep over the shoddy construction of her spec house, but not so much that she’d be willing to forego her financial windfall from selling the house (to family, no less). The writers get every nuance of this relationship, and it comes through in nearly every line: Tony and Carmela hate each other because they need each other, because they understand each other so completely, and because they’re so much alike, complicit in their destructiveness, greed, and complacency.
Tony’s increasing alienation manifests itself most acutely in his argument with Carmela, but it pervades the episode. Early on, Tony confides to Hesh (Jerry Adler, also great here) that he can’t trust Christopher, Paulie, and Bobby, because they are all “murderers”, though Tony knows full well he bears primary responsibility for turning Christopher and Bobby into killers. Later, he proceeds to lash out at Hesh with a nasty, racist tirade for his very reasonable request for payment or interest on the $200,000 loan he gave Tony.
Despite his obvious culpability, Tony refuses to take responsibility for creating his current situation. Like Carmela, he’s built his house with rotten wood, and it’s set to cave in – taking others down with it – and all he can do is hope it doesn’t rain. Tony is too weak, selfish, and lazy to do things right (even to take his own therapy seriously). Hence, the gambling and the temptation to stiff Hesh on his money. Towards the end of the episode, Tony reflects on his luck and decides that, money notwithstanding, he’s “still up.” Later, after Hesh’s girlfriend dies suddenly, Tony returns Hesh’s money with condolences: “I’m sorry for your loss,” Tony offers. Forget the money, though. By the end of “Chasing It”, everyone’s on a losing streak.
“Chasing It” may be the most intricately plotted episode of the new half-season so far, and I have neglected a few major subplots for lack of time and space (Blanca and A.J., Vito Jr. and poop in the shower). I hope Brother and Robbie, along with anyone else who’s been reading (Eve, Matthew, etc.), that you will give these matters the attention they deserve. Bonus points for anyone who’s willing to tackle the terrorism thing. I thought this was a first-rate episode, and I’m anxious to hear from everyone.
The Sopranos, Season Six Episode 15: “Remember When”
The last image in “Remember When” is of Junior Soprano (Dominic Chianese) slumped meekly in a lawn chair outside his treatment center, absently petting a snaggle pussed cat. His tight-lipped expression bespeaks frustration at his plight, but also the fact that for the first time since the sixth season premiere “Members Only” – in Friends parlance, The One where Junior Shoots Tony – he’s without his dentures. A few scenes earlier, he’d been assaulted by a fellow patient who gave him a good sock to his fragile jaw. What we’re seeing then, is a tableaux of toothlessness at once literal and figurative – the old fox defanged.
It seems as good a place as any to leave Junior, arguably the least empathetic of The Sopranos’ major characters (seasonal bogeymen like Richie Aprille and Ralph Ciffaretto notwithstanding) and seemingly a forgotten man as far as the writers were concerned. The slow erosion of Corrado Soprano’s former sharpness has been a familiar motif over the past few years, but (pace its nostalgic title) “Remember When” charts just how far he’s slipped by introducing an old photograph of Junior and his brother Johnny, slouched casually against a Cadillac in front of Satriale’s.
As a portrait of old-style wise guy cool, it’s just about perfect. The pair’s expressions hover somewhere between avuncular and homicidal. Flipping through old photos during a South Beach sojourn with Paulie, Tony gives the picture a quick glance and seems eager to move on. He’s equally uninterested in the vintage snapshot of Paulie (a real and arresting image of Tony Sirico, all biceps and slicked-backed attitude), exclaiming a few seconds later – after Paulie has commandeered the conversation with another long-winded remembrance of malfeasance past—that “‘remember when’ is the lowest form of conversation.’”
It’s understandable that Tony doesn’t really want to dredge up the past; after all, the little bit of past that’s been dredged up in a Jersey basement – the corpse of a bookie who was apparently Tony’s first-ever kill – is what has him fled to Florida, dining chez Beansie (now moving about in an expensive-looking wheelchair) and wondering which of his many regrettable yesterdays will finally undo him in the present tense. And Tony looks very much like a guy who’s coming undone: he seems paunchier and sallower than usual, and a furtive phone call to Hesh suggests he may he having money problems. (200 K is no small loan).
