Six feet low and sinking
So let's turn, instead, to the least disappointing show on earth, "Six Feet Under" (Sundays at 9 p.m. on HBO). "Six Feet Under" is a dark show, yes indeed, but this week, someone might have accidentally set the Alan Ball toaster on "Very Dark."

Sure, as Sunday's episode began, it was business as usual. Just another idyllic day for the Fisher family -- Claire is ruthlessly insulted by her art instructor and classmates, Brenda is ruthlessly insulted by her sociopathic mother, George continues to be a priggish stiff, Frederico continues to exemplify the horrors of male passivity by catering to the whims of one very bad, very slutty mommy, and Nate once again declares life on earth "oppressive" and "totally overrated" and "sooo not worth living," then runs weeping to his room as his indifferent baby looks on.

But before you know it, this charming scene was interrupted, and the average, everyday, pretty damn depressing mood gave way to a violently, freakishly gloomy abyss. After a slightly needy call to Keith, the sweetly gullible David picks up a hitchhiker, and most naturally all hell breaks loose.

"Don't pick that guy up!" we all screamed at him -- charitable of us, when you consider that we actually encouraged Lisa to go swimming in the hope that she'd drown. But David didn't listen! I mean, we love David, we want to have, like, a million of his babies. But the big dummy was obviously feeling a little insecure and lonely after talking to the suddenly breezy, jet-setting, straight-playing Keith as he rode around in a tricked-out bus with other fabulous hot people, so David picked up an obvious psycho, then proceeded to ignore all warning signs and do absolutely everything to ensure his own premature death.

With David in a nail-bitingly bad situation, ne'er did we return to our regular story, sort of like when Adriana and Tony almost kissed on "The Sopranos" this year (an episode that was nominated for an Emmy, which we don't care about, but still), and of course, this had the effect of making the second half of the show torturous and disturbing and incredibly claustrophobic, lingering as we did with the frustratingly helpless David and his new freakish criminal friend. Still, I sort of enjoyed it all in a sick way. I don't need to tell you I'm a masochist -- I'm a TV critic, for chrissakes -- but it was mesmerizing to see David in such a complexly, horrifyingly bad spot. Michael C. Hall's performance was fantastic, of course, his face fluttering with fragility and rage and worry like ripples in a reflecting pool.

The message, of course, is that just when you trip and fall and scrape your knees up real good, that's when life really gets a thrill out of kicking your pretty teeth in. Look no further than Nate for evidence of this very harsh "Six Feet Under" rule of thumb. Yes, he's as sullen and sulky as an angry teenager, but can you blame him? Dead daddy, unbearable job, sex addict girlfriend, brain ailment, near-death experience, passive-aggressive wife, premature death of passive-aggressive wife... What's in his corner? Cute baby? Nice floppy head of hair? Free rent in delightful Craftsman dwelling?

David, though, doesn't mind his unbearable job, and he and Keith now have the most mature, healthy relationship in the entire dysfunctional circus. So what did he do to deserve a joy ride to hell, followed by several swift kicks to the gut? He got a little whiny to his boyfriend. Is that so wrong? Isn't vulnerability an important cornerstone to intimacy? Why must Ball and his busting associates crush young David with aforementioned cornerstone? Have they no decency?

Well, clearly, all of this is meant to make David even more pathetic, just in time for Keith to start letting all that cruising around with teen idols and their meaty henchmen get to his head.

Still, I love "Six Feet Under," darkness and all. I want to have, like, a million of its babies. One of my less masochistic associates expressed dismay over the horrors of last night's episode, declaring it "difficult" and "not fun at all." To him I said:

"Navigating in this twisted slag-heap of a world is difficult and not fun at all, you naive little buttercup! Wake up and smell the Very Dark human toast burning all around you! Smell it! Stand up, and smell the burning flesh of the common man as the modern world goes up in flames!

"And while you're up, grab me a soda from the fridge. With a glass of ice. Crushed. And a straw."

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