‘Uhhh, I might make it to the thing on Friday. Not sure yet, need to check the diary. Or something might come up. In fact, I can’t come. I’m sorry. I’m, uh, really busy.’
Sound familiar? Then you’ve probably just purchased a shiny new DVD boxset. Stroking the smooth cardboard, slipping the top on and off, carefully buffing the discs with your quickening breath - people will worry about you. Better make it a good one then...
Six Feet Under has taken over my life, helped largely by the fact that it’s brilliant and honest and real. My last HBO endeavour was Sex and the City, which I would only recommend to highly sedated people who have had no previous urges to kill the Carrie Bradshaws of our world. God, that woman will annoy you. Six Feet Under shares only the tense exposition of the HBO hum, and thankfully nothing else.
Each one of the Fisher family and their lovers/business partners/friends/massage clients will have you signing away your days to a life of simultaneous laughter and tears. Some people will think you’re crazy, because who wants to watch a drama in which no five minutes pass without a mention of the word ‘funeral’. As one of those crazies, I have to say, funerals turn out to be pretty funny.
I never know whether to laugh or cry, but I know it’s at least one of them. For a drama doused in death, it makes for a surprisingly lively viewer.
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