Cutting Itself Off With Edge

Mathew St. Patrick, left (here with Freddy Rodriguez and Justina Machado), has become one of the more likable characters on "Six Feet Under." (Doug Hyun)

She: "Where are you going?"

He: "You are smothering me!"

Heaven help us, we have all -- or almost all -- known that kind of idiot.

In one of the most controversial and, some loyal viewers think, off-putting episodes in the history of the program, son David (Michael C. Hall), who is among those trying to keep the funeral business alive, recently underwent a prolonged and revoltingly graphic carjacking, tormented and tortured by his assailant for what seemed like the bulk of the one-hour episode. The producers got the proverbial water cooler wish: Everybody was talking about it the next morning. But some were saying, "I'll never watch that show again." Although David is homosexual (Keith has shown superhuman patience by staying with David except for one or two separations), this assault turned out not to be a gay-bashing incident, though it clearly had darkly erotic overtones.

Most of the overtones on "Six Feet Under" are dark if not erotic.

What's followed that episode is the week-by-week disintegration of whatever mental stability David had left. He appears to be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, plagued with nightmarish fantasies and a penchant for violence. Last week's episode ended with David drowning in his own anxiety. The question now is whether he will come apart in umpteen different directions, the way Daffy Duck used to do when apoplectic over some catastrophe.

Perhaps Ball should be congratulated for having made such a daring move as the carjacking episode, or maybe it was a stunt born of desperation, a way to inject life into characters who, appropriately or not, were becoming deathly dull. By the same token, or maybe a different token, HBO might be considered brave for offering its paying customers so much that is dark, realistic, relevant.

As it happens, the word has gone out that HBO is in the market for new original comedies that take advantage of the network's greater latitude in language and subject matter.

It would be nice, in this case at least, if executives look on the bright side and perhaps even reject a few ideas that seem too doom-and-gloomy.

During the Great Depression, audiences saw Fred and Ginger dance and Busby Berkeley's gorgeous chorines splash and romp about. You can't go home again, but there has to be an alternative to the bitter medicine that HBO is charging us a considerable fee to swallow.