I’ve made some calls and written some emails about trying to attend Thursday morning’s funeral service for James Gandolfini, which is happening at Manhattan’s Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine (Amsterdam and 112th). Hundreds are going to attend. The passing of this legendary actor has hit New Yorkers where they live, and not just in a tragic, realistic sense. For millions Tony Soprano‘s death in that Bloomfield, New Jersey restaurant (actually an ice-cream parlor called Holsten’s) was an uncertain thing. Now he’s really gone, and many of those who felt they didn’t experience closure from that final episode are, I suspect, going to attend Thursday’s service to finally get that, flaky as that sounds. It’s going to be like the funeral of Vito Corleone and Marlon Brando thrown together.

I don’t know if the family or Gandolfini’s managers (Sanders Armstrong Caserta Management) are saving seats for press or not, but I can at least try for some kind of attendance or viewing or something. I want to do this. It feels important to me. I’ve been a Gandolfini guy since True Romance, or for the last 20 years.