At our age it's enough surprise we're still alive every morning
In the week when one New Labour insider said that the Blair-Brown infighting was "like an episode of The Sopranos," it was good to remind ourselves why it fucking isn't. Watched two tonight, after bailing out of the critically acclaimed Brick on DVD, which was atonal, pretentious toss (and I have to watch the rest as I'm reviewing it!): Episode 7, In Camelot, written by Terence Winter and directed by none other than Steve Buscemi, and Episode 8, Marco Polo, written by none other than Michael Imperioli and directed by John Patterson. A fine pair.

In the former, Uncle Junior visits four funerals in a row, and loses it, while Tony dallies with Fran Felstein (Polly Bergen, the sort of autumnal actress you feel you recognise, but in fact she's been in no films of any note, and seems to have spent her entire career since the 50s on TV - I suppose I could have seen her in The Love Boat). She was Tony's father's bit on the side, and at first he is fascinated by her and almost attracted to her, despite being old enough to be his mother (and yes, Dr Melfi spotted that), especially with her stories about having it off with JFK and meeting Sinatra. But this soon sours, when he realises that no matter how much he claims to have hated his mother, his father did a bad thing. We see Tony as a teenager in flashback, forced to lie to Livia in hospital to cover for his philandering father. Meanwhile, we see Christopher trying to help out an old friend, JT, from rehab, a TV writer (cue: plenty of in-jokes about TV being an inferior medium to cinema - JT can't pawn his Emmy award for smack money!) - at least this shows Christopher in a good light. Well, until he kicks the shit out of his friend for non-repayment of a loan, smashing a framed Dr Strangelove poster over his head. I'm sure there's symbolism there.

The final, wordless shot, lingering on a cigar-sucking Tony at the Bing, is one of those that just bristles with history and depth. There is so much going on in there. And that's the reward you get for watching it all these years. A great line from Phil Leotardo, when Johnny Sack reminds him that Tony, whom he just called a "kid", is also a boss: "Jersey? Come on."

In the latter episode, action centres around the 75th birthday of Carmela's dad, Hugh, and a surprise party he knows all about. Tony is invited for his sake (he's "crazy about your sausages"). He's back at the barbecue, master of all he surveys. "A doctor in the house?" Tony says to Carmela's parents' "cultured" Italian friends, one of whom is a diplomat. "That's good, because somebody usually goes down at these things." Nobody does, but a comment by one of Tony Blundetto's twins afterwards about how much they wish they had a big house like their cousin Anthony Jr, causes him to cross the floor - for money to top up the airbags operation. Wooed by Little Carmine's capos (one of whom is played by Frankie Valli, who may just have "had some work"), he takes on a hit, which just happens to be Leotardo's bodyguard Joe. The prostitute he's giving a lift to takes a bullet also, and their car rolls over Blundetto's foot, reminding you of Buscemi's character in Fargo. So somebody does go down. I had a worrying moment when Blundetto seemed to be ogling Meadow, but perhaps he's just jealous of Tony's relationship with his daughter, when his has disappeared. There's a lot to keep up with, not least the ongoing repairs to Leotardo's car, damaged when Tony ran him off the road for disrespecting him. Something's up with the recline, and the paint job. Got myself a gun.