This summer I've probably spent on average about two hours a week watching TV. A lot of that is due to the magical time-shifting properties of our DVR, and all of the shows it is allowing me to save for a time when there is less sun outside and less graduate school all around. One hour a week is almost always spent at my friend Melanie's house with my girlfriends watching an hour of whatever show happens to be in series (usually on HBO) at what we call Girl's Night.
Last night we watched the end of Six Feet Under.
The finale was both understated at the beginning of the episode and ended up somewhere near over the top towards the last 15 minutes. I'm not going to complain. I've been a fan of the show for a long time and I think that's kind of how the series progressed as well.
My apologies go out to the people of Victorian Village, who may have heard intermittant wailing, crying and exclamations of disbelief that sounded a lot like someone yelling, "Why did they have to go and kill Keith?" The montage at the end where Claire is driving east to New York and we see how all of the characters will die was incredible. It was big, bold and really cheesy in the sense that it gave the viewer exactly what they wanted in a way that the series itself often didn't. Just like Brenda, the series died while discussing it's own sense of "closure."
There are a million little good things about the show. Sometimes, it's throw away one liners that make their way into our vocabulary, often it's how frustrating the members of the Fisher family are when they keep making the same mistakes over and over again, just like you're real family. One of the best things about the show is how every Sunday night, I go home from girl's night after watching a show about death and feel so good about life that I hug the boy and the dog that much tighter.
