Success came relatively late to James Gandolfini—if not by the standards of scholars, judges, and surgeons, then at least by the standards of actors. At the age of thirty-seven, overweight, sad-eyed, and modestly credited in motion pictures, he auditioned for the role of Tony Soprano fully expecting to fail: “I thought that they would hire some good-looking guy, not George Clooney, but some Italian George Clooney, and that would be that,” he once said. Gandolfini premièred in the lead role of “The Sopranos” in January, 1999, and, eighty-six episodes later, finished in June, 2007, in a haze of ambiguity. The screen went black and we were not sure if Tony was still eating with his family or fatally perforated by a hit man’s bullets.

“The Sopranos” remains the best television series since the beginning of the medium, dramatically terrifying, comically richer than “The Honeymooners,” a series that began with a premise, a milieu, and a cast that, unlike “Mad Men,” never exhausted itself. Gandolfini was not the creator of “The Sopranos”—David Chase was the author of this novel in every way—nor was he a solo act, like Alec Guinness in “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” and “Smiley’s People.” Chase populated his series with actors, like Edie Falco, and amateur actors, who gave the cast a Fellini-esque variety and depth. But Gandolfini was the focal point of “The Sopranos,” the incendiary, sybaritic neurotic who must play the Godfather at home and at the Bada Bing but knows that everything—his family, his racket, his way of life—is collapsing all around him.

As the seasons passed, Gandolfini gained weight at an alarming pace. His death, at the age of fifty-one, in Italy, does not come entirely as a shock. But that makes it no less a loss. Gandolfini was not a fantastically varied actor. He played within a certain range. Like Jackie Gleason, he’ll be remembered for a particular role, and a particular kind of role, but there is no underestimating his devotion to the part of a lifetime that was given to him. In the dozens of hours he had on the screen, he made Tony Soprano—lovable, repulsive, cunning, ignorant, brutal—more ruthlessly alive than any character we’ve ever encountered in television.

Gandolfini was born in Westwood, New Jersey, the next town over from me, and grew up nearby in Park Ridge. His father was a bricklayer and head custodian at Paramus Catholic High School; his mother was what was called a lunch lady—she served lunch to the kids at school. His parents spoke Italian at home. Despite a late start, Gandolfini had a considerable filmography. He had great moments in “True Romance,” “Get Shorty,” “The Man Who Wasn’t There,” “Killing Them Softly,” “In the Loop,” and David Chase’s sweet, and overlooked, portrait of north Jersey and early rock dreams, “Not Fade Away.”

But Tony Soprano was the heart of him. While reporting an essay for the magazine called “Is This The End of Rico?,” I went to Silvercup Studios, in Queens, where Chase shot most of the interiors for the series. (The expertly selected exteriors, in Essex County and elsewhere in north and central Jersey, had a Proustian quality for anyone who grew up whizzing by the Pulaski Skyway, the Meadowlands, Satin Dolls, Fountains of Wayne, the Lou Costello statue in Paterson, and other familiar locations.) Gandolfini was filming a scene in the office of his psychiatrist, Dr. Jennifer Melfi, played by Lorraine Bracco. He was in a foul mood, and, to make matters worse, Bracco was determined to use every means, including a whoopee cushion, to crack him up and destroy the scenes. As he blew take after take, Gandolfini seemed about to launch into a Soprano-level fit. But he kept at it, screaming at himself between takes to bear down, to concentrate. A rare moment on a set when the actor performs not only the role but what is required for it.

Gandolfini’s death is wretched news, and maybe the only way to take the sting off is to watch him at work. Here’s a variety of scenes, dramatic and comic—and you never knew: Was “The Sopranos” a drama or a comedy?—in which Gandolfini plays his role to the very edge.

Scene from a marriage:

Motivational speech:

Father and daughter:

Tony enters the realm of world politics:

Unforgiven:

Photograph by Fred R. Conrad/The New York Times.