Are you watching this?

"Everything happens for a reason."  That’s what Ruth says to her sister,
who’s convinced she killed her best friend.

Well, she didn’t exactly kill her.  It’s just that she implored her to go
hiking.  Basically forced her.  And then, Fiona fell off a ridge in Topanga
Canyon, hundreds of feet to her death.

"Entourage" is about stars.  Those larger than life people we put our faith
in who are ultimately two-dimensional frauds.  People like Tom Cruise.  I just
watch the show because Jeremy Piven is so good as Ari.

That’s exactly the point.  Talent.  Not many people have it.  And Patricia
Clarkson, who is not trading on her beauty, is never featured in the tabloids,
she’s ripping it up as Ruth’s sister on "Six Feet Under" right now to such a
degree I had to stop the show and come in and write this.

Oh, she’s being airy-fairy in the funeral home.  Telling Nate and Rico it was
Fiona’s time.  But then, when her Ruth comes home, Patricia starts to lose it.

Oh, she’s lying on the couch, desperate.  Not sure whether to fade into the
woodwork or take action.  Ultimately deciding on the latter, like a hospital
patient delirious on painkillers she rolls over and says to get her little black
book, it’s time to "circle the wagons".

Oh, what a great image.  Rounding up your friends.  Creating a cocoon of love
so you can cope.

But it doesn’t really work.  You’re reeling.  Death is like that.  They’re
gone, they’re never coming back, you have to endure life without them, and it’s
worse if you killed them.

Oh, Ruth is playing Patricia’s bullshit back to her.  But when things are
really bad, truth outs, Patricia’s not buying it.

A reason?

Then why did George Bush get reelected?

Patricia starts spewing.  Why is there a war?  Why are all these horrible
things happening?

Because people are bad.  Just like her.

It’s a tour de force.  The kind of performance that garners awards.

Oh, has "Six Feet Under" been lame this year.  All plot and no substance. 
But suddenly, the cavalry has arrived.  With Patricia Clarkson and Kathy Bates. 
They’re a tag team.  Playing off each other.  One taking over just when the
other reaches a histrionic peak.  Ruth wants to comfort Patricia, bring her
down, but Kathy says to let Patricia play it out, to let her self-exorcise, to
let her have her personal tsunami and then be calm.

That’s another thing there’s no reason for.  The tsunami.  Patricia is
careening through the kitchen, as if possessed, by her badness, by truth.

It’s kind of like the difference between Live 8 in London and Live 8 in
Philly.

In Philly they were playacting.  They had guitars over their shoulders.  They
were singing, they were dancing.

But not one itty-bit of a performance equaled that of the Who or Pink Floyd. 
Hell, Pink Floyd barely moved.  They let their music speak for them.

That’s what’s been wrong with the music business.  Talent has taken a back
seat.  It’s about looks, marketability.  Forcing the product upon the public. 
Whereas if you’re selling the real goods, talent, everybody stops in their
tracks, everybody wants a look-see, everybody gets invested.

Used to be record labels weren’t starmakers.  Rather, they were curators, who
found talent, recorded it and released the end result to the public.  There
was no head of marketing, no campaign, not even tour support.  The thought was
that something so good would find an audience.  And it did.

And it always will.

You can sell crap.

But talent sells itself.