I have no coherent thoughts, save that I love this show, quite possibly more than anything else I’ve yet encountered in my life–and I’ve loved a good deal of fiction very powerfully.

Mitzi Dalton Huntley

That and I love saying her name.

Margaret Chenowith

 
 
Margaret Chenowith (Joanna Cassidy), Brenda Chenowith’s (Rachael Griffiths) mother, a practicing psychiatrist with no boundaries and quite possibly no morals. In spite of this, she and Brenda eventually reconcile and she serves as Brenda’s most constant source of support and advice.

Sarah O'Connor

I can’t help but fall in love with Sarah’s off-beat outlook. The first thing that I think of at present is during 5×11. Ruth is talking with Father Jack, and asks him why God would “do such a thing” (to divulge further would be infinitely spoiler-y). Father Jack consoles her as best he can, but Ruth replies, “Well, I hate God.”

At that moment, Sarah arrives, and wraps Ruth in a theatric hug, though her sympathies are sincere. “Yes, we hate Him. God is an asshole for letting this happen.”

(And Father Jack just stares at the batty lady in the hippie dress and bangles.)

Angelica Suarez

Anita Miller

My favorite scene of hers is pretty inconsequential, but I thought Sprague Grayden’s performance was pitch-perfect.

Robbie

Melissa

She’s hot. She’s really hot. I mean, look at those eyes! Aside from aesthetics, I liked the balance she brought to Brenda’s storylines. Even though she makes her living as a prostitute, she’s bright and down-to-earth and holds no delusions as to what her profession is. Sex bores her; “it’s just a way to pay the bills.” It’s an interesting contrast to Brenda’s sexual escapades, as she unconsciously attempts to sabotage her engagement to Nate. As Brenda describes her increasingly daring line-stepping, Melissa feels obliged to listen, sip her tea, be a friend, yet she can’t help but feel that Brenda is overstepping a little too far.

Unfortunately, Kellie Waymire died in 2003 at the age of 36, of cardiac arrhythmia.

Anything. The entire ensemble has done something, at some point or another, completely unforgivable. They are frustrating, scream-inducing, unrelenting, trainwrecks. And here I am, disappointed, but begging for more of their story.

Today’s episode, 5×05: Eat a Peach, featured one of four things for which I despise Rico (and yes, I continue to love him dearly, but I cannot get over this–I understand Vanessa’s feelings completely). Rico attempts to be a manipulative bitch and force he and Vanessa back together by ‘manning up’ and drawing the well-being of their children and the school principle “into the loop of their family situation.” Machismo bullshit. This, of course, blows up in his face. And thank god it did, because one is reminded that becoming something doesn’t mean you’re going to make the right choices. So Rico has enabler/doormat issues. Assertiveness is only helpful if used in a constructive manner, and maturity isn’t a one way street.

The same is true of Nate, and his relationship with Brenda. I love that he apologizes to her for speaking as though Maya were is daughter, and his alone. That he doesn’t just discard her when he feels like things are getting too fucked up (as he did with Lisa)–even though, with the foresight of having seen the series though once already, I can see Maggie beginning to make her presence known. But for now, in Nate’s mind, he is trying to make things work just as they are. Nothing is fixed, nothing is forgotten. It is simply let be.

time doesn’t know / what it’s time for us all to know…

Six Feet Under is haunting me; it’s love, it’s melancholy, it’s a deep and abiding respect for these characters and their trainwreck lives.

2x04, Nate and Claire pick up Mr. Mossback.

I re-watched 2×04, yesterday: Driving Mr. Mossback, where Nate and Claire drive up to Washington state to pick up a body, and stay at Lisa’s overnight. As they drive off, with one more dead body and one more concern (Nate’s seizure) than they came, “Drive” by Joe 90 plays. It’s not included in either of Six Feet Under’s OSTs, but it’s an evocative song nonetheless. (Link leads to downloadable file, hosted by yours truly.)

I think it’s an important song, because the lyrics (bigger, more powerful, and yet–nobody knows) suggest that there are things, ever-present, looming, yet unspoken. Which, given that Claire has just learned of Nate’s AVM and Nate himself was terrified out of his mind with this new development, has never been more true. Yet even as this episode closes with an assertion of the existence of this reality, it is still pushed to the back and silenced. Nate tells Claire not to tell, Lisa is left none the wiser, and all involved parties try to slip back into what passes for normal in the Fisher household.

Lyrics below.

Bigger more powerful
And yet nobody knows
Let’s not forget to discuss
All of the freeloads

Time doesn’t know
What it’s time for us all to know
We don’t know nothing, nobody,
No one at all

When I woke up, I thought of Brenda. More specifically of Brenda giving birth to Willa (and of her life without Nate, though she is far from alone). I thought of the new stone sign outside of the funeral home (in a new style, befitting Keith’s interior designing): not only does it herald a fresh start for Keith and David’s family, but the business as well. It’s no longer Fisher and Diaz.

