Death is the only thing we all have in common, yet we spend our entire lives pretending it isn't happening. Then came Six Feet Under. When it premiered on HBO in 2001, it didn't just change television; it forced us to look at the one thing we usually turn away from. Honestly, watching it today feels even more visceral than it did back then. It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. It is, quite literally, a show about a family that lives in a funeral home, surrounded by the physical reality of the end.
Alan Ball, who had just come off the success of American Beauty, created something that felt like a fever dream grounded in cold, hard reality. The Fisher family—Ruth, Nate, David, and Claire—aren't just characters. They’re archetypes of grief. Every episode starts with a death. Some are tragic, some are darkly hilarious, and others are just plain random. A woman thinks she sees angels and runs into traffic. A guy gets hit by a falling blue ice block from a plane. It’s a reminder that the "how" doesn't matter as much as the "what now?" left for the survivors.
The Fisher Family and the Business of Grief
Running Fisher & Sons is a weird gig. You’re essentially a party planner for the most miserable day of someone’s life. David Fisher, played by Michael C. Hall before he became a famous serial killer on Dexter, is the emotional anchor of the business. He’s repressed, meticulous, and desperately trying to keep the legacy alive. Then you have Nate, played by Peter Krause, who spent his whole life running away from the "death house" only to be pulled back in by his father's sudden passing in the pilot.
The chemistry is intense because it’s so fractured.
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You’ve got Brenda Chenowith, too. Rachel Griffiths brought a level of intellectual chaos to the screen that was pretty much unheard of at the time. Her relationship with Nate is a train wreck you can’t look away from. They are two people trying to use sex and intellect to outrun the fact that they’re terrified of being alone. It’s relatable in a way that hurts.
Why the Six Feet Under Finale is Still the Gold Standard
If you ask any TV critic about the best series finales in history, Six Feet Under is always in the top three. Usually, it’s number one. Most shows struggle to stick the landing—look at Game of Thrones or Lost. But Alan Ball did something daring. He showed us exactly what happens to every single character.
The final six minutes, set to Sia’s "Breathe Me," is a masterclass in storytelling. We see the flash-forwards. We see the weddings, the birthdays, and eventually, the deaths of the people we’ve spent five seasons loving. It’s brutal. It’s beautiful. It’s the only way a show about mortality could truly end. It didn't leave things "open to interpretation." It gave us closure, which is exactly what a funeral is supposed to do.
Challenging the Taboos of the Early 2000s
People forget how radical David Fisher’s storyline was for 2001. A gay man in a leading role whose primary conflict wasn't just "being gay," but rather his struggle with faith, family responsibility, and his own rigid personality. His relationship with Keith Charles (Mathew St. Patrick) was groundbreaking. It wasn't sanitized for a straight audience. They fought, they went to therapy, they adopted kids, and they dealt with real-world trauma.
Then there’s the portrayal of the funeral industry itself. The show pulled back the curtain on the chemicals, the makeup, the sales tactics of "corporate" funeral homes like Kroehner Service Corporation. It demystified the body. Seeing David or Rico (Freddy Rodriguez) reconstruct a face after a traumatic accident was grisly, but it served a purpose. It showed that death is work. It’s a process. It’s a craft.
The Psychological Depth of Ruth and Claire
Ruth Fisher is perhaps the most underrated character in the series. Frances Conroy played her with this vibrating intensity—a woman who spent her life being a wife and a mother and suddenly has no idea who she is. Her outbursts are legendary. Her search for love is often painful to watch. She represents a generation of women who were told to stay small, and seeing her finally take up space is one of the show's greatest triumphs.
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On the other end of the spectrum is Claire. The "baby" of the family. Her journey from a high schooler smoking crystal meth out of a lightbulb to a successful artist is the quintessential coming-of-age story. She’s the eyes of the viewer. She’s cynical, observant, and ultimately the one who has to drive away to start her own life.
Why You Should Rewatch It Now
In a world of "prestige TV" where everything is a puzzle box or a high-concept sci-fi thriller, Six Feet Under feels refreshing because it’s just about people. There are no dragons. No smoke monsters. Just the crushing weight of existence and the small joys that make it bearable.
The show hasn't aged a day in terms of its emotional intelligence. Sure, the cell phones are bricks and the fashion is very "early Y2K," but the conversations about loneliness, purpose, and the fear of the unknown are timeless. It reminds us that every day above ground is a gift, even if that gift is wrapped in a lot of complicated family drama.
If you’re looking to dive back in, or if you've never seen it, here is how to approach it for the best experience:
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- Don't binge it too fast. The emotional weight of this show is heavy. If you watch five episodes in a row, you might find yourself staring at a wall questioning your own mortality for three hours. Give the deaths time to breathe.
- Pay attention to the "Ghost" conversations. The characters talk to the dead. It’s not supernatural; it’s a projection of their internal monologues. It’s a brilliant narrative device that lets us see what they’re really thinking versus what they’re saying.
- Watch the background details. The Fisher house is a character in itself. The way the lighting changes from the sterile, fluorescent basement of the prep room to the warm, cluttered living quarters upstairs tells a story of the thin line between life and death.
- Listen to the score. Thomas Newman’s theme music is iconic, but the incidental music throughout the series sets a mood that is uniquely "Six Feet Under"—wistful, slightly macabre, and deeply human.
The legacy of the show persists because it didn't give easy answers. It told us that life is short, death is certain, and in between, we just have to try to be slightly less shitty to each other. It’s a simple message delivered through some of the most complex writing ever put to film.
Start from the pilot. Watch as Nathaniel Fisher Sr. lights a cigarette in his new hearse and gets T-boned by a bus. It’s the beginning of a journey that will change how you look at your own life. Once you finish the series, take a moment to sit in the silence. Very few pieces of art will ever make you feel that alive by showing you so much death.