Don't Break My Face, James Gandolfini

The New York Post loves the cast of "The Sopranos." Last week Page Six reported that Robert Iler who played A.J. was celebrating the Yankees World Series win at the parade. And before his last curtain call at "God of Carnage," they reported James Gandolfini having a drink at a nearby bar.

On Monday morning I checked out Page Six. A typical woman I have an affinity for gossip. One headline read "Don't Pester James Gandolfini." The Post reported that James Gandolfini was shopping at a boutique with his stepmother in the West Village on Halloween. An amateur camera man was filming him by the entrance from a safe distance away. Gandolfini wasn't pleased.

The Post made the video available online sans the euphemistic beeps on James' words. With firm, flattened lips, the actor most famous for his role as Tony Soprano on the HBO series "The Sopranos," angrily stormed a few doors down from the store to where the camera man had planted himself and hissed, "Get the fuck away from me." As he approached the amateur photographer, who was telling him to calm down, he yelled, "You understand? I'm going to break your fucking face." The livid star then slams the camera down as we can tell by the angles at the conclusion of the clip.

To protect the innocence of a child who might pick up his or her father's morning Post, this fine publication watered James Gandolfini's words down to "I'm going to break your bleeping face." Come on! I hate censorship. Times have changed. Do they expect us to believe that the kids who pick up the paper don't know what he really said or can't go online and find the video and hear it for themselves? The bleep treatment is pointless.

I had my own run-in with James Gandolfini a couple of years ago. No, I don't stalk celebrities with the camera. My friend and I went to a club in Westbury, NY where many of the cast members of "The Sopranos" would be hanging out in a VIP section. Celebrities and cast and crew members as well as their friends and family were spending time with James. The starstruck common people like myself all hovered around the VIP section and gawked like the bundled up crowds before a Christmas light and ornament display.

If any of us peasants should dare get out of hand, there were bodyguards in business suits blocking off the steps and the railed barricade. Every time James Gandolfini wanted to go to the men's room to the right side of the VIP section, an army of guards would shuffle on each side of him like pallbearers at a funeral procession. The sequence played itself out like a choreographed dance number at an awards show.

I used to watch the show religiously up until just before Tony had Adriana (Drea DeMatteo who now plays Angie on my favorite show "Desperate Housewives") whacked for being a snitch. But my schedule prevented me from remaining an avid viewer. I was trying to pass the bar exam and afterwards when "Desperate Housewives" came on the air the chick show took the top spot.

Die-hard fans who wanted to act like Hollywood royalty and hang out with James Gandolfini, Michael Imperioli and Robert Iler in the VIP section while peons like myself looked on could purchase tickets for several thousand dollars. I was tempted to do that, but it would have eaten up all the savings I had as a newly-admitted attorney employed by a Long Island firm. And I had just purchased my home not too long ago and wasn't ready for a refinance.

So my friend and I were reduced to standing around and ogling James from afar. She took some shots with her camera phone and I took out my disposable, but they weren't too good because it was dark and people kept passing by. I wasn't going to snap shots too close to him. Stars are people, too, and they need their space.

I've been in close quarters with celebrities before. Some years earlier I saw Cynthia Nixon in uptown Manhattan when she was pregnant with her son. My then-boyfriend and I approached her and I said, "Excuse me. Are you Cynthia Nixon?" She responded affirmatively, and I told her I watched her show "Sex and the City." She thanked me, and my beau and I walked on, not wanting to intrude on her privacy.

At some point during my ogling of James Gandolfini, I walked around the enclosure and cocked my head to one side in an attempt to get a better glimpse of him. A stern young bodyguard in a business suit stepped in my way. "I can't let you get up here," he hissed. I told him I was only trying to see better.

If only he knew who I was! I'm not a celebrity, but I really cannot afford to harass famous people. I wasn't some 21-year old groupie or a paparazza; I was admitted to practice law in New York. He wasn't going to have to grab me in case I climbed the blockade and forced my mere mortal self into James' arms without his consent. I'm more civilized than that.

I have high standards to uphold. A few months after that club appearance James Gandolfini would attend the overturning of the double murder conviction of Martin Tankleff, his wrongfully convicted personal friend, at the Second Appellate Division in Brooklyn in the same court room where I was sworn in to practice. It was there where I had signed the roll of attorneys from which my name would be stricken should they disbar me for an attack on James.

I can understand James' fury. Who wants someone filming them while they are carrying out daily routines? I don't care if you're a celebrity. You do have some reasonable expectation of privacy. It's not like this kid was running the security cameras at the place. I don't think you have to nab James Gandolfini on film at a store. He's not going to shoplift anything. The guy's got more money to his name than a thousand times the value of all of the merchandise in that store on any given day.

Unfortunately for me, though, I couldn't get away with giving an ass kicking to a nosy videographer who desperately deserved it. There would be serious legal consequences because I'm just an average commoner without star power. Let's analyze the tape for a bit. It shows James Gandolfini approaching the guy and threatening to "break (his) face." Technically, the guy could have had him charged with aggravated harassment. He made specific threats to do physical harm and slammed the camera down. That's what got Michael Lohan arrested in a dispute with his brother-in-law.

But that being said, a friend of James Gandolfini said that the paparazzo had been pestering him for an extended time. He only caught James coming after him on film. We don't know what events prior to him turning on his lens brought Gandolfini to a breaking point such that he would want to "break (the guy's) face."

The NYPD wouldn't have acted on it. Tony Soprano is beloved and no deadbeat like Michael. If it reached that point and James Gandolfini hired me to defend him (yeah, right), I'd argue necessity as a viable defense. These paparazzi have seriously gotten out of hand. One of them accidentally killed Princess Diana and her boyfriend over a decade ago.

This isn't the first time a shutterfly caused James Gandolfini to lose his cool. Jason Ertischek, a Brooklyn born fan, approached him and his wife model Deborah Lin at JFK Airport in early 2008 and asked if he could be a "Sopranos baby." What the fuck! I'd probably whack someone for making such a corny comment. Gandolfini allegedly choked Ertischek and punched him on the right cheek. Afterwards, he reportedly apologized to Ertischek and agreed to take a picture with him.

Too late! Now, Jason Ertischek has filed a lawsuit against the "Sopranos" actor in Kings County Supreme Court. This kid must think he's hit the jackpot. Ertischek loved his fifteen minutes too much and now he's trying to score a million off the star.

What caught my eye is that the judge presiding over Ertischek vs. Gandolfini is the Honorable Arthur M. Schack. I've appeared in Judge Schack's court room. The next appearance date for the Gandolfini case according to the New York State Unified Court System website is November 30, 2009.