The Sopranos completes what I call HBO's "Nasty People" Trilogy. The first of the trio is "Oz," the prison drama where every character is a villain, since they're all convicts of some sort, even the warden. Next comes "Sex In The City," where you have four, 30-something single women in New York, who are basically just a quartet of loose slatterns with a lot of money, hip clothes, and good hair. "The Sopranos," the saga of a New Jersey mob boss, his fragmented family and his blood business, completes my triptych. All of these shows are fascinating simply because of the great characters, but let's face it, at the end of the day, you probably wouldn't want any of them as your friends [~] they're all nasty people ... on the inside. Luckily, nastiness makes for great TV.

The Sopranos is at once very brutal and very complex in its nastiness. It's the complexity that creates its beauty.

On the one hand, it's about Tony Soprano, a vicious New Jersey mobster and his daily efforts to run his criminal operation and rule his turf with all the iron that his fist requires, because if he doesn't he could end up dead tomorrow. On the other hand, it's about an embattled father and dishonest husband caught in the middle of a supremely dysfunctional family, who's struggling to keep some sense of control, because if he doesn't he could end up dead tonight.

It's about a young, up-and-coming wiseguy, willing to do anything it takes to get "made." It's about an old "made" gangster who refuses to admit he's over the hill and fights for the respect he believes he earned when he was in his prime.

It's about a mother who feels her adult children who are out to get her, and a wife who's scorned and cheated upon, but who has all the creature comforts she'd ever want, so she stays. It's about a couple of kids, pampered by upper middle class trappings, but chaperoned by a network of family "friends" that includes murderers, thugs and extortionists.

It's about the relationship between a psychiatrist and her patient. It's about world weary cops and bully-pulpit ghetto preachers on the take, because as much as they'd hate to admit it, they know how the game is really played. It's about talentless girlfriends and coke-addled mistresses, undercover junkies, lustful priests and double-crossing narcs, obese henchmen and bareknuckled young thugs in business suits.

So wonderfully compelling is the tangled web of interrelationships at the show's dramatic core, it makes you wonder: what would Shakespeare have done with this material? He probably could have written a dozen plays based on the rich array of people you'll meet on "The Sopranos." Every single person you see has a plausible angle, a realistic motivation, and a deep moral dilemma to deal with, so even if you don't care for them as individuals, you can clearly understand why they do what they do. For make believe, it seems so real.

(And speaking of real: I was born and raised in New Jersey, and went to school in Montclair. In one episode last year, Tony talks about getting pizza at a pizzeria on Watchung Avenue. Guess what, there used to be a really great pizzeria on Watchung ... I used to go there every now and then when I was in high school. Plus, a lot of the location shots they use are familiar to me, so when I'm watching the show, sometimes it gets surreal.)

It's all of these things, and more that puts The Sopranos two cuts above your normal TV fare. The inter-relationships between all of the characters, family, friend, and foe are so deep and so intricate that it's very hard to figure out who's good and who's bad. I think, basically they're all bad ... remember, they're "nasty people." And that makes for great TV.

You just wouldn't want any of them as your friends.