For six seasons, Tony Soprano was the sun that the entire show orbited around. But Paulie—with his silver pompadour, his cackling laugh, and his pathological fear of ghosts—was the show’s dark, beating heart. He was the living, breathing contradiction of the mobster’s soul: a devout Catholic who would strangle an old woman for her life savings; a loyal soldier who would sell out his boss for a better parking spot.
When he sees the Virgin Mary at the Bada Bing (dancing alongside the strippers, no less), he doesn't have a spiritual awakening; he has a panic attack. When he dreams of "those two guys" (the ghosts of his victims), he refuses to sleep alone. This paranoia is not a joke; it is the crack in his armor. It suggests that deep down, beneath the gold chains and the murderous rage, Paulie is terrified of the ledger he has written in blood. Paulie
In the sprawling, shadowy landscape of The Sopranos , where mob bosses collapse on psychiatrists’ couches and heirs apparent get whacked in a rain of gunfire, one figure remains constant. He is not the brightest. He is not the strongest. He is, however, the cockroach that will survive the nuclear winter of organized crime. For six seasons, Tony Soprano was the sun
In the end, Paulie Gualtieri is the ultimate allegory for the American mob. He is loud, cheap, violent, sentimental, and ultimately, hollow. He has no children to carry on his name. He has no wife to mourn him. He has only the memory of the pork store and the faint echo of his own cackle. When he sees the Virgin Mary at the