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I just don't understand Christmas. Oh sure, I get the basic concept -- prudish woman gives birth in a barn, everyone exchanges presents -- but the reasoning behind secular America's enduring obsession with celebrating an ever lengthening "holiday season" continues to escape me. Now, don't get me wrong. I enjoy elves, singing snowmen, and bright twinkly lights just as much as the guy who ingests the occasional psychotropic substance, but I've never quite been moved by the "holiday spirit" the way some of my fellow men seem to be. I guess it's probably because I'm Jewish. Certainly the fact that you all enjoy paid, government-sponsored days off for your holidays while I have to take vacation for mine can't be helping. On the other hand, I am forced to admit that your "holiday songs" are a lot better than ours, as anyone who's ever heard the famous Passover tune about the goat that gets eaten by a cat can attest. Anyway, all this is by way of saying that I usually don't enjoy it when shows do very special Christmas episodes (check out my recap of the worstSopranosepisode ever for confirmation), but this week I'm forced to make an exception. Once again, Alan Ball has confounded my Christmas expectations. Looks like somebody's getting coal again this year.
Now there's no new version of the theme song this week, so in order to get all of you into the proper frame of mind for enjoying the recap, I'd like to make the following statements: this recap will be seventy-three. Pages. Long. Keith is hot. Marry me, Lauren. Ruth was absolutely correct to wear panties to work. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, c'est soir? Of course, I hope I don't get fired while my dear, sweet Sars is on vacation. Incidentemente, todos los estos son TM del mismo, oaklander, y Moya La Leviathan.
Lauren Ambrose: What the hell are you doing?
Aaron: It's a drinking game. I'm trying to get them all drunk so they don't notice the typos.
Lauren: Good plan. God knows that's the only way I can ever read your stuff.
Aaron: Aww. That's so sweet. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, c'est soir?
Lauren: Gehen sie hinaus. Jetzt.
Oh, and for you people, I also have this: after drinking several margaritas laced with Russian dressing, Bob ran off all willy-nilly to Disneyland, intent on engaging in an incestuous relationship with a mutant William Shatner. Unfortunately, Shatner's haggard, Darth Vader-like insistence that Bob repeatedly perform what he referred to as a "variation on Enrique Iglesias's famed 'fixie-fixie' sexual techniques" prevented him from finding any joy in this illicit, yet torrid, love affair. So instead, the mutant Shatner just ate some Camembert, staged a live reading of Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky," and made plans for an extended concert tour in several former Warsaw Pact states. The end.
And now, on with the show.
This week opens with a bearded fat man watching football, and those of you with an unhealthy obsession with your TiVo's eight-second replay button may have noticed that the game announcer's audio doesn't quite match the video. Before we can spend too much time pondering the meaning of that, however, the fat guy's equally fat (yet non-bearded) wife appears to remind him that it's time to go to work. He emerges from the bedroom soon after, dressed in a full Santa suit and complaining that it itches. There are some tender moments between man and wife here (especially her touching admonition against "flirting with the faggoty elves"), and then the soon-to-be-dead Santa heads out the door. Cut to a park bench, where a trio of children go from surly anger (one little girl calls the other a "loser butthole") to sheer happiness when they spot Santa cruising down the street on a Harley Davidson motorcycle. Their youthful exuberance is then rewarded with the sight of Kris Kringle getting creamed by an oncoming truck, and the arrival of his now empty bike helmet, which skitters to a stop at their feet. I've got to stop and give major props to whichever crew member tossed that helmet into the frame, because it was definitely a pretty impressive throw. I wonder how many takes that took? Anyway, farewell Jesse Ray Johnson. Looks like you're heading off to that great big North Pole in the sky. Try not flirt with any of the faggoty angels.
Fade up on the Formaldehyde Fortress, where David and Nate are sitting at the breakfast table, reviewing their annual haul of Christmas cards. David is upset because a client they thought was Jewish sent them a Christmas card with the Baby Jesus on it, while they sent him one with a picture of a dreidel. "Well, now he thinks we're Jewish," replies Nate. "Is Brenda Jewish?" interjects Ruth from her position at the sink, prompting Nate to deliver a long explanation of Brenda's family history which serves only to prove that she is, in fact, not Jewish. Whew. Thank God. I would have had to convert in protest if they'd let her in. The conversation moves to the subject of Christmas dinner, and Nate confirms that he and Brenda will be in attendance. David, however, claims he isn't planning on bringing a date. "But what about Keith?" inquires Ruth. "Aren't the two of you..." "Yes," replies David. "We're having healthy, affection-based sex on a regular basis. Sometimes twice a day." Heh. Mommie Drearest goes into screechy mode upon hearing this news, and demands that David get rid of the giant chip he has on his shoulder regarding her willingness to accept to his gay lifestyle. As is common for the Fisher siblings, Nate can only giggle as his little brother quickly backs down and agrees to invite Keith and Taylor for dinner.
