LOS ANGELES — Edie Falco has a cold. Actually, it’s more like a sinus infection, one that has been plaguing her for weeks now, and so she enters the roof-top restaurant at the Peninsula hotel in Beverly Hills apologizing if the medication has made her a little dingy.
It hasn’t, of course, or at least not in a way that’s noticeable. “Dingy” is certainly not a word associated with Falco, who has famously taken on roles often dismissed into caricature. Fifteen years ago, it was Carmela Soprano, who, between David Chase’s scripts and Falco’s radiant humanity, blew apart the conventional image of the mobster’s wife. More recently, it has been Jackie Peyton, super nurse and basket case, whose work-family juggling act is fueled by all manner of pharmaceuticals.
For five years Falco, 50, has taken the unlikely, and easily unlikable, character and turned her into a fascinating portrait of human contradiction: loving but self-obsessed, competent but deluded, nurturing but ultimately destructive. In this case, a classic drug addict.
Television is riddled with drunks and druggies in various stages of secrecy and sobriety; Jackie may be high-functioning in that she remains thus far a very good nurse, but “House” had a similar conceit. What “House” didn’t have was a drug-addict lead character who was also a wife and mother.
Although strong female characters have increased, prestige television still leans heavily on certain hard-boiled characteristics — violence, promiscuity, mendacity — that are far less acceptable in a female lead. But from “Weeds” to “Orange Is the New Black,” a new form of dark comedy has emerged to explore the female version of the broken hero.
None do it better than “Nurse Jackie,” which is so unrelentingly honest that it can be difficult to watch. While the first couple of seasons played like a tense black satire of the multitasking mom — How does she do it? By snorting uppers! — last season saw Jackie go through rehab, only to blow it in the finale. This season, she appears to be closer to facing her problems, but if viewers want some pink-cloud recovery for Jackie, they’ll have to go through Falco first.
“I was so glad she slipped,” Falco says. “She doesn’t go to enough meetings, and I don’t want it to end pretty for her unless she does the . . . work.
“Addiction lasts a lifetime, and I know a lot of people who do not get it,” she adds, referring to recovery, “the first, second or third time around.”
As a recovering alcoholic herself, Falco feels a sense of responsibility in portraying Jackie’s journey toward sobriety, but that isn’t why she took the role. “Addiction wasn’t a big part of [the character] at first,” she says. “I had some resistance to the idea. Addiction has been such a big part of my life, and the lives of people I know. I didn’t want it treated in a lighthearted way.”
She signed onto “Nurse Jackie” because it was the first thing she saw that was truly different from “The Sopranos.” “I really did think for a while there that I was done,” she says. “I kept getting sent a lot of Italian wives — people are not terribly creative sometimes — and what I liked about Jackie was that her struggle was so internal.”
Also, she was the main character. “This was a story with a woman at the center. It was about her, as a person, not necessarily as a wife or a mother or even a nurse.”
Indeed, in its early years, “Nurse Jackie” was one of the few shows on television that revolved around a woman. That observation seems to take Falco by surprise. “I don’t have a plan,” she says, laughing. “I’m not a champion. I do see a lot more women writing in television, especially on ‘Nurse Jackie,’ and, yes, ‘The Sopranos’ was a bit of a boys club.
“But I’ve always been hard to cast; I’ve never been an ingenue; I’ve never been the romantic lead. I’m an actor; give me the script, and I do what I do and hope it’s good.”
Jackie’s many acts of kindness in the emergency room go a long way toward balancing the destruction of her marriage and her flawed-to-terrible parenting, but it’s difficult to imagine another performer who could create such a sturdy axle of self-delusion and remorse to turn the spinning madness of addiction.
“That I learned from Jim,” she says simply, Jim being her former “Sopranos” co-star James Gandolfini. “He would do these scenes in which Tony would just lie and lie and still be so human. And that’s the thing here. Addicts are such wonderful liars.”
Offered condolences on the death of Gandolfini, Falco acknowledges how terrible the loss was and still is.
“It’s still not quite real, you know?” she says. “It’s a year, but we had such long hiatuses on the show; we would go a year in between seasons and not see each other. I still keep thinking he’ll just walk up to me somewhere, like here.” She gestures to the patio entrance. “Just there he’ll be.”