Death is usually a punchline or a tragedy on TV. In Six Feet Under, it’s just the family business.
It has been over two decades since the Fisher family first opened the doors of their Los Angeles funeral home on HBO, and honestly, we’re still not over it. Most shows from the early 2000s feel like time capsules—clunky technology, questionable fashion, and tropes that didn't age well. But this show? It feels more urgent now than it did in 2001.
Maybe it’s because we’ve all spent the last few years collectively staring mortality in the face.
The premise is deceptively simple. Every episode starts with a death. Sometimes it’s a heart attack; sometimes it’s a freak accident involving a falling blue ice block from an airplane or a woman mistaking floating inflatable dolls for the Rapture. Then, the body ends up on a porcelain table in the basement of Fisher & Sons.
What Most People Get Wrong About the "Depressing" Label
If you ask someone who hasn't seen it what Six Feet Under is about, they’ll say it’s a "show about death." That’s a total misnomer.
It’s a show about how hard it is to be a person.
The creator, Alan Ball—who had just won an Oscar for American Beauty—was reportedly told by HBO executives to make the script "just a little more fucked up." He listened. He leaned into the messiness of grief, the kind that makes you scream at your mother or have inappropriate sex in a storage room.
The Fishers aren't "prestige TV" heroes. They are deeply annoying, selfish, and terrified people.
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- Nate Fisher (Peter Krause): The prodigal son who ran away to Seattle only to be sucked back into the family business when his father’s hearse got t-boned by a bus.
- David Fisher (Michael C. Hall): The repressed, tightly-wound brother who spent seasons navigating the intersection of his sexuality and his faith long before it was a common TV arc.
- Claire Fisher (Lauren Ambrose): The art-school rebel who literally used a hearse as her first car and spent her adolescence trying to find a "defined subculture."
- Ruth Fisher (Frances Conroy): The matriarch who is a vibrating wire of repressed Victorian manners and explosive emotional needs.
We see ourselves in them because they fail constantly. They don't have witty Sorkin-esque quips to solve their problems. They just have the basement and the bodies.
The Most Famous Finale in History (No Spoilers, But Kind Of)
You can't talk about Six Feet Under without talking about the end.
Most series finales are a letdown. They’re either too vague (The Sopranos) or too tidy (The Office). But the final six and a half minutes of this show changed how television producers think about closure.
It didn't just end the story. It ended the characters.
Set to Sia’s "Breathe Me"—a song that now triggers an immediate Pavlovian sob in anyone over the age of thirty—the montage shows us exactly how every single person we’ve grown to love (and hate) eventually leaves this world. It’s brutal. It’s beautiful.
It’s the ultimate "memento mori."
Why the "Dead People Talking" Isn't Cringe
A lot of shows try the "ghost" gimmick, and it usually feels cheap. In this show, the dead characters—most notably the patriarch, Nathaniel Fisher Sr. (Richard Jenkins)—aren't actually ghosts.
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They are manifestations of the living characters' internal monologues.
When David argues with his dead father, he’s actually arguing with his own conscience. When Nate sees his dead wife, he’s grappling with his own guilt. It’s a brilliant narrative device that allows for total honesty in a world where the characters spend most of their time lying to each other to keep the peace.
The Reality of Working in the "Death Industry"
The show was actually quite accurate about the technical side of the business.
The writers brought in real funeral directors to consult on everything from restorative art (reconstructing a face after an accident) to the specific psychology of the "slumber room." It demystified a taboo industry.
It showed that while the living are falling apart, someone still has to pick out the casket lining. Someone still has to apply the makeup.
Why You Should Rewatch (or Start) in 2026
Streaming has given this show a second life. On platforms like Max and Netflix, a whole new generation is discovering Claire’s blue hair and David’s existential crises.
What hits differently today is the show’s handling of mental health. Long before "anxiety" was a buzzword, Six Feet Under was diving into PTSD, clinical depression, and bipolar disorder with a nuance that was decades ahead of its time.
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It’s not a "binge" show. It’s too heavy for that. It’s a "one episode a night then stare at the ceiling for twenty minutes" show.
Expert Insights on the Fisher Legacy
Critically, the show occupies a weird space. It isn't quite as "cool" as The Wire or as "cinematic" as Deadwood. But as critic David B. Morris recently noted, it is arguably the most personal of the Great HBO Era shows.
It’s small-scale. It’s domestic. It’s about the four walls of a house and the secrets kept in the hallway.
Wait, what about the cast? - Michael C. Hall went on to Dexter, obviously.
- Peter Krause became a staple of network dramas like 9-1-1.
- Lauren Ambrose is currently killing it in prestige horror like Servant and Yellowjackets.
They all carry the DNA of this show in their later work—that specific ability to play someone who is simultaneously lovable and completely insufferable.
Actionable Next Steps for the Viewer
If you're looking to dive back into the world of the Fishers, don't just put it on in the background. This is "active listening" television.
- Watch the Pilot and the Finale Back-to-Back: If you've already seen the series, doing this highlights the incredible character growth (especially Claire's) in a way that feels like a gut-punch.
- Look for the "Easter Eggs" in the Cold Opens: Many of the deaths in the early seasons are based on real-life news clippings that the writers' room collected.
- Listen to the Score: Thomas Newman’s theme won two Grammys for a reason. It uses an oboe to create a sense of curiosity rather than dread, which is the secret sauce of the show's tone.
Stop waiting for a "better time" to watch a show about death. There isn't one. As the show's famous tagline reminded us: Every day above ground is a good one. But watching this show makes those days feel a lot more meaningful.
To get the most out of your viewing, pay attention to the color grading—the show starts with a sterile, almost over-exposed look and slowly bleeds into warmer, more organic tones as the characters begin to actually "live." It's subtle, but it's why the final shot of the desert feels so expansive. You've earned that horizon.