“ Man, I know what that's like. My parents once grounded me for a month because my girlfriend got a speeding ticket. ”
Still not satisfied, Ruth also demands that someone go to midnight mass with her on Christmas Eve, and both brothers get devilish grins on their faces when Claire chooses just that moment to enter the kitchen. After demanding her attendance at church, Ruth also asks her daughter if she's planning to invite anyone for dinner. When Claire mentions the possibility of asking Loser Toby, Ruth's first instinct is to wonder why Dork Boy doesn't have any family of his own to spend Christmas with. "His parents are pagans," answers Claire, and Frances Conroy's disturbed reaction to that news was priceless. "Well when are you going to invite him?" she snaps. "I need to know how many yams to buy." "Look, if he's coming, I'll tell him to bring his own yam," snaps back Claire. Heh. Would you marry me if I promised to bring my own yam to the wedding? Mom is also upset that Christmas is in two days and no one has bothered to decorate the tree yet. "I wish I knew what I did to deserve such morose, surly children," she spits, before stomping out of the kitchen. Ordinarily, I'd offer to make Ruth a fairly lengthy list to answer that question, but this time I think she's got a point.
Rico's House of Homoerotic Home Repair. Vanessa is criticizing Rico's attempts at fixing their wall himself now that he's fired Ramon. Shut up, Vanessa. After she repeatedly accuses him of being jealous of his cousin's spackling skills, Rico finally breaks down and admits the real reason he sent Ramon packing. You know what? I'll care more about this plotline later, when it actually gets interesting.
Across town at a mall, Claire poses the eternal question, "If you were a gay mortician, what would you want for Christmas?" Now Toby may be loser, but even he knows the answer to that one: "A new life." They wander past the display area where Santa usually sits, which today is marked with a "closed" sign. Hee. That was pretty funny for a throwaway gag. As they continue to wander, they exchange stories about what Christmas is like in their respective families. Claire's involves "the smell of death and people crying," whereas Toby spends the holiday season "celebrating the winter solstice by watching [his] father play the recorder while [his] mother dances around a bonfire singing hymns to Gaia the Earth Goddess." They finally find a seat on a bench, and Claire tentatively asks The Loser to come to Christmas dinner. She also mentions that the whole thing was her mother's idea, because "ever since [Claire's] last boyfriend tried to kill himself, robbed a store, and shot a guy before disappearing off the face of the Earth, [her mom] wants to meet everyone [she] dates." Man, I know what that's like. My parents once grounded me for a month because my girlfriend got a speeding ticket. Toby says he'd be happy to come to dinner.
“ David points out that the 'Camry' model is stainless steel, but Pete thinks that sounds foreign (And get it? Camry? Toyota? Never mind). ”
Back at the Fortress, Nate and David are bickering over the relative merits of accepting a biker funeral. Behind them we can see the Widow DJ and a couple of guys in leather checking out the coffin wall. David says that line from the previews about how much he loves biker funerals, and I'm sort of disappointed to learn that it's only because bikers tend to be rich and spend a lot of money on these things. I was sort of hoping David's penchant for learning about life from various dead gang members would be on display again this week.
Anyway, the brothers walk over, and Michael C. Hall switches his face into "professionally detached compassion" mode as he introduces himself. We learn that the Widow DJ is accompanied by "Pete" (a friend of the deceased), and also the Widow's brother "Bitsy." "As in 'itsy,'" says Bitsy, who if I'm remembering correctly was last seen on HBO as a football player in First & Ten. Pete runs off a list of requirements for the funeral, starting with the fact that the casket has to be made of steel. David points out that the "Camry" model is stainless steel, but Pete thinks that sounds foreign (And get it? Camry? Toyota? Never mind). After being assured that it's made right here in America (just like the Toyota Camry, for that matter), he also demands that the casket be airbrushed in midnight purple with orange flames, just like the DGDJ's Harley. "That is one hell of a bike," exclaims Nate, as he studies the picture Pete hands over. Pete also hands them a picture of the Widow DJ, which he wants printed on the inside of the coffin, "so she's looking down on him for all eternity." "That was Jesse's favorite picture of me," she says while both Nate and David examine it and raise their eyebrows in surprise. "I was Hustler's Beaver Hunt, April of '86." Heh. "That's uh...a very nice picture of you," manages Nate. Pete also adds in that they'll be needing a keg of Bud and a few cases of Jack in order to put on "one big-ass Christmas Day funeral." Nate tries to explain that Christmas is the only day the funeral home is closed, but Pete quickly offers to pay whatever it takes. "A big-ass Christmas Day funeral it is," snots David, who's laying on the money-grubbing thing a little thick here so we'll get the contrast with The Late Nate later on.
