Possible spoilers ahead. You’ve been warned.
If you had even one conversation with me between the beginning of November and the middle of January, you will know the following: I could not shut up about Lost. Perhaps I was a little late on the bandwagon, but that obviously did not lessen my enthusiasm – for a person who usually gets sucked into NBC primetime comedies, Lost surprised me with its undeniable ability to rope me in. I was up to six or seven episodes a day over winter break, which admittedly isn’t the most destructive habit a person can form, but I think we can all agree it isn’t the most productive either.
Well, I finally got to the end a couple weeks ago. I sat on the couch, curled up into a ball of anxiety and anticipation, all of my “OH MY GODs” muffled through my Spider-Man blanket. I had watched Part I of the finale the night before, and I was still in the process of finding my way through the emotional wreckage that Sun and Jin’s deaths caused. Needless to say, I was expecting tears and, more importantly, I was expecting my mind to be blown. My sister and I had come up with multiple theories throughout the series – they’re all actually in purgatory, this whole thing is just Hurley’s schizophrenia, etc. – so I was clearly hoping for something crazy and outlandish, for something that would make me say my most-uttered phrase of the past few months: “J.J. Abrams, pullin’ some shit.” Well. I don’t know about everyone else, but I was relatively unimpressed with the shit our friend J.J. pulled. The whole thing was real, most of the insane things that took place were explained; I wasn’t left confused about the details, major or minor, because reasons were given for basically everything. Except for a few things:
- Why, in the name of all that is holy, did Sayid never cut his fingernails?
- Why did no one ever bother to give the Man in Black an actual name, like Leonardo or Giorgio or something? No wonder he turned into a destructive pillar of black smoke, he had TWO MOMS and neither of them cared enough to give him a name. What did they call him as a baby, the Baby in Black? What did Jacob ever do to deserve a name?!
- Did you really need to kill off Boone so early on? (I think I speak for all when I say Ian Somerhalder’s unrivaled smolderhalder was sorely missed after season one)
- Soooo what was the overall purpose of the Dharma Initiative again?
- Finally, the big question. The Man in Black aka Smoke Monster becomes notorious for reanimating corpses and making them waltz around the island like normal people. For example, Jack’s dad – Christian Shephard’s coffin is found empty, and Jack sees him running through the trees or whatever. In this case, the black smoke takes over a dead body. HOWEVER, there is also the case of John Locke. Poor John remains in his coffin while a duplicate of his body houses the Smoke Monster. Eko’s brother, Yemi, is even more interesting. Yemi’s Nigerian drug plane crashed in the jungle in what I presume to be the early nineties, meaning he’s just a cobwebb-y skeleton by the time Eko finds his body. But then we see pre-mummified Yemi creepily staring at his brother through branches, skin and eyeballs and everything. His skeleton is still in the plane, but it has somehow been duplicated and restored by the Man in Black. Why are some bodies copied, while others are not? Did I find a really good plothole? I think I did.
All of that aside, I was disappointed for another reason. When I first started watching the show, I just kept thinking… wow. This is such an interesting portrait of humans and how they react to tragedy, individually and together. The first few seasons felt so full of humanness. Everyone was flawed, but they all had opportunities for their strengths to come through – there was love, there was anger, compassion, cynicism, hopefulness. Even though they were in kind of a crazy situation, the characters felt real to me, and they were certainly the main focus of the show. But after season three (or something close), I felt the gears shift ever so slightly. The purpose or “theme” of Lost got muddled and confused with all of these fancy time-travel schemes and so-called “history of the island” that I think the writers basically pulled out of their asses – they had also played with the idea of destiny before, which was really interesting, but then they just went wild with it later on. Maybe the creators were going for something more impressive and complicated, but I think people and their interactions and behaviors are impressive and complicated enough. I don’t know, maybe I’m just not a scifi person. But I was sad to see the profundity shrink in the midst of time flashes and thrown-together pairings.
Even though my incessant complaining makes it seem like I am pissed off, I’m really not. I was sad to finish the series, even if it didn’t go out with the bang I had hoped for. And in all honesty, I will probably watch the whole thing again because I’m just like that. So I guess *shout out* to Netflix for consuming my life, and to Olivia for being the kind of person who introduces you to drugs and then sits back and cackles maniacally as you spin out of control (just kidding, I like you and thanks for explaining everything that confused me). That, readers, is my take on Lost. Bam. See you later.