Head Strong | The secret alternate ending to 'Sopranos'

'Made in America."

That was the title of the final episode of The Sopranos. But it could also be the title of an autobiography of a Bucks County man with little acting experience who nevertheless played a critical part in the series' final scene. The sequence in which he was front and center remained fodder for watercooler arguments all last week.

Paolo Colandrea was the mystery man in the Member's Only jacket staring at Tony Soprano from across Holsten's ice cream parlor in Bloomfield, N.J. A television audience of millions watched Colandrea's first major acting foray - and it continues to dissect what it meant when he stood up, walked into the bathroom and then . . . everything suddenly went black, ending any hope for the light of closure at the end of the Lincoln Tunnel.

Not bad for a guy born in Naples who arrived in the United States in the late 1970s, when he was 18 years old. He eventually earned American citizenship and started his own business, Paul's Penndel Pizza. So how did this Italian entrepreneur and novice actor, now living in Middletown, end up in the pivotal scene of the final episode of The Sopranos?

Last spring, the owner of a New Jersey-based talent agency stopped at Paul's for dinner. The woman, Eileen DeNobile, knew that David Chase was looking for a 6-foot Italian man between 30 and 50 to fill a onetime role in the final season.

"He had to be handsome," Colandrea told me last week.

In the pizza parlor, DeNobile spotted a black-and-white picture of Colandrea pouring wine and asked if she could borrow it. Soon afterward, Colandrea found himself at an audition. And before he knew it, he received a call from Chase, who wondered when Colandrea could make time for a costume-fitting.

I'm one of the many people obsessed with finding meaning in the controversial final scene. Who better to ask than the man who may or may not have whacked Tony Soprano?

When I tracked him down, Colandrea filled me in on what happened last month while he was filming at Holsten's. Well, he told me what he could, anyway. According to Colandrea, he spent two days shooting what would become the series' final, nerve-racking scene.

The first day featured an 18-hour session. His second trip to Bloomfield a few weeks later was for a second, 10-hour shoot.

Colandrea told me the product of those initial 18 hours was ultimately what played in Sunday's final episode. That scene took so long to film "because they shot every angle, and every different shot was taking at least 10 times," he said.

But what about his second day of shooting? Did he come out of the bathroom with a gun, à la Michael Corleone in The Godfather?

"I cannot tell you that. That's the secret."

What he would tell me is that whatever they filmed during his second day at Holsten's didn't make the final cut. But before the episode aired, he thought the series would end with whatever he shot during those final 10 hours at Holsten's. Like the rest of us, he didn't expect the series to simply and suddenly stop.

This much is clear, though: David Chase and Paolo Colandrea filmed something in addition to the ending that had almost 12 million viewers convinced their cable had cut out at the worst possible time.

"Well, let me put it this way, because I cannot say much. Anything I will say after that might get me in trouble . . . because it is very, very delicate," he said. "Anybody can interpret that scene in any which way they want. I got my own version because I was there. I cannot really, really say it. I know it, and I cannot really say it."

Perhaps the chance for closure isn't quite gone. David Chase has said he has no interest in explaining or interpreting what happened last Sunday, but Colandrea's 15 minutes of fame may not be over just yet. His schedule is now handled by an agent.

Think about it: Without so much as saying a word, an Italian American businessman who came to this country 30 years ago, made $3,000 putting The Sopranos to bed with one cold stare. All while millions of his fellow Americans stared right back at him.

"I came from Italy in 1978, and I had $70 in my pocket. It was me and my luggage. I didn't speak a word of English," Colandrea said. "And today, I'm an American citizen. I've got my own business. And you know what? This is a great country. I'm actually living the great American dream. Thank you, America."

He says his book is now in the works.

Made in America, indeed.