Six Feet Under is inextricably linked to my university years. We were both just starting in 2001, and as a bird who’d just flown the nest for the first time to experience life, this show about death became utterly captivating. On a rewatch now two decades later, it’s apparent just how well the HBO hit has held up, especially in light of the last two years when loss and grieving — both of life and lifestyle — have been so utterly at the forefront of the collective consciousness. Nothing like a global pandemic to shove our own mortality in our faces.
The beginning
Six Feet Under was never just about the Fisher family-run funeral home. It was about all those things we hold just below the surface; presented with a slick sense of humor, a dash of surreal ridiculousness (those parody commercials!), and a side of dreamy visuals often featuring actual dream sequences.
The message was blunt: death doesn’t wait. It just happens whether we’re ready or not, and it’s the mess around it where the most visceral, emotional living can happen. The heavily character-driven drama unflinchingly dove into that messiness, even winning a Peabody Award during its first year for the show’s “unsettling yet powerfully humane explorations of life and death.”
That unsettling tone was achieved through Six Feet Under’s distinct California-hued aesthetic, raw and unapologetic characterizations delivered by an incredible cast, smart writing, directing, cinematography and effects — all working in synergistic harmony to unforgettable results that garnered 166 nominations in categories across the board (including Outstanding Drama Series, directing, writing, and noms for each of the main cast), 61 overall wins — nine of which were Primetime Emmy® Awards — and a Golden Globe® for Best Drama Series.
It was the beginning of premium cable shows outshining standard network fare by pushing the envelope. By simply being unique. Apparently, the one studio note for creator Alan Ball (Academy® Award-winning screenwriter of American Beauty) when they read the pilot was, “Could you make the whole thing just a little more fucked up?”
And so they did. Each episode opens with that haunting, “clock-is-ticking” main theme song (for which composer Thomas Newman won the 2002 Emmy for Outstanding Main Title Theme Music and two Grammys), which combined all of the show’s unexpected quirkiness, classic undertones, moments of levity, and underlying eeriness. The theme creates an anticipatory mood before launching into the episode.
Amid the family drama that went on for five seasons during which we got to know eldest son Nate Fisher (Peter Krause), middle child David Fisher (Michael C. Hall) and his partner Keith Charles (Mathew St. Patrick), and their younger sister Claire (Lauren Ambrose), along with matriarch Ruth (Frances Conroy), faithful friend and business partner Rico Diaz (Freddy Rodríguez), and the various lovers, friends, and funeral parlor patrons.
Through the core sibling dynamic, we got three very distinct points of view. In Nate, we have the man-child who refuses to grow up, accept responsibility, and face up to reality — even in the face of death. David is a representation of Ball’s own experiences as a gay man who can conversely face life and death, but not himself. Then there’s free-spirited Claire, who as an artist seeks to create something meaningful in an effort to herself be, perhaps, worthy. And thus all three characters are — it's not a stretch — manifestations of the various facets of their creator.
These character meditations on life paths illustrate the constructs of family and how they influence us, support us, and at once confine us. Around that central theme, Six Feet Under explored relationships, infidelity, bipolar disorder, depression, personal growth, and religion within the context of death. The drama was slow burn, and a little bit navel-gazing at times, but in order to keep it mesmerizing despite all of the philosophizing was the show’s actual structure.
Every episode began with a death that set the tone for the rest of the hour; a sort of signpost against which the central storylines could measure up, intersect and reflect. And since that signpost was still ultimately death, it put everything else into an especially illuminating light.
One of the best parts of the show was also the dream or fantasy sequences during which characters would talk to the dead — be it the ones on the slab, or someone from their own past, such as Nathaniel Sr. in the pilot. This visual aid of the characters’ internal struggles and thought processes elevated the overall tone and theme seamlessly to cinematic awesomeness.
Six Feet Under’s 63-episode run came to an end late summer of 2005, a fitting season for what is still hailed as one of the greatest television series finales of all time by multiple publications (including Time) and critics — this episode alone was nominated for five Emmys — ending the way it began: with deaths in the family. “Everyone’s Waiting” was a bittersweet, yet satisfying ending, knowing exactly how things turn out with each of the Fisher, Diaz, Chenowith family members.
For a cast that won Outstanding Ensemble at the Screen Actors Guild Awards® two years running and was nominated the other three of their five seasons, clearly someone did something right in putting that eclectic film family together. These days, I catch Krause on 9-1-1, Hall on Dexter (does anyone else see what I see there?!), and Jeremy Sisto on FBI. All incredible shows, and it’s fun to see how the Fisher/Chenowith real-life alter egos faired in their Hollywood reincarnations.
Six Feet Under itself is said to be getting a reboot as well, according to Variety. So far, it seems only Ball and the original producers Bob Greenblatt and David Janollari are attached. Time will tell. Meanwhile, Six Feet Under the original remains a dark jewel of television writing that’s everything one could want out of a Sunday night watch in the early 2000s. Or now…