Aida Turturro

"So," Tony Soprano asks analyst Dr. Melfi in the wake of not-so-dearly-departed Livia's death, "we're probably done here, right?" Sorry, Tone, not by a long shot. Unresolved mother issues are the least of the Family man's troubles in the brutal and controversial third season of The Sopranos. Ranked by TV Guide among the top five greatest series ever, The Sopranos justified its eleven-month hiatus with some of its best, and most hotly debated, episodes that continue the saga of the New Jersey mob boss juggling the pressures of his often intersecting personal and professional lives.

In its second season, The Sopranos sustains the edgy intelligence and unpredictable, genre-warping narrative momentum that made this modern mob saga the most critically acclaimed series of the late 1990s. Creator-producer David Chase repeatedly defies formula to let the narrative turn as a direct consequence of the characters' behavior, letting everyone in this rogue's gallery of Mafiosi, friends, and family evolve and deepen.

The Sopranos, writer-producer-director David Chase's extraordinary television series, is nominally an urban gangster drama, but its true impact strikes closer to home: Like 1999's other screen touchstone, American Beauty, the HBO series chronicles a dysfunctional, suburban American family in bold relief. And for protagonist Tony Soprano, there's the added complexity posed by heading twin families, his collegial mob clan and his own, nouveau riche brood.