Six Feet Under Buries Strong Potential

mid a primetime slate of half-baked reality ripoffs and stale sitcom leftovers from the mid-'90s, an offbeat drama like Six Feet Under stands apart. Critics have embraced HBO's morbid ensemble effort just as they've fawned over the network's Sopranos and Sex and the City, the cornerstones of a Sunday-night lineup that's replaced NBC's wilting Thursday as television's evening of true "must-see TV." But although Six Feet Under, shines on several levels, the bandwagon-hopping of lemming-like pundits proves predictably shortsighted--audiences deserve more than manipulation.

Six Feet Under chronicles the lives of the Fisher clan, private proprietors of a family funeral home in greater Los Angeles. The show's first season, which debuted last year, began with the untimely death of the family patriarch, Nathaniel Fisher, and Six Feet Under's 13 episodes have focused on the emotional dynamics and development of the wife and children he left behind. His sons, Nate (Peter Krause) and David Fisher (Michael C. Hall), inherit the business. Nate's engaged to ballsy Brenda Chenowith (Rachel Griffiths); David is struggling with his sexuality. Their disconnected teenage sister Claire (Lauren Ambrose) grapples with her own insecurities, which go largely unnoticed by Nathaniel's widow, Ruth (Frances Conroy), a defrosting WASP who's exploring her own form of women's lib.

The strength of Six Feet Under is its nearly unparalleled character development. The show employs a familiar "hallucination" effect (Deceased characters interface with the living), a stylistic choice that's both powerful and yet disappointing. In episode 12 ("A Private Life"), David plays mortician for the victim of a gay-bashing. A gruesome apparition of the young victim spars with David throughout the episode, reinforcing the closeted character's insecurities with arguments that reflect David's own self-doubt. The exchange is decidedly informative--we know the underbelly of David's inner monologue--but the method is weak. Instead of showing us what motivates David through action, subtleties, and muted dialogue, Six Feet Under carves right to the heart of the character's psyche, exposing its nakedness in exploitive fashion.

The broader message in Six Feet Under--that "normal" is relative--underscores the now-familiar theme of gangrenous white picket fences. The "real" American family, the show suggests, is grittier than we've come to expect--everyone's dysfunctional. But that played-out chorus has echoed ad infinitum in cynical aspiration-art on television and film for years. Perhaps it's no surprise that Six Feet Under is the brainchild of American Beauty screenwriter Alan Ball. The show drips with the same self-indulgent devices--eerie "surprises," cold light and private monologues that deftly isolate the characters with no apparent plot purpose.

The relative merits of Six Feet Under are indisputable. With film-quality production values and strong performances, the show rests six feet above its competitors, but is that enough? If television's creative model is stale Oscar fodder, primetime's bright spots are ultimately a dull glow. HBO's original series have taken the next step, but blithely championing the best of a bad crop ignores the work that remains.

Six Feet Under's second season debuts Sunday, March 3, at 10pm on HBO.