The week’s major revelation, courtesy of bigmouth Paulie, is that Tony murdered the bookie at his father’s insistence. No wonder Tony is reticent to reminisce. The Sopranos has always been a show marked by hauntings, but this episode was a veritable echo chamber, referencing important moments in the show’s past.Junior being pelted by paper balls by his former charge mirrored Meadow’s drunken behavior in the season three finale; the tense scenes between Tony and Paulie on a rented boat loudly (and some might say over-deliberately) evoked Big Pussy’s murder.
Despite its abundance of carefully wrought resonances, “Remember When” feels a bit like a holding pattern, another attenuated standstill to mark time as the plot slowly kicks into gear (though we did see another bloody step Phil Leotardo’s NYC takeover bid). There wasn’t much, f’rinstance, to substantiate (or refute) Robbiefreeling’s superb postulation from last week about Christopher’s possible extra-cirricular activities. (And I watched Imperioli during his one scene like a hawk). There’s more to be said, of course, and rather than try to unravel it myself, I’ll just give you both some talking points that I’m not articulate enough to jump on. Why the sudden and frankly unprecedented glimpse into Paulie’s interior life? What do you make of Junior addressing his treatment centre protégé/assailant as “Anthony?” Does the tomato plant count as another Godfather reference? Help me out here.
An utterly unnerving night with the Sopranos, if you ask me: one of those expert straddlings of the line between the broad and the sober that’s been the show’s stock in trade for quite a few years now. Even as the episode opened on a seemingly fairly innocuous note, with hyper-gory footage from Christopher’s indie horror-crap “Cleaver” encompassing the screen as it’s being digitally tweaked in the editing room, “Stage 5” moved on to deeper reflections, climaxing with what might have been the series’ most fully realized evocation of its “sympathy for the devil” leanings. But, first, to the get the “Cleaver” stuff out of the way (which is exactly what David Chase, brilliantly, did): How refreshing (and what a relief) that Christopher’s long-gestating mob-horror hybrid (Goodfellas meets Saw, natch) finally premiered and rather than provide either climax or catharsis, it was merely a plot device to both deepen the festering rot of Tony and Christopher’s father-son bond, as well as create new reservoirs of anger and resentment between Carmela and Christopher. The “Cleaver” screening itself was a predictable chuckle-fest, reminiscent of nothing less than the meta madness of The Muppet Movie (Steven Van Zandt looked especially Dr. Teeth-like as he chortled and nodded with approval) or, as when Paulie loudly answers his cell mid-movie, one of those pre-show movie theater politeness ads. But then a quick, expertly timed glance from Rosalie Aprile to Carmela when “Cleaver”’s mob boss (clearly modeled after Tony, and played by Daniel Baldwin with prime Baldwin doofiness) seduces his protégé’s fiancée, and the floodgates of recognition open.
Later on, not only does Carmela further turn her husband against Christopher by emphasizing the similarities between him and his onscreen version, she confronts the little rat-face herself at her home, memorably with his newborn baby in her arms. As with all essential Sopranos exchanges, the conversation was brief, yet cutting; blink and miss the portending wrath to come. Segueing from concerns over “Cleaver”’s proximity to her husband’s extramarital dalliances, she moves into darker territory—quick and without warning. Carmela first speaking of Adriana directly to Christopher, and voicing her concerns that she might be dead (!), seemed like a true breakthrough; furthermore she insinuates that she was better off without him. Christopher’s relationship with Tony already shaky, he certainly doesn’t need Carmela to turn against him, too.
And something is terribly amiss with Christopher: he’s too sober. After last season’s (or the first half of the season, depending on how you want to look at it) downward spiral into addiction (again), everything seems too rosy: wife, house, baby. And what was that business with the feds outside the diner, laughed off as if old school chums? And what of Christopher’s final look of hollowed (dare I say “Pussy-like”?) guilt at his baby’s baptism, the end of the episode and already the second Godfather reference just two weeks into the season?