Speaking of later on, we now cut to Nate and David, upstairs at the kitchen table. Nate is upset to be working on Christmas Day, but David rightfully points out that they've had worse Christmases. "Yeah, we have," sighs Nate. "Do you remember the last time you saw him?" David thinks for a moment, but can't come up with an answer. Nate, on the other hand, remembers quite clearly, and the slow zoom into his face makes it clear that it's time for a flashback.
Dear God, that hair! I'd forgotten how much they've cleaned up Peter Krause now that he's a respectable (non-gay) mortician and everything. He's back to his season one hairdo in this scene, and it really looks like he's wearing some sort of animal pelt on his head. Assuming, of course, that whatever animal it was died in a bizarre accident involving an electrical shock and a giant vat of hair mousse. Anyway, he and Claire are out on the back porch after last year's Thanksgiving dinner, sharing a joint and bitching about the commercialization of Christmas. Suddenly, Dad appears, smoking a joint of his own, and everyone hurries to hide their respective vices. Nate and his father make some small talk, with Nate opining that they've got a lot to be thankful for. "Either that or we've lowered our expectations so much we've given up on anything better than this," says Dad, before breaking out in the giggles. I've got say, Richard Jenkins does a phenomenal job here of portraying a man who is stoned off his ass, knows damn well that his kids are stoned off their asses, and truly appreciates the irony of not being close enough to them to really talk about it. They banter a bit more, and then Dad heads off to pick up a body. Claire, meanwhile, has a total wide-eyed look on her face as she watches the men in her life interacting. Damn, she's cute. The Late Nate's last words to his eldest child are, "It's good to see you, son. Take care of yourself," and then we return from the flashback to see David leaving Nate alone with his thoughts at the kitchen table. Hmm. Symbolic much?
The Ghost of Christmas Past: I am the Ghost of Christmas Past. I have come to show you the error of your ways.
Aaron: Um, okay. You do know I'm Jewish, right?
The Ghost of Christmas Past: Oh. Well, that's gonna be a problem.
Aaron: Why? You can't do Chanukahs past?
The Ghost of Christmas Past: Hell no. We're union. I don't even have to work Kwanzaa.
Aaron: Wow. Good deal.
The Ghost of Christmas Past: Yep. Jimmy Hoffa's our shop steward.
Aaron: Wow. Jimmy's in heaven? I always assumed ending up in the Meadowlands was a one-way ticket to hell.
The Ghost of Christmas Past: Only for Bill Buckner.
And now it's time for the mandatory "Ew" scene of the week. Since the writers have apparently decided they've gone as far as they could go with disgusting corpse jokes (you don't hear Rico talking about baling wire and cat food cans much anymore, do you?), I guess we're now going to be treated to a disgusting Brenda sex scene in each episode. She's in a trendy store somewhere looking for clothes that are "so expensive only an idiot would buy them." She spots a handsome man perusing a rack of dresses, and notices that he's been checking her out, despite the presence of a much more attractive and less psychologically damaged extra standing right beside her. She moves over to stand to the guy, and in the interests of making a long, disgusting scene shorter and even more disgusting, I'll just skip ahead to the part where she grabs his hand and shoves it into her crotch. There's an unfortunately extended "grinding" shot, and then they're interrupted by the saleslady, who informs Finger Boy that his wife is waiting for him in one of the dressing rooms. Once he leaves, she also formally cements her role as my new hero in life by doing the one thing I know I'll never be able to do: kicking out Brenda.
