In 200 years, “The Sopranos” will be regarded as the greatest tele-epic of our time. So pay attention to it, dammit.

I know too many haters who refuse to watch HBO’s mega-popular Greek-tragedy-masquerading-as-a-mob-story, which begins its sixth and final season this Sunday, March 12, at 9 p.m.. So, haters, I want to reach out to you. If you’re skeptical about the show, believe me—I can relate.

If any film or TV program is enjoyed by millions, my knee-jerk reaction is to whine about it loudly and recite all the great movies it “ripped off.” Thus, I didn’t start watching the ballad of Tony Soprano until 2004. Even then, I only did it because my dad wanted to have a “let’s-watch-something-on-VHS” bonding session.

So, we put on the first episode. The rest, as Niall Ferguson might say, is history.

So do what I did. Now. Watch the first episode. I guarantee you’ll be hooked, or I’ll personally refund the money you paid for this copy of The Crimson.

BUT WHAT IS A “TELE-EPIC?’

It’s a good thing you asked, Mr. Subhead. “Tele-epic” is not a real word, but if I have anything to say about it, it will be.

Just as we now refer to “War and Peace” and “Great Expectations” as “serial novels,” so, too, will we categorize “The Sopranos” and some of its lesser kin as “tele-epics.”

Entire TV series, if deemed worthy, will be collected into tiny discs, or perhaps microscopic cylinders. You will purchase them from locations like the Coop. Then, hundreds of hours later, you will have watched one of the great tele-epics. It will be seen as a complete work, not as a disparate set of episodes and incidents.

What a utopia in which we will live!

Alas, just as no one remembers the shitty stories published in the same era as “Crime and Punishment,” so will the detritus of our age—I’m looking at you, “Joey”—be lost to time.

And just as everyone regards the once ingenious and light hilarity of Tolstoy to be a tedious and dated chore, so, too, will future students of DigiMedia 1025: “The 21st-Century Tele-epic” complain of length and incomprehensibility. That’s why you should get on the bandwagon now, before any of the jokes get old.

BUT WHY IS “THE SOPRANOS” SO GOOD?

Another excellent question, Mr. Subhead! Here’s my answer: Like all great works of literature, “The Sopranos” operates on two distinct, but intertwined, levels.

On the surface, there’s the “holy hell, what’s going to happen next?” plot level. Like I said, on a first viewing of the first episode, you’ll want to know what happens with Tony and his therapist. Soon, you’ll graduate to wondering whether or not Janice will get caught for shooting Richie, and ultimately you’ll be sitting on the edge of your seat to see the thrilling conclusion of the whole series.

Told using simple dialogue, the storyline follows entertaining characters and is hip, sexy, action-packed, and believable. In other words, the screenplay includes everything that your average Middle American would want in a story.

But look a bit closer, and the intelligent (or simply obsessive and dedicated) viewer finds a treasure-trove of literary subtext on a deeper level.

Essays will no doubt be written on the motifs of religion in the show—from Christopher’s alleged near-death experience, right down to throwaway lines like: “We break more rules than the Catholic Church!”

Pay attention, and you’ll notice that, while talking about the medieval letters of Abelard and Heloise (a great literary reference), Carmela accidentally calls Heloise “Eloise”—a very subtle allusion to the fact that Carm and her daughter used to have a tradition of imitating the classic children’s book “Eloise.”

And don’t get me started about the bigger, overarching themes. But if you insist…

I’m convinced that the show is fundamentally about one question: What does it mean to be “masculine” at the turn of the 21st century?

Look at all the ways the question comes up: Tony’s love/hate relationship with psychotherapy, his love/hate relationship with infidelity, Carmela’s efforts to be a “strong woman” while maintaining her femininity, Big Pussy’s efforts to protect his family at the cost of betrayal…the list goes on.

I’m also convinced that all of the characters are flawed and capable of redemption, except for Janice. She can never be redeemed. And I’d love to discuss my reasons with you, in an academic or not-so-academic setting.

I could keep going on the subtext for hours, but I’m not teaching this show in a course setting. Yet.

Oh, and one more thing—the age of the tele-epic will be fascinating, indeed, to literary scholars, for the fact that the characters are bigger than the “authors.” Sure, David Chase created “The Sopranos,” but every episode has a different writer, director, etc. How will we talk about the idea of a single, unified work when there are so many creators? Do we give authorship to the actors? Who knows! There will no doubt be hours of fascinating literary debate on the idea of authorship in the tele-epic, and I can’t wait for it.

Oh, and then there’s the music…but I’m getting long-winded.

All in all, you’re a fool if you don’t start studying “The Sopranos” post-haste. It will be on the exam.

—Staff writer Abe J. Riesman can be reached at riesman@fas.harvard.edu.