If my suspicions of Christopher come true, then it would be in perfectly keeping with David Chase’s horrific sense of irony. Paralleling all this meaty family intrigue was the further humiliation of Johnny Sack, not only facing the daily grind of prison life but also discovering that he’s in the final stages of lung cancer (just another of what will be many of this season’s “chicken’s home to roost” nuggets: Johnny was rarely seen without an elegantly curling waft of cigarette smoke by his side). Perhaps by virtue of his soothing control and comparatively gentlemanlike manner, Vincent Curatola’s Johnny Sack always came across as one of the series’ most valuable, even likable players, eminently measured, as much a murderous scoundrel as anyone else yet so utterly convincing in his self-assurance and unwavering in his own ethical standards that he made for an appealing counterpoint to Tony. Johnny’s slow death, mouth agape, with his beloved wife and daughter at his side, leaves something of a gaping hole in the morally relative Sopranos world.
Picking up where Hal Holbrook brilliantly left off in last season’s “The Fleshy Part of the Thigh,” Sydney Pollack was on hand to deliver one of his best performances, and one surprisingly free of the harried neuroses of his greatest onscreen roles, as a convicted wife-killing doctor, working in the prison hospital and giving Johnny some hope in his dying days. Never sentimentalized, their relationship remains as no-nonsense and unerringly masculine as any in the show’s history. Unlike Holbrook’s hospital companion to Tony, Pollack isn’t here to give spiritual advice or philosophical wisdom, rather to provide Johnny with (ultimately futile) hope; thus the paralleling between Tony and Johnny was reinforced—and put to sleep. Tony’s second chance at life versus Johnny’s hopeless fade; Tony’s been aided along the way by road markers, beacons, and guardians, while Johnny had everything taken away from him piece by mortifying piece. In the show’s reliance on binaries, the Tony/Johnny trajectory may be the second most heartbreaking behind Carmela and Rosalie Aprile (who’s already lost everything that Carmela holds dear); and it’s doubtful that Tony and Carmela will remain so comparatively untouched for much longer.
“Soprano Home Movies,” the first episode of The Sopranos to air in the better part of a year, actually begins with an old scene from the end of the fifth season’s finale (“All Due Respect”), dating back to 2004: Johnny Sack, the boss of New York, was arrested in the backyard of his home, and Tony fled through the snow, tossing his gun. Tony’s casual mistake—tossing the firearm in plain view of a spectator—comes back to haunt him when he’s arrested on a gun charge in the present day. David Chase and his writers seem to be setting up a major story arc around Tony’s precarious relationship with the legal powers-that-be, but until that’s played out, that potential plot advancement may be the least interesting thing about the use of that footage from “All Due Respect.”
The recycled scene sets the tone for this elegant and surprisingly stripped-down episode, which is loaded with echoes of the past. Carmela waxes sentimental about that house on the shore she and Tony nearly bought before she threw him out of the house in “Whitecaps” (the finale of season four). Tony tries to insulate himself by using a family member, his brother-in-law Bobby, as a buffer, then later asserts his authority by coaxing Bobby into killing a man, as he did with Christopher in “For All Debts Public and Private” (the season four premiere). Tony tries pinning Bobby to the wall in a balls-out fight that looks an awful lot like the scuffle that cost Ralph Cifaretto his life in “Whoever Did This.” Janice tells Carmela about the boyfriend who once hit her (dearly departed Richie Aprile), neglecting to tell Carm that she responded by shooting him dead in “Knight in White Satin Armor,” way back in season two. There’s just no escaping the past, it seems; these characters are doomed to remember and relive past mistakes, indiscretions, and half-baked schemes. And while we could speculate what this means for the eight remaining episodes, it’s enough for now to take it as an apt enough distillation of “Soprano Home Movies,” an episode that, to a surprising degree, privileged family melodrama above mob drama.
