I am haunted by the end of last night's series finale of Six Feet Under. The image of Claire driving off down the 10, on her way to a new life in NYC, the future that she can't see or anticipate unfolding as she goes. I like the sense of the unforeseen, the idea of a full, rich life's worth of happiness and experience just waiting for us to get there, even if we can't see it coming. The idea of possibility, of renewal and fulfillment hidden behind a curtain of difficulty, was beautifully played out. Even when things are seriously fucked up, they will come aright again.
It's disarming how things come full circle in ways you don't expect. I watched the very first episode of SFU with Glenn in our first apartment in Arlington a million years ago. It became our Sunday night ritual, and his interpretive dance to the opening theme was our in joke. I stopped watching during the fourth season, when the show got too negative and macabre for me, and I struggled through this season, supplementing the actual show with reading recaps online. But I'm glad I watched last night. When a show that's been a part of your life wraps for good, that ending can be unexpectedly powerful (which is why I cried like a baby through the last episode of Sex and the City, and why I did NOT cry during the long horror that was the end of Voyager). Curled up on Lunchboy's couch, I alternated between being horrified and touched by the show's final montage. Did we really need to know how all the major characters died? Yes and no. But despite the sadness of seeing Keith get shot and Rico keeling over on a cruise ship, I felt glad to know that they all moved on after Nate died. He really was the evil seed.
I'm not sure if Lunchboy understood why I was on the verge of tears, and I didn't want to get into it. Suffice it to say that the world is a happier place now that Alan Ball has moved on to other projects.
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