Six Feet Asunder

I was almost going to title this "Six Feet Blunder" but that would have been too severe. The fact remains that viewing this season's collection of episodes of one of HBO's two classic dramatic series does not provide the same satisfaction as in the past. Oh sure, it's a welcome relief from the brainless miasma of network reality clones-of-clones-of clones that make the memory of summer reruns a nostalgic treat. But either the creator of the series, the brilliant Alan Ball, has lost interest in the dispositions of his well-drawn characters or he's succumbed to creative exhaustion like so many of the finer, overworked TV mavens as David Kelly and Steve Bochco.

"Six Feet Under" has often kept me enthralled with its emphasis on the psychological complexity of the Fisher family and their friends and cohabitors. As a creative outgrowth of Ball's Oscar-winning American Gothic movie "American Beauty," it wended its way along a darker path, eschewing much of the humor for the grim irony of well-meaning characters struggling while in the constant shadow of death. Funerals provide their sustenance and meaning, which ought to intensify their appreciation of life. But the lugubrious finds its way into every existence. For four years we've watched these folks deal, somewhat successfully, with their inhibitions, only to recede into self-doubts, often embodied in ghostly visitations from guest characters who've died in previous episodes, like the spouses of Nate and Ruth. These excursions, and other fantasy sequences, could be labeled self-indulgent but have largely been effective in illuminating the characters.

More than any series ever on television, this one is focused on character and character growth, rarely on plot machinations. It is an intellectual soap opera. Interestingly, it has had very few villains. An early subplot about a funeral conglomerate threatening the family business has long since faded. We tend to like all the characters, or at least find grounds for sympathy. The demons in this show are largely those of their own making. This is what has made this program so compelling. An extraordinary episode last season, one which divided the viewers because of its harsh intensity, followed the kidnapping of gay son David by a deranged hitchhiker. But more than a standard story of terror, this one dared to suggest that David--a kindly, sympathetic fellow--brought on some of the trouble through his own uncontrollable lust. He was actually hot for the hitchhiker. Literary critics would call this a blending of Eros and Thanatos--love and death. And it's only because the actor had a contract that his character did not end up brutally castrated or have his head shot from his shoulders. This was pulse-pounding, throat-grabbing television. And almost as gripping was the mental breakdown experienced by Ruth's husband, George, played by the estimable James Cromwell. His professor succumbed to paranoid schizophrenia by figuratively and literally retreating to a bomb shelter.

But what do we have this season? Almost a 180-degree reversal of fortunes. Halfway through this final season the problems of the Fisher clan have softened to familiar domestic scenarios that would barely be pitched in the writer's rooms of "The O.C" or "Seventh Heaven." Nate is now married to long-time unstable girlfriend Brenda, whom he wed largely to provide a mother for his daughter by his murdered wife. Their issue is that he's insufficiently excited about their pregnancy, especially since there may be a genetic problem with the fetus. Actually this is a bit of a red-herring, as it's clear that he is falling in love with George's daughter Maggie. Mother Ruth is torn between lusting for independence and avoiding the loneliness caused by her abandonment of George. David and his lover Keith are exploring domesticity and parenthood. Their issue is finding the right tone of discipline for their foster sons. Funeral home partner Rico is trying to patch up his marriage after an affair alienated his wife. And rebellious daughter Claire, whose early adulthood has mixed striving for love and art in a druggy, bohemian climate, is now working as an automaton in a generic office that "Dilbert" could satirize, and is falling for a corporate lawyer. Are we yawning yet?

Perhaps because it's the series' final season, the writers don't want to dabble in high octane plot lines with difficult deus-ex-machina resolutions, but want to idle these folks down into some kind of conventional satisfaction before they bury them in the afterlife of DVDs and FX reruns. We do want them to be happy, of course, but I miss the sturm und drang of their adventures. It's as though the next season of "24" centered on the robbery of a 7/11.

There is still much to admire, though, especially in the acting. The first season had the startling performance of Rachel Griffiths as the highly conflicted, sexy and smart Brenda Chenoweth. As her character has been somewhat tamed, her role has become less interesting, though she is being primed for some major breakdown. The real revelation has been Frances Conroy as mother Ruth, so inhibited in the first season that she hardly spoke an intelligent phrase. Now, after the harrowing experience caretaking a madman, she seems to be the character with the most potential energy, whose every utterance is unexpected and whose moods are the wildest. Maybe as Ball has grown older he has come to appreciate the conflicts of the middle-aged Baby Boomers and uses her as his mouthpiece. She avails herself brilliantly and has earned herself a lucrative film career as a character actress now that the show has shut down. I don't think the other cast members have much to worry about either. But Alan Ball probably needs a year or two out on Maui to recharge his batteries.