By my watch, over 30 minutes of the episode’s running time were devoted to Tony and Carm’s trip up to the Adirondacks to celebrate Tony’s birthday with Bobby and Janice. In slow, quiet scenes, Tony makes real headway in his relationship with his sister and brother-in-law, and Janice even tries to compliment him, to tell him he’s changed since being shot last year. Tony takes offense at what he sees as a thinly veiled attack, and what starts as validation of Tony’s “every day is a gift” transformation from a year ago actually sets off the quick slide back to the default hostility between Tony and his sister, culminating brilliantly in an explosive and violent game of Monopoly. At the end of the episode, Tony watches the home movies from his childhood that Janice has had transferred to DVD. Little Janice sprays little Tony with a hose, and he chases after her. It’s as though they were doomed to this vicious cycle of aggression and resentment from the time they were half-formed.
Providing the psychological templates for both brother and sister are, of course, Tony’s mother and father, who loom large over the episode, and though Tony and Janice fancy themselves more like the latter, they each have plenty of Livia Soprano within themselves to inspire each other’s (self) loathing—Tony in his insatiable need for his sister’s gratitude for the things he has done for her, Janice in her erratic parenting skills. The point is simple and profound, subtly rendered but crystal clear: Our families are larger than ourselves, and one way or another, they make us who we are. To return to something I wrote last week about the previous episodes of Season Six, this takes the show back to this thorny issue of whether or not people are capable of real change, whether it’s possible to escape the things that have formed us. To The Sopranos’ credit, though, however close the show comes to implying that everyone is caught inescapably within institutions and relationships that make them who they are, that never means they get a free pass morally. Tony, Janice, and Bobby all come out of their boozy, brutal weekend together worse for the wear, a little more compromised and further away from realizing whatever hopes they have for redemption. As for Carmela, well, she may get off the easiest this week, but her passivity, on full display here, has always been her greatest sin. In “Soprano Home Movies,” she is more chorus than anything to else—in this case literally, in one glorious moment of drunken karaoke, singing “Love Hurts.” If she meant the love of family, well, I’ll drink to that.
On April 8, HBO’s landmark original series The Sopranos begins a stretch of nine final original episodes, officially the second half of the series’ much-maligned sixth season. For some of us at Reverse Shot, the end of The Sopranos is a pretty big deal. How better to tackle the end of the series and to pay tribute to a masterpiece of American popular culture than with a bit of ongoing dialogue, Reverse Shot style? So I’m happy to inaugurate an ongoing discussion on Reverse Blog about The Sopranos, Season Six, Part Two. Of course, we’re not the only game in town, and I do encourage anyone and everyone to check out the Sopranos coverage from our friends at the House Next Door. But with a text (film, television series, or otherwise) this rich, there’s plenty more to be said, and a multiplicity of voices is always a good thing. So, without further ado…
When last we saw Tony and friends, New York and New Jersey were on the verge of war (again); Christopher was fighting a drug habit and pining for a career in the movies (again); and Carmela was selling her soul for a sweet real estate venture (again). The series sixth and final season began with a shattering event. Tony was shot by his Uncle Junior and slipped into a coma, barely clinging to life. He escaped purgatory (quite literally) to find he had a new lease on life; he would treat each day as a gift. This setup established the central theme of the season: how much can we really change, and can we will ourselves to be different than—or better than—whatever it is we’ve become? At least four major character arcs in the season came back repeatedly to this theme: Tony’s last shot at redemption, Christopher’s repeated slide into addiction, Carmela’s perennial abdication of moral responsibility for material comfort, and, most prominently, Vito’s ill-fated attempt to flee New Jersey and the mob and to live as a gay man. The results were predictably bleak. If the season seems to have asked if redemption is possible for any of these characters, it’s fair to say that David Chase and his writers came down with a hard negative assessment. So season six set up a serious of false starts and dead ends, leaving everyone, in the end, pretty much where it found them, and pissing off fickle Sopranos fans across the country (let’s just be honest, if you watch Sopranos for climax—and you probably shouldn’t—David Chase is an incredibly big tease). While it may not have been conventionally satisfying in a straightforward (read: boring) way, though, there was something incendiary and brilliant about how Chase and his writers set up such clear moral tests for each of these characters and then let them all fail at them systematically and nearly without exception.
