R.I.P. SIX FEET UNDER
As I child, I thought it was odd that my parents referred to our TV as the Boob Tube. I can tell you with great certainty that I’ve still never seen a television remotely shaped like one.
I mourned the end of Six Feet Under like it was my own family heading down that road with Claire. The last time I responded this way to a TV show was when Jimmy Smits died on NYPD Blue. I imagine that the good folks at Kleenex report higher sales during series’ and season finales. Alan Ball is a genius, and SFU ranks as one of my top three television shows. Ever. I can’t recall any other shows, or movies for that matter, that have affected me to the point where I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night pondering the characters’ lives like they were personal friends of mine.
I pre-ordered the first season of Lost on DVD, and I am just nutty enough to watch all of the episodes in a row (without commercial interruption, thank you very much) before the new season starts in September. Here are the reasons I love this show: it is a tremendously fresh premise, it unfolds very creatively, and there are layers upon layers of literary and cultural references and mysteries, all open to many interpretations. Needless to say, I await the second season premiere with a tad too much anticipation.