Television Review: Rat Pack (The Sopranos, S5X02, 2004)

Rat Pack (S05E02)

Airdate: March 14th 2004

Written by: Matthew Weiner
Directed by: Alan Taylor

Running Time: 57 minutes

When The Sopranos premiered in 1999, it stood as a visionary force in television, predating the so-called Golden Age of Television—often marked by shows like Breaking Bad and Mad Men—by nearly a decade. Its narrative complexity, moral ambiguity, and psychological depth set a precedent for the medium, transforming it into an art form capable of rivalling cinema. Among the creative minds drawn to its orbit was Matthew Weiner, later the architect of Mad Men, whose screenwriting debut arrived in Season 5’s The Rat Pack. This episode not only bridges the thematic and stylistic sensibilities of both series but also underscores The Sopranos’ role as a harbinger of television’s future. Weiner’s involvement here is emblematic of the show’s enduring influence, blending nostalgic mythmaking with a piercing critique of American disillusionment—a duality that would become central to Mad Men’s exploration of 1960s idealism.

The episode’s title, The Rat Pack, operates on multiple levels, reflecting both the glamour of mid-century America and the corrosive undercurrents of treachery. On one hand, it evokes the legendary Las Vegas entertainers—Sinatra, Davis Jr., Martin—whose swaggering camaraderie and effortless cool symbolised an era of unchecked masculinity and aspirational success. For Tony Soprano, these figures represent a romanticised past, a time when loyalty and honour ostensibly governed the Mafia’s code. As he grapples with a disintegrating family structure and a crew increasingly sceptical of his leadership, Tony clings to this idealised vision of the past as a psychological crutch.

Simultaneously, the title’s reference to “rats”—colloquial for informants—imbues the narrative with an atmosphere of paranoia. Betrayal, whether literal or existential, permeates nearly every storyline, exposing the fragility of trust in a world built on violence and exploitation. Weiner deftly interweaves these dual themes, illustrating how Tony’s longing for a mythic past is inseparable from his complicity in a present defined by deceit.

The episode introduces Tony Blundetto (played by Steve Buscemi), Tony Soprano’s cousin, whose return after 18 years in prison becomes a focal point for exploring loyalty and its limits. Having refused to implicate Tony Soprano during his incarceration—a decision that cost him his family and freedom—Tony B initially appears as a paragon of unwavering fidelity. His arrival sparks hope in Tony Soprano, who views him as a rare ally in a landscape of dwindling loyalties. However, this optimism is swiftly undercut when Tony B declares his intention to abandon the criminal life entirely, opting instead for legitimacy as a massage therapist.

Tony Soprano’s reaction—a mix of fury and resignation—reveals the transactional nature of his relationships. To him, Tony B’s choice to “go straight” is not merely a personal rejection but a betrayal of their shared history and the Mafia’s unwritten codes. Yet the episode complicates this interpretation: Tony B’s desire for redemption is less an act of disloyalty than an indictment of the life Tony Soprano clings to. In refusing to rejoin the ranks, Tony B exposes the emptiness of the very ideals Tony romanticises. The tension between these perspectives underscores the episode’s central irony: in a world governed by betrayal, the truest act of treachery may be the rejection of its corrosive values.

The theme of betrayal extends beyond personal relationships into the institutional realm, as the FBI’s infiltration of Tony’s organisation takes centre stage. Unbeknownst to Tony, longtime associate Ray Curto continues to feed information to federal agents, while the potential flipping of business associate Jack Massarone triggers a crisis. Tony’s indecision over whether to eliminate Jack—a hesitation uncharacteristic of his usual ruthlessness—reflects both his growing weariness and the destabilising effect of perpetual suspicion. His eventual decision to act, spurred by minor behavioural inconsistencies, reaffirms his capacity for brutality but does little to stem the tide of informants.

Adriana’s storyline, meanwhile, offers a poignant counterpoint. Her coerced cooperation with the FBI, driven by fear and guilt, erodes her mental stability, culminating in a near-confession to Carmela and the other wives. In a desperate bid to deflect suspicion, she betrays her friend Tina Francesco (played by Vanessa Ferlito)—a minor figure whose flirtation with Christopher she interprets as a personal slight. Adriana’s actions, born of self-preservation, highlight the moral compromises that define life within the Mafia’s orbit, where survival often demands the sacrifice of others.

The episode’s brilliance lies in its refusal to romanticise any faction. Even the FBI, ostensibly the “good guys,” are depicted as self-serving and morally compromised. Agent Sansiviero’s platitudes about justice ring hollow when contrasted with the task force’s cynical reaction to Uncle Junior’s acquittal. The displeasure of their boss from Justice Department stems not from a mob boss evading punishment but from the lost opportunity for career advancement in private sector—a revelation that mirrors the Mafia’s own transactional ethos. This parallel subtly challenges the viewer’s assumptions about morality, suggesting that institutional power is as susceptible to corruption as the criminal underworld.

The offscreen death of Carmine Lupertazzi, which ignites a New York power struggle, exemplifies The Sopranos’ knack for weaving consequential events into the narrative periphery. However, the episode stumbles in its handling of Carmine’s alleged ties to Opus Dei, a subplot involving Ginny Sacks. This thread, while intriguing, feels underdeveloped and incongruously melodramatic, veering into the kind of sensationalism the series typically avoids. Similarly, Carmela’s film club—a vehicle for mocking intellectual pretension—leans too heavily on pop culture references, undermining the episode’s otherwise nuanced social critique.

Despite these flaws, The Rat Pack remains a testament to Matthew Weiner’s emerging talent. His script balances dark humour, psychological insight, and thematic richness, aided by standout performances from Buscemi and 1980s star Patti d’Arbanville as Lorraine Calluzo, a loan shark and one of the rare female mafiosi. Buscemi’s portrayal of Tony B—a man haunted by lost time and fractured identity—adds layers of pathos to the episode.

In retrospect, The Rat Pack serves as a microcosm of The Sopranos’ broader legacy. Though not without its missteps, the episode exemplifies the narrative ambition that would define the Golden Age of Television—a movement The Sopranos helped usher in, and to which it remains indispensable.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

Blog in Croatian https://draxblog.com
Blog in English https://draxreview.wordpress.com/
InLeo blog https://inleo.io/@drax.leo

InLeo: https://inleo.io/signup?referral=drax.leo
Hiveonboard: https://hiveonboard.com?ref=drax
Rising Star game: https://www.risingstargame.com?referrer=drax
1Inch: https://1inch.exchange/#/r/0x83823d8CCB74F828148258BB4457642124b1328e

BTC donations: 1EWxiMiP6iiG9rger3NuUSd6HByaxQWafG
ETH donations: 0xB305F144323b99e6f8b1d66f5D7DE78B498C32A7
BCH donations: qpvxw0jax79lhmvlgcldkzpqanf03r9cjv8y6gtmk9

Posted Using INLEO