This all came to a non-climax in the midseason finale, an episode called “Kaisha.” The title refers to a lie Christopher tells Tony about the woman he’s seeing: she’s black, he says, and so he can’t bring her around; in fact, her name isn’t Kaisha—it’s Julianna—and he can’t bring her around because she had an aborted fling with Tony. So Kaisha is really a non-person, an absence, the lie we tell to make everything seem okay. There are plenty of these lies to go around. As the episode ends, the Soprano family gathers for Christmas, and Tony and Carmela’s daughter Meadow calls home from California. “Everybody’s here”, they tell her, which is a lie. Meadow’s not there, for one, but also, the camera lingers on Christopher’s new wife and we realize that Christopher’s dead fiancé Adriana, murdered by Silvio with Tony and Christopher’s blessing, is also the hidden lack, her absence concealed by a lie that no one believes, a lie that explains her away without expunging her from memory.
These characters are ill equipped to deal with relationships; they’re constantly lying to themselves and to one another. “Kaisha” ends chillingly, as A.J.’s new girlfriend tells Carmela, “You have a beautiful home.” Carmela smiles, “Yes, we do.” There you have it, one sad moment of truth, as Carmela, perhaps the show’s last best hope at redemption, takes pathetic joy in her stuff, pretending that everything is okay, and that having a beautiful home is the same thing as having a beautiful family. These people have all chosen things above people; they don’t even know how to do otherwise and can’t do otherwise, even when they try. I have no thoughts about where these final episodes are headed, and I don’t care to speculate about the finale that the series is or isn’t building to, but I am sure that Chase and his writers will come back to these themes, and I fear that the outlook for these characters is bleak. And still, I’m so excited to see what they do that I can hardly stand it…
And it’s funny how in the months proceeding, when I recalled the title of the final episode, I always just assumed that it referred to the character of A.J.’s new girlfriend. Rewatching it, I was taken aback by my presumptions, racist or otherwise. In a sense, this episode reminded me very much of the fifth season’s “Unidentified Black Males,” in which the show prominently took itself to task for all of its intentionally race-baiting subplots in the past, climaxing with the revelation that Tony had not, in fact, been assaulted by random black guys on his way to meet his doomed cousin Tony B (Steve Buscemi) on that failed mission that got Tony B put in jail for years, but that he had an embarrassing fainting spell brought on by (what else?) mother troubles. So then, Kaisha is an Unidentified Black Female, another, as you put it, “absence” and a “lie.” Sopranos has always trafficked in the ways in which ethnicity is wielded as both a scapegoat and self-definition, yet this was perhaps its most subtle use. And most telling: A.J.’s Puerto Rican (“Maybe Dominican,” Tony reasons…hopefully?) girlfriend, named, actually, Blanca, is suddenly part of the family; almost welcome, even, at their Christmas gathering.
This is a stunning turnabout not only because of the fact that A.J. has suddenly become something bordering on responsible (not adult yet, I dare say) but also because his sister Meadow was certainly not allowed the “privilege” of an interracial romance back in season three, when her Jewish/African-American paramour seemed lucky to have escaped the Soprano home with his life (and pretentious rectitude) intact. So what does this mean? Is Tony “evolving”? Did his near-death experience truly force him to turn over a new leaf and cherish every day as if it was his last? Doubtful if David Chase has anything to say about it, but it was a remarkably subdued ending to an emotionally volatile season (just one week prior, we saw Vito get the Joe Pesci-in-Casino treatment, that guy Fat Dom get sliced up like raw fish, and, most disturbingly, Adriana come back in a possibly prophetic dream Carmela had during her Paris sojourn), and pointed towards so many explosions they would be impossible to numerate and a fool’s errand to predict.
But since I am a bit of a fool, I will make a prediction about the Final 9: that Carmela’s growing suspicions about Adriana’s disappearance will be further investigated (spec house distractions be damned) and her discoveries will explode into a full-fledged moral meltdown (which, paralleling Tony’s psychiatric self-evaluation, has been simmering since season one’s “College”). Tony and Carmela’s relationship is the center here, everything else just satellites orbiting them; as Season Four’s “Whitecaps” proved, the dissolution of their marriage could carry a dramatic sting far greater than any baseball bat knock to the head.
