Although the first four episodes of the final season of Alan Ball’s series about a family of dysfunctional undertakers were available for preview, I stopped after one. Partly, this is because the wedding of Nate and Brenda is ruined by everything from miscarriages to electroconvulsions to vengeful ghosts. And partly because halfway through last season I fell off the turnip truck. The world is difficult, maybe impossible. Why do these jerks make it worse? “Hold the mercury!” says George when Ruth fixes him a tuna sandwich. “Just rent out some woman’s uterus like it’s a storage locker?” says David to Keith about surrogate mothers. Four years ago, I thought it was hilarious when Brenda objected to be introduced as Nate’s “girlfriend,” saying, “I prefer the term Fuck Puppet.” Now I’ve had it with people who insist on making themselves miserable, as if it were an art.

Email
Print
Eight Year-End Films Vie for Oscar Contention
Sondheim and Lansbury on a Lifetime in Theater
The Black Keys Release Their Hip-hop Debut
How the BQE Became an Artistic Muse
On Great Jones Street, Shopping Is Art 
Classic Fare, Old-world Charm at Le Caprice
Buy a Brownstone for Less Than $1 Million
Fifty of the City's Tastiest Soups
Reasons to Love New York 2009
New York Politicians Refuse to Quit
A-Rod Has Babe Ruth in His Sights
McCain Yields to the Party's Pressure