Two of the more memorable crime dramas in recent memory are the Canadian series, Da Vinci’s Inquest, the not quite fictional tale of a crusading coroner, and The Sopranos, the fictional depiction of Tony Soprano and his extended New Jersey “mafia” family. Both series are well-written, well-acted, and relatively close to the truth of crime and criminal activity — or at least close to the truth of particular kinds of crime and criminal activity.

But I confess that I can only take so much of the Sopranos; there is very little light at the end of its tunnel. After two hours of Tony and Junior and the rest, one often feels a little hopeless and disgusted, entertained by the clever writing and acting, but almost depressed by the relentlessness of acts of duplicity, violence, bad taste, and mendacity.

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