Robbie, I don’t think you’re a fool. Adriana’s ghost hovered over season six in more ways than one, and cnw’s description of her as a kind of structuring absence in the brilliant final scene of “Kaisha” is right on the money. I also saw her in the character of Julianna—curly hair, big chest, dark features, and prone to lounging around in a stupor with Chrissy. Surely you both caught the musical cue when the pair went out to the movies: Bernard Herrmann’s swooning Vertigo theme.
More to the point: Adriana is the only major character whose murder was not shown to us. Yes, we saw Sil stalking after her in the woods (very Miller’s Crossing) and heard the fatal shots. I am not suggesting that Ade is still alive, and that the big revelation this season will be that Sil is a treasonous softie. But after the clinical depictions of Tony & Co.’s “waste management” skills re: Richie Aprile, Ralphie Ciffaretto, and Big Pussy, it’s unlikely that the writers simply neglected to show us Ade’s corpse being hacked and packed out of squeamishness. Yes, we saw Ade’s car being checked into “long term parking” (also the episode’s retroactively affecting title) and yes, Chris threw some suitcases into the tall grass, but my feeling is that if Carm calls the private investigator, and if Adriana’s body is found, it’s going to be because of ineptitude/laziness on Sil’s part.
One of my constant Sopranos companions (full disclosure: my mum, the loudest member of our six-strong weekly viewing party) has suggested that if Carmela discovers what happened to Ade, the Big Lie of the series—the uneasy complicity of the female characters in their partners’ boys-will-be-boys misadventures—would be exposed. Not because Carmela is a paragon of virtue—she’s made her king-size bed and lies in it fine—but because this particular can of worms is plenty deep. Consider the ramifications of Meadow finding out what “really happened” to Jackie Jr: for all her bleeding-heart hypocrisy (which the writers, mostly in the voice of Finn, have routinely called her on), this revelation might be too much for her to bear. People have been wondering in print for the better part of a decade about what would be an appropriate fate for Tony, and I think this could be it: estranged from the person he loves most unequivocally. AJ, being a boy, is a different story—i.e. Tony lets him bring a Puerto Rican girl home. (At least she’s Catholic.) And I think AJ is a dead issue at this point: the old-world traditions of idealizing daughters and then objectifying/abusing them if they belong to someone else are what Chase is after here.
So I’m moved to think of the one female character who, even more than Ade, stands in as the series most innocent (and unmourned) victim: Tracee, the stripper unceremoniously beaten to death by Ralphie in Season Three. The not-unsubtle graphic matches between her and Meadow in that fateful episode hinted that Tony saw them existing on the same continuum. When he mauled Ralphie, screaming, “She was a beautiful creature! She never hurt anybody!” I don’t really think he meant his horse. His cries also foreshadow Adriana’s demise—another innocent, beautiful creature, empathetic to the point that she admired the drug dealer who committed a murder in her nightclub because he sent money home to his family. Adriana, Tracee, and the thrice-burned shell that is Rosalie Aprile, whose unimaginable suffering is once again contrasted with Carmela’s relatively smooth ride during their tetchy trip to Paris (during which Carm may have literally and figuratively seen the light —a beacon atop the Eiffel tower that perfectly mirrored the portentous blip glimpsed by Tony during his near-death stint as Kevin Finnerty (infinity?) are the real victims of the “things” that Tony and his colleagues do.
Whatever “direction” the series is heading, I can’t imagine that a reckoning around these issues isn’t on the horizon. Especially considering that Tony’s teetering psychological architecture—the focus of the series—owes its rotten construction in large part to the I-married-a-mobster coping mechanisms of a very important lady. Recall the amazing house-of-the-dead dream sequence in last season’s second and best episode, and the shadow in the doorway whose mere presence convinced Tony it was best to retreat to the land of the living. Given your Poltergeist-derived moniker, Robbie, you’ll appreciate this: she’s (sort of) ba-ack…
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