No matter how different it may seem, no matter how many miles separate New Jersey and Utah, and no matter how many wives separate amoral Tony Soprano from amorous Bill Henrickson, “Big Love” is “The Sopranos” – with bigger hair*.
And because “Big Love” gives me another crime-riddled, violent, money-hungry distended family to love, I don’t even miss those other guys. You know, the ones from New Jersey. Well, not as much as I used to.
I am here to say that – yes!- I love the Biggies just as much as the Sops. And sometimes even more.
Sacrilege? No.
So far, at least, “Big Love” is more consistent than “The Sopranos.”
PHOOTS: ‘Big Love’ Family Tree
And even though with its passing, “The Sopranos” has become like the less-than-ideal spouse who becomes perfect after the funeral, for every great “Sopranos” episode, we had to sit through one too many Kevin Finnerty and insurance salesman stinkers that left us screaming with boredom.
OK. call me a TV polygamist, the equivalent of Bill the “plyg” who loves each wife until a sleeker model comes along. But in truth, I fell in love with “Big Love” from its very first episode. It was sort of like a new boyfriend who arrived without any dents or stains.
On Sunday night, “Big Love” Season 3 begins, and it’s bigger (Bill’s suiting up for another wife and the operating contract for an Indian-owned, Mormon-loving casino). And it’s better (plenty of ripped-from-the-news story lines) than ever.
Since I’ve now watched the first three episodes twice and am in deep regret-mode for not having shown more restraint in doling them out like the giant, rich candies that they are, I can say, without question, that the Henricksons are starting to make the Sopranos look like the descendants of Mother Teresa.
OK, Bill and his immediate-immediate families are nice people who truly believe they are living The Principal and that man was meant to marry often and multiply even more often. But the Henrickson family is still living outside the law, and God only knows what Bill-the-businessman’s tax returns look like. It’s not like he can claim all those dependents, can he?
Back again is the horrible Roman Grant (Harry Dean Stanton), aka “The Prophet,” who is about to go on trial for the statutory rape of the underage girls he calls his wives. Then there’s his son, the totally repulsive Alby Grant (Matt Ross), who is usurping The Prophet’s power while he’s in the pokey. (I mean, Alby’s trying to take over when he’s not soliciting sex in the men’s rooms of filthy gas stations from dangerous strangers who end up beating the living daylights out of him.)
There’s the ever-hateful, Frank (Bruce Dern), Bill’s horrifying, filthy, perverse father, as well as my personal fave, Lois (Grace Zabriskie), Bill’s murderous mother who is the FDLS equivalent of Livia Soprano.
Finally, there’s the wonderfully awful angel-faced little Rhonda (Daveigh Chase) of the glorious voice and black heart, who is so evil that the devil himself must be worrying about keeping his job.
Happily for you, when you see what each of those truly terrible characters is up to this year, your hair will stand on end like an FDLS lady with a sugar-water-stiffened ‘do. It’s so much more satisfying than a pizza and a night at the Bada Bing.
*In a private, scientific test, I have determined that the towering hairdo’s on the FDLS sister-wives go above and way beyond the terribly teased styles of the Jersey-mall molls. Sorry.