Is "Six Feet Under" becoming too moralistic? Does the brilliant awkwardness of "Joe Schmo 2" outweigh the boring awkwardness of its stars? Plus: The countless joys of bride humiliation.
Jul 26, 2004 | Dear ILTW,
You are my Virgil, leading me through the dark wood of reality TV land. Under your influence, I almost believe that watching television can be an intellectual exercise rather than an unforgivable waste of time. It's also good for my self-image to know that smarter people than me can also become obsessed with watching bitchy, delusional narcissists whine and preen and back-stab each other for money and fame. I want to have, like, a million of your babies.
But I was a bit surprised that you gave "Six Feet Under" a pass on last night's episode. Yes, Michael C. Hall gave a stunning performance (if we cared about the Emmys, we'd think he deserved one, right?), but the last half of the show felt like one of those anti-drug spots (usually aired between two beer commercials featuring Hawaiian Tropic bikini models or twin blonde hotties) that want to convince us that pot makes 13-year-old girls pregnant.
All of David and Keith's "encounters" outside of the relationship have been a little uneasy, as if the viewer is supposed to sense that, while the waters seem smooth enough for the moment, this sort of behavior is eventually going to get these guys in trouble. Voilà! David -- who, we are reminded, grew up in Los Angeles and so therefore really ought to know better -- picks up a sorta cute hitchhiker, and it's clear from the get-go that he is motivated by lust. The plot then proceeds to punish him for that lust in grotesque ways.
I understand your argument, but I'm just surprised to see "Six Feet Under" resemble a puritanical morality play in which the gross gay boy gets what Pat Robertson thinks he deserves. Except for the blow job, of course.
It was also a pretty lazy piece of writing. Lisa's disappearance -- though now implied to have been a suicide rather than a murder -- pretty much ate up SFU's "random act of an angry God" quotient for a while, if you ask me. The show is best at its subtlest moments: the odd romance between Arthur and Ruth (am I the only one who misses Arthur?), George's bizarro son and his boxes of dookie, Ruth learning how to steal from Kathy Bates, Brenda's less hysterical complications (especially with her brother Billy, a consistently hate-worthy and yet compelling character), Claire's love triangle with wimpy Russell and the fabulously caricaturish Olivier, Nate withering under Lisa's passive-aggressive tyranny, Keith's conflict with his parents over the custody of his sister's child, etc. The cheap and easy thrill of exploiting and torturing much-loved characters has yet to be justified, in any example. In this week's episode, it also plays on homophobic stereotypes. Bad things do happen to good people, and good people do make poor choices, but I just think it's fair for us loyal viewers to expect the instruments of our torture to be less blunt and crude in the gifted hands of Alan Ball and his talented minions.
Ed
Tallahassee, Fla.