“ You know, with the possible exception of Mike Binder's autobiography (entitled, no doubt, Hookers And Happy Endings: My Life As A Giant Asshole), I can't think of a single book on Earth I'd want to read less than Brenda's. ”
Meanwhile, over at Nikolai The Flower Guy's store (where floral prints aren't just for panties anymore!), the big bear is putting the moves on Ruth. The fact that their blocking is identical to that of Brenda and Finger Boy escapes the attention of exactly no one. "Did you not wear panties today like I asked?" he inquires in his inimitable Russian accent, and Ruth primly replies that she "most certainly did not not wear panties today...It's unhygienic." He just can't let the panty thing go, however, and asks her to describe the pair she is wearing. Be careful what you wish for, Nikolai. "They're not sexy," explains Ruth. "They're Fruit of the Loom control top briefs, and they come three to a pack for fifteen dollars at Target." I'll let the vast amount of product placement in that sentence pass without comment, because the fact of the matter is that I love Target, and not only because I just bought my new X-Box there, either. Everyone should shop at Target. Every day. And they can feel free to send me a check for saying so, should they be so inclined. There's yet more discussion of the various things Ruth could do with her panties (which leaves me with the oddly discombobulating image of Peter Krause discussing Felicity Huffman's panties stuck in my head), and then she gets all haughty and insists that Nikolai not talk that way at work. It's not until she slaps him and stalks off, however, that Nikolai lets loose with a hearty laugh. And it's about time, too. I've been laughing for the whole scene. I also think it's worth noting that only on Six Feet Under would I find myself giggling like a schoolgirl during a discussion of an old woman's panties while simultaneously being disgusted by the sight of a relatively attractive woman engaged in a public sex act. Something seems a little backwards about that.
And apparently, I'm not the only who thinks that way. Hooker Scrunchieface has shown up to put in another brief appearance as Brenda's sexual confidant. Perhaps not surprisingly, she feels much the same disdain for Brenda's actions that I do. She also asks if this means that Brenda is having second thoughts about marrying Nate, and Brenda psychobabbles about her "natural biological drive" and adds that if nothing else, she got "another chapter out of it" for her book. You know, with the possible exception of Mike Binder's autobiography (entitled, no doubt, Hookers And Happy Endings: My Life As A Giant Asshole), I can't think of a single book on Earth I'd want to read less than Brenda's.
Back at the Fortress, David comes downstairs to find a bare Christmas tree and a full box of ornaments. He sighs, and bends down to get started decorating when suddenly the memory of the last time he saw his father comes back to him. It's actually a pretty cool shot, as we realize that The Late Nate was decorating the tree at the time, and light slowly fades into the scene. Suddenly, a younger, apron-clad David emerges from the basement, and asks for help embalming a client. Heh. Well, okay, that's not actually funny now, but it will be later on when Rico shows up. The Late Nate tries to get David to relax and take a break, and even goes so far as to offer him a shot of rum. David declines, but they do take a moment to reminisce about how David always wanted to leave milk and cookies for Santa when he was a kid, but Dad kept saying that "what Santa really needs is a shot." "I always thought you meant a shot, like a shot of penicillin," replies David, and they both laugh at the follies of childhood. Also, do you see what they did there? With the constant subtle miscommunications between a father and his children? This show gives great subtext. All Dad really wants here is to spend some time with his boy, but David insists that he's just too busy. And as we pan back over from the couch, the light fades out, and David is once again crouched alone over a box full of unlit Christmas lights.
Now it's Christmas Eve, and Nate and Brenda are riding in the elevator up to her mom's apartment. Brenda mentions that Mom has invited a "special guest" for the evening, and that her last "special guest" turned out to be "a twenty-four-year-old Venezuelan pool-boy who makes up for his lack of English by being fluent in the language of power fucking." "I'll try not to get into a conversation with him," snarks Nate, although personally, I'd think a pair of semi-illiterate fuck machines like those two would have a lot to talk about. In the hallway outside Zhora's door, Nate stops Brenda to ask if she remembers what happened a year ago that night. She immediately thinks he's talking about the death of his father, and apologizes for not having said anything about it. Nate actually has to remind her that it's also their anniversary (if you consider fucking in a broom closet to be a first date, that is. And for the record, I do), and Brenda says flippantly that it seems like they've been together for twenty years. At this point, all of the hair on Nate's back suddenly coalesces into an unfamiliar thick, pole-like material that bears a surprising resemblance to a spine. "You know what?" he shouts. "If you don't want to be with me then don't, okay? Why do you treat me like shit all the time?" "Because I had a really fucked-up life," answers a defensive Brenda, "and I use sarcasm to hide how ridiculously vulnerable I am, okay?" On the one hand, I kind of want to smack Brenda for being so self-centered, even while apologizing, but on the other, I do realize that I would never do something like using sarcasm to hide personal vulnerability. No, sirree. Sarcasm is bad, bad, bad.