Coggie Channeling

Love/Hate Sonny

Friday, April 11th’s GENERAL HOSPITAL show had me rooting for Carly to out-screech her
ex-husband Sonny. I also wanted her to shove him against the hospital corridor, take a
hammer and—well, you get the drift.

Get this, though. I actually love Sonny; he’s one of my all-time favorie GH and soap
characters. I’ve followed Maurice Benard, the actor, since he first came on the soap
scene, like a miracle, as Nico on ALL MY CHILDREN. I respect that Benard doesn’t follow
the rules, goes against the grain (mumbling instead of enunciating) and uses his bi-polar
condition to raise awareness, whether it’s on-screen risking his mental life in a mirror
story or going out on the road preaching therapy and lithium.

It’s just that, every once in a while, when other characters too stupid or in mourning to
know better go to confront him, I don’t always like what comes out in his defensive,
almost psychotically angry responses. He can’t seem to control his extremist impulses or
his double standards.

Everybody who is on GH or watches GH for enough time knows that you don’t get up in
Sonny’s grill. He’ll either beat the crap out of you or screech in your face like a maniac,
or do both. But heaven help the upstart who thinks he can fight back by equal or
surpassing intensity. Sonny will simply order the other person to STFU, there’s a sleeping
baby or child in the other room. This is, btw, after he always wakes them up with his own
yell-fest first.

So anyway, I’m lying in bed watching Friday’s episode on my DVR later that evening,
trying not to scream at Carly to scream at Sonny louder myself. It’s the scene where she
walks in on him telling the police officer (with Alexis and Kate present) that he saw the
rifle and went to cover Kate. Carly takes this admission to mean he didn’t give a darn
about their own 12-year-old son Michael, not two feet away, and immediately lights into
Sonny as a low-down, good-for-nothing er, mobster.

She finally sees the light after what, almost a decade of this mobster worship, throws out
accusations and insults that have been a long time coming. Duh.

Naturally, I am on her side—even though I have rarely been on her side since Sarah
Brown left the role she originated, and really not been on her side since Laura Wright’s
version put a blight on this once complicated anti-heroine, as a narcissistic bully gone
wild.

My fists are clenched, my teeth gritting, eyebrows furrowed, heart beating fast.

At some point, I don’t even hear the dialogue, the storyline goes out the window. I’m just
focused so hard on Carly oneupping Sonny for a change. I am praying for her to shut that
rat bastard up with the pathetic HE’S MY SON! I AM HIS FATHER!! AIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE! … by
spitting in his mouth, scratching his eyes out and drowning down his shrieks, one inch
from his bloody, bruised face, with DON’T YOU EVER SCREAM ORDERS AT ME YOU UGLY
PIECE OF-- !!! DROP DEAD! I HATE YOU!

Or something like that.

I guess I’m supposed to feel for Sonny’s and Carly’s plight. I guess I’m supposed to
genuflect at TPTB for allowing consequences in the no-consequence mob-loving world of
sex, violence and misogyny by killing off a boy (kill, coma, whatever). I’m guess I’m
even supposed to weep in sympathy for their Catch-22 vicious circles.

Maybe next week when Epiphany fetches some duct tape.

Just sayin’…