“You can’t take a picture of this. It’s already gone.”
“You can’t take a picture of this. It’s already gone.”
It becomes a haunting quote upon second thought, even more so because I’m using it as a subtitle. Every second is a fleeting moment, and nothing proves it better than a photograph.
When you bury a casket six feet below the frost line, it’s gone, and it shall not come back. But what are we without nostalgia or a piece of memory in our hands? Even if it’s already gone, we know it was here once.
I was 20 years late to the game. Between 2000 and 2006, I did not watch much TV, so I missed out on this milestone of a TV drama. As one of the earlier HBO shows, I now understand why SFU was such a big deal. Not only has it inspired the mass production of drama, crime, and thriller series that followed (on ABC, AMC, Showtime, etc.), but to me, it’s also the original of talking to the dead—not in a supernatural or paranormal fashion. It’s plainly about life and death in the broadest sense. When the characters talk to the dead, they’re in their own minds; it’s their conscience speaking the truth. It becomes a way of coping.
I hadn’t expected much when I started the show; I only wanted to see a bit more of Michael C. Hall, and he’s not even my favourite character. The other reason was the portrayal of the early 2000s, which was very warm and familiar. SFU is where millennials and the last batch of GenX come together to embrace the little time they have.
Then, there are also the boomer parents, who are in a hurry to live life to the fullest because they never had the opportunity to experience the life they had always dreamed of.
How many series start with someone dying? Lots.
As for SFU, every fucking episode starts with someone dying, because that corpse must end up at the Fisher’s Funeral Home. These dead strangers add purpose and perspective to the main characters’ roles, offering a meaningful parallel story or life lesson to each episode. I like how the Fisher family and Rico Diaz often relate to the corpses in the morgue, along with the little backstory they have on the deceased. And when lonely, those corpses are their only friends.
***Spoilers***
Nate is the most broken one, but not in the first season. He still had a life before he decided to stay in L.A. to be with his family after his father’s passing. And he met Brenda. His life took a big turn, and he decided to become someone he wasn’t—a funeral director. Of all people in the family, he is actually the worst at dealing with death, especially when he got sick and almost died. I loved Nate’s relationship with Brenda because they’re both so flawed and fit together so perfectly—their commitment issues and tendency to sabotage moments that seemed too good to be true.