And one can assume that after Rico is bought out and the Diaz family buys their own mortuary, their stories split cleanly. Though the Diaz and Fisher storylines rarely overlapped (unless it was an inconvenience, or by force of circumstance)–at the emotional, human level, at least, rather than the business one–I wish Rico, too, had found himself inextricable from his Fisher ‘relatives.’ Claire leaves, but she is still family. The Diazes leave, and I get the impression they never looked back.

I know that they oughtn’t be expected to. For Rico, is represents major personal growth, though it manifests itself most saliently in business and entrepreneurship. Master of his own fate, so to speak, rather than someone else’s fallback boy. More often than not, it wasn’t a pretty road, and for me personally, it wasn’t a pretty thing, his and Vanessa’s moving forward and away from the Fishers, but it was right.

2001-2005

I… need to collect myself. It wasn’t my most memorable or most powerful episode, as a whole. I enjoyed Ruth, Claire-when-not-in-scenes-with-Ted. The entirety of the Diaz family was rather disappointing, though I am unsure of whether it’s because I didn’t get what I wanted, or because there was genuinely something that could have been written better. The episode was okay–there was this definite sense of picking up, moving on and out, in all respects. Of being free.

And as much as I’ve pushed and wished for the happiness of this ensemble, finally achieving it seemed almost too easy; even if you look at the paths these past five seasons have wrought, you look at how truly maddening, difficult, hopeless it all was.

And yet… the moment Claire puts Ted’s un-hip mix into the car, and “Breathe Me” starts playing, I was gone. Just this great upwelling of tears, not born of any particular emotion at all. Just tears. I doubt I’ve ever loved Claire more than I love her in those last six minutes (and I have loved her well quite often). I know what that mix CD means; I have one. And as cliche as it sounds, it was a beginning and not an ending. Of course, even as Claire drives to the LA airport (one assumes), Six Feet Under adds still more to this “this is the end, but the beginning of a new chapter.”

Everyone dies. Without exception.

That’s the end from which there can be no return.

A more cohesive review of the series as a whole to follow. After that… I shall probably delve deeper into fanworks like icons and writings. And I need very much to assess each episode more deeply and thoroughly (episode screencaps, perhaps some audio clips).

Six Feet Under might be done, but I am not.

Rico, Nate and David.

It gives one cause to wonder how closely Rico lived with the Fishers prior to the series beginning. Especially since when Nate first arrives from Washington state, it appears as though he and Rico are fairly well-acquainted. Given Nate only spent time at home during the holidays (Thanksgiving and Christmas, at least), Rico must’ve been around fairly often during those times to have even met Nate.

The key to Six Feet Under is its ability to give rise to a plethora of emotion–5×09 embodied stillness. (Ironically, the same stillness Claire professed to feeling, and attempted to capture, back in art school.) Waiting. Moments where nothing was said and everything was understood, conversations that in the end meant nothing. One moment stretched over a hundred thousand hours.

5×10 was a different kind of emptiness. The title was “All Alone” (though this theme came into play more thoroughly in the episode that followed, as they so often do). Preparing for Nate’s funeral felt like…finding an empty bowl where your stomach once was, with sides so smooth it made the emptiness that much more apparent. Ruth’s grief over her absence and Claire’s sudden guilt over Nate’s untimely death were exceptionally well played–one of the most poignant scenes was when Claire recounted to Ted an incident that happened between her and Nate, after her father died. An interview for class, to get to know a member of your family better–Nate said no.

And here Claire is, burying her brother, whom she loved, but could never know as well as she now wishes.

Bettina and Sarah’s presences were much-needed and oddly comforting. Rico’s eulogy was the most fitting for Nate, and certainly the most personally resonant for me (and I don’t say this out of bias for Rico’s character).

But Nate’s burial was beautiful. Imperfect, practical (difficulty carrying the body to the plot and dropping it, Rico making sure everyone has a ride and Brenda has the directions and the ‘funeral’ placard), yet beautiful. That they all had a hand in burying Nate, without the formality of actually taking turns, felt whole. And for some reason, I really liked that Claire was the one to volunteer to help lift Nate’s body into the plot, and the first after David and Rico to shovel; for the same reason (or lack thereof) I liked that the scene ended with Ruth taking hold of a shovel as well.

Brenda’s reticence, her sense of being apart from everyone else–both because she has always been an outsider in this world, to some degree, and because of what happened between Maggie and Nate–was fitting, as was her subsequent collapse afterward.

5×11 takes place six weeks later (with Rico concerned about the future of the business, and David concerned that Rico won’t leave him the fuck alone for a while longer); Ruth is coping. Brenda is facing custody issues–the ugly truth after the death of a spouse. Claire and David are self-destructing, as the Fishers will. If 5×09 is stillness and 5×10 is emptiness, then 5×11 is illness (and not because of the various physical and mental traumas the cast faces). There’s an ugly feeling in the pit of your stomach–vaguely reminiscent of what you feel when you’ve lost something and you wish you’d kept closer watch of it when you had the chance. There are things you don’t want to address or face, things unearthed for all the world to see that you honestly hadn’t expected (Brenda’s brief erotic incestuous thoughts, the resurgence of David’s post-stress anxieties).

