The delicate connections that hold things together are deeply intriguing to burgeoning photographer Claire Fisher (Lauren Ambrose) on “Six Feet Under.” It’s all so tenuous, she knows. She wants to expand her photo-collages to encompass not just people but the entire world.
That’s thinking big, her boyfriend Billy (Jeremy Sisto) agrees. Billy, whose sister is again attached to Claire’s brother in a creepy alignment of incestuous romance, is ready to go big himself: into a big bout of mania.
At what point do things fall apart, or buckle under the pressure of trying to appear normal?
“Six Feet Under,” returning at 7 p.m. Monday for its fifth and final season, keeps its audience alert to those moments. The series directs our view to the small, inevitable turns when connections are about to give way. Or the accretion of tiny decisions that slowly, then suddenly, reach the tipping point that results in a fatal accident.
Despite the best intentions of the Fisher family and their loved ones, life demonstrates a tendency to fracture. Haunted by memories, fearful of missing their moment, they make fateful decisions that often amount to missed connections.
See, it’s not always about death. Sometimes this dark HBO tragicomedy is about the flip side of death: how fragile, unpredictable and chaotic life is. The center barely holds, then doesn’t. Things fall apart.
New sets of connections are in play this season as Alan Ball’s quirky-to-kinky dramedy picks up closer to home.
Last season the story ventured away from Los Angeles to explore the nagging mystery of the disappearance of Nate’s (Peter Krause) first wife Lisa (Lili Taylor). Then it sidetracked into violent territory with son David’s (Michael C. Hall) carjacking and post-traumatic stress disorder.
The first four episodes of this season suggest the focus is back in the Fisher funeral home and immediate family.
They’re trying to connect amid the existential emptiness: The connectedness of egg and sperm donors interests David and Keith (Matthew St. Patrick), who want to become parents. The missed synaptic connections in a failing mind are the focus for Ruth (Frances Conroy) and her ailing husband George (James Cromwell). His short-term memory is fading even as long-ago memories of his suicidal mother take hold.
Nate and Brenda (Rachel Griffiths), who originally connected after anonymous sex, are now deeply intertwined. She in particular is determined to marry and have a child of their own. She wants to have family dinners and appear “normal.” He goes along, mindful that it was rebelliousness that attracted them in the first place. If these two poster children for anti-establishment acting out were to “settle down,” it would be the death knell for a self-consciously hip TV series. Not to worry, they still have anxiety and wanderlust to spare.
Amid this swirl of disconnected souls, one character in particular promises to explode this season. The volcano that is brother Billy seems on the verge of becoming active again. He’s been well-modulated on his meds, but he’s beginning to tire of that kind of chemically induced calm. Why not take off with Claire to chase the Bohemian life in Europe?
The show’s storytelling techniques sometimes stray into gimmicky hipness. It’s possible to tire of the death of the week openers that set the tone for each installment, the disrespectful chatter over the body on the mortician’s slab, the corpses magically reanimated to comment on their lives, the parade of funerals in the family home. The characters are so specific in their neuroses that it’s easy to tire of them, too.
Still, the primal issues the series ponders are always relevant. The style remains sly when it doesn’t go too far into showiness.
If the final season’s tension holds beyond the early episodes, “Six Feet” is poised to go out with anything but a whimper.
Can these characters get any more achingly lonely? Can their disconnects be any more frustrating?
“If you would give me a moment’s peace!” the long-suffering Ruth shrieks at George.
But no, this is life. The moments of peace come later.
TV critic Joanne Ostrow can be reached at 303-820-1830 or jostrow@denverpost.com.