But life moves on. That Claire ends up totaling her hearse–and with it, the last vestiges of her old life and its ghosts–was oddly touching. And even if it makes Rico look somewhat like an enterprising prick, the funeral home doesn’t close when one of its own dies. I loved that the first person he called after leaving a message with David was Vanessa. That he felt like he could ask her such a favor speaks well of their healing marriage, both in terms of their interpersonal relationship and how Rico views it (which reflects on a scene from 5×09 which I loved, though commentary on it felt tremendously out of place given the more salient events in 5×09–the late night conversation between Rico and Vanessa, where Vanessa attempts to explain her feelings for him).

In all, the disc left me hanging in my own personal bubble, apart from everything, subdued. It’s the first time Six Feet Under has ever left me quite like that–sheer elation, profound hopelessness, extreme frustration and general depression, sure. But instead of spurring me to scream, this is like a great, slow breath out.

And the will to do that is an admirable thing; and the maturity to move forward is certainly something he’s gained–because he certainly didn’t have it a few episodes ago.

And I loved that Sarah made a reappearance; the womens’ rendition of Calling All Angels, with the montage of the ensemble in their separate places, all alone (and in desperate need of angels) was touching as well. There was something deeply (atheistically) spiritual about it–and quite reminiscent of House, M.D., which utilizes the form frequently and masterfully.

In spite of all of the trauma and fragility of these characters, it feels like they are finally pushing towards something better than what they have.

Claire, though denied her artist’s grant and only able to land a shitty job in a conservative office, is offered a new side of adulthood (also represented by her break with the mercurial Billy). Claire’s moving forward, coupled with her reconciliation with her LAC Arts friends.

It’s a terrifying thing, losing something that was so closely intertwined with your identity (though as Sarah said, if Claire was offended by the idea that she was never an artist, perhaps she never really was). And it’s a humiliating one, to be at a point in your life where everything you do is pitiful and uninspired, while your friends are still in a place you’ve long since left. You are an outsider. Possibly a loser. But Claire’s positive rapport and banter with Olivier was comforting and a lovely thing in itself–and I say this with no extreme love of Olivier, though I do enjoy his position with Margaret Chenowith.

Ruth, though estranged from her husband and quickly replaced, increasingly scattered and profoundly lonely, picks up pieces of her life first with Claire, then with Sarah, and finally with Hiram. David and Keith, as disreputable as their new foster children often are, bring a familial jubilance to 5×08, a sentiment rarely expressed in full in Six Feet Under. Their dinner with the plastic cutlery, along with Keith’s amiability toward Durrell and his brother, was one of my favorite scenes over the entire disc.

And as painful as Rico’s libido is at essentially every point it surfaces, I also loved his final scene with Vanessa in 5×08. He finally confronts her about his place in the family, in her life, which is significant because before he would have believed or fabricated anything that would have led him back into Vanessa’s arms (or as the case was, bed). And he says that if she really hates him that much, he can’t stay. He will move out once again, because pretending like their married and everything is normal is not the same as it actually being normal.

Reality is one of the things that often goes ignored in this series. It’s nice that the ensemble is beginning to take it at face value. But what really sold the scene for me was Vanessa’s response.

She loves him, she does. But from an emotional place–rather than a mental one–she cannot just let everything go. She wants to. She hopes she can in the future, but right now, she cannot.

And it’s a small thing, but Rico tells Vanessa that the leftover spaghetti she offers him has too much salt. Insignificant, sure, but it means that Vanessa, and Rico’s relationship with Vanessa, is no longer glass. Everything does not need to be buried.

Vanessa smiles; agrees. She even laughs. And she accepts when he asks if he can take her out to dinner. Again, it’s a small thing, but it means so much.

The only couple who has not managed to get their shit together–and in fact, have fallen into further disarray–is Nate and Brenda. The moral responsibility that accompanies abortion rears its head once more. The idea that people are trapped into relationships and trapped into a place in their lives where they are, as Nate puts it, completely useless, does as well. Together, and yet so very apart. As Vanessa and Rico discover they are. As David and Keith were as regards the treatment of their new foster children. as the Fishers have always been.

Nate sleeps with Maggie. Brenda, spurred into positive action by her supervisor at work, attends the Quaker service–alone. She tried to make it work, but the shit hit the fan anyway. Nate may get off easy on that one, however, given his physical and mental capabilities as 5×08 closed.

It would appear that the storm is breaking. Unrelenting, repressive misery is exchanged for profound elation beside extreme tragedy.

The contrast is a stirring one, but it is also a call to action, to courage (and possibly, yes, to angels). We shall see where the ensemble is headed.

Claire and Edie decorate the walls.

+ 4×06 Screencap Gallery (89 images).

Diaz family scenes are heavily emphasized here, which seems almost unfair, but as they are rarely emphasized anywhere else, it may as well be there. ‘Cap focus is on character expressions and portrait shots.