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Category Archives: LOST

Lost Rant Follow-up: Live Together Or Die Alone

My rant about Lost – I never expected it to take off like this.

Thursday on WordPress, for instance, The Curse of Future Tom was the 40th most popular blog. Doesn’t sound like taking off, until you realize there were nearly 300,000 different posts that day.

With a few days to think about it, since I posted my open letter, there are a couple of things I’m not completely in love with about it, but I’m glad I wrote it, and I stand by it.

An overwhelming number of the responses have been positive – people who felt just like me, who were simply happy to see their thoughts and emotions on the finale articulated and defended.

Closing in on ten thousand page views so far, I’ve blocked about thirty posts by people who I simply didn’t feel like arguing with. I was clear in the letter – I wasn’t opening a debate. And so if you showed up emulating the qualities I was talking about, well I didn’t feel obligated to post your comment on my blog.

My thinking was – get your own blog. It’s not that hard.

To be fair, most of the comments I blocked were either about my possible homosexuality, or about how stupid blogs were in the first place, so it seemed fitting.

But a funny thing happened. A lot of People Who Thought The End Of Lost Was Awesome showed up, disagreeing without emulating the qualities of the People I’d been talking to. I posted their comments, and we usually had a civil and interesting exchange.

Frankly, they had a lot of good points. Not enough to make me like the ending, certainly. But good points. I just couldn’t see moving on without acknowledging that.

So today, I’m going to clarify a couple of things about the letter which I think need clarified – based on some really insightful and calm responses to it, and also based on some personal reflection.

First, there was something weird about who I was talking to. I mean, I spent eight paragraphs really clearly stating, if you liked the show, and you’re still comfortable with people who didn’t, then I wasn’t talking to you.

It seemed like I couldn’t have been clearer about that.

However, sure, reading it over and over, I can see that by the end, I was really blurring the line again. It started to sound like I was yelling at everyone who liked the show, not excluding the people from the first eight paragraphs anymore.

Sure, I asked you to stop reading if you were just a regular Person Who Thought The End Of Lost Was Awesome, and not the pseudo intellectual variety, but I really doubt anyone did. I doubt anyone said, cool, see you later. At least, not because I told them to.

But again, that’s what I said, and although I was blurring it toward the end, I reiterated that sentiment. I even apologized. So when I received responses saying that I really didn’t mean that and that I really was insulting everybody, I was puzzled.

I mean, I could see how you might say, Tom doesn’t know what the writers of Lost meant, or Tom doesn’t have the right to tell them how they have to end it – sure. But the letter is a different story. I wrote the letter. I know if I meant the eight paragraphs or not. I meant them. But yes, I got many responses telling me that I meant something else.

Again, this letter was addressed to bullies, plain and simple. A lot of us felt really let down by the end, despite the fact that we understood it just fine, and a lot of people immediately began to insist, you either liked it or you were some kind of moron who didn’t get it. And I mean, over and over again, on site after site, that’s what you’d see, anytime anyone said anything about not liking the end.

The problem was, it was like arguing politics, trying to do it in comment form. Lost is like health care reform or immigration – it’s so complicated that it’s not conducive to sound bites or sniper fire. So I sat down and knocked out that letter in about an hour and a half, trying to articulate exactly how one could dislike the end, and still not be a moron.

But Tom, weren’t you also being a bully, in your letter?

No, I don’t think so. I think I was being Walker, Texas Ranger. I don’t think it’s still called bullying, when you push a bully down.

But to be sure, a lot of people sitting around enjoying the show without being a bully got beer splashed on them, when I started flipping over tables and calling the bullies out. That was really rude, and it turned out to be insulting to some people who most definitely were not asking for it. For that, I am truly sorry.

There was a lot of poison in the letter. Generally, I’m not crazy about spewing poison into the universe. But you also use poison to get rid of rats, and just as there were a lot of people who didn’t have the letter coming, there were an awful lot of people who did.

For that, I’m definitely not sorry. I turned out to be speaking on behalf of many thousands of people, and I received praise and sincere thanks a lot more than anything else.

Another blurry concept: “I could write a better ending.”

Yeah. A lot of people jumped on that line. To be fair, a lot of them jumped on it in a good way. I bet you could, Tom. Or, I wish you would, Tom. Or, it’d be hard to write anything and not have it be better than what we got, Tom.

And then a lot of people had a good old time, pointing out that I’m nobody and these guys wrote a show of truly epic of historic proportions. Who cared what I thought?

Fair enough.

I still think I could write a better ending, but all that means is, I think I could write one I liked better, one that the thousands of people who identified with the letter would like better, and that I could do that leaving the rest of it intact.

That I could let the People of Faith keep their redemption themes, their symbolism, their characters and resolutions, and that I could have given the People of Science a lot of the hard answers they were looking for. I guess I wouldn’t let you keep all of it, Faith Crowd. If it were up to me, I’d have gotten rid of that whole cork in a cave thing. I’ll stand right by that – I thought it was one of the most uninspired images I’d ever seen.

It seems to me that if an ending addressed both of those groups, instead of declaring the Faith crowd the winners, then it would have not only been a better, more satisfying ending, but that it would be in keeping with one of the central themes of the show – that we have to live together so we don’t die alone.

I’ve said before, I’m of the school of thought that symbolism ought to run parallel to a story, not be used as a heavy plaster to patch giant holes in the plot. That’s about how I felt about Lost. The hardest thing I could imagine about writing the show was pulling it all together, and then they just sort of said, we’re not going to do that. Put their hands in the air like Pee Wee Herman and declared, “I meant to not answer questions.”

Which brings me to another regret: If a stoner, etc, has to explain your show to everyone, then you wrote it poorly. That was clearly the most asinine thing I said, right there. The writers of this show are obviously not a bunch of crappy writers.

I’m going to characterize that remark as similar to something you’d say when you’re playing poker, and your pal busts your flush with sixes over sevens. It was a childish thing to say to a crew of writers who really obviously kept me hooked for six years. I didn’t get what I expected, and that doesn’t make me stupid, but it doesn’t make them crappy, either.

And all of that brings me to the end, where I called them sons of bitches – again, that was supposed to be in a jocular manner. The way you’d say it to your pal with the full house. You son of a bitch. I thought that by bookmarking it between the word “Namaste,” well, that the irony would be clear and so would the tone. So that’s not something I want to apologize for at all, but yes, I’m over it. Whose turn is it to deal?

Because what I was saying, was true. They grifted me, and they grifted a lot of people like me.

Someone in an interview would say, here are all these questions, do you guys know where you’re going or what? And they’d say, we’ve known the end since the beginning.

That doesn’t necessarily mean, we’re going to answer all the questions. Every time they responded, I believe they were intentionally trying to give the impression that they’d answer these questions. That maybe lying is too strong a word for what they did – they just misled us.

Even the series build up – THE TIME FOR QUESTIONS HAS ENDED!

A little bit of a difference, isn’t there, between that and “THE TIME FOR ANSWERS HAS ARRIVED!”

Do I think they SHOULD have answered more questions? Yes, I absolutely do. But it looks like they didn’t promise it. They just knew we were thinking it, intentionally misled us, allowed us to keep right on thinking it.

They played with our expectations, grifted us, and they even said they were going to do it, in the episode “The Long Con.”

To be clear, I don’t appreciate that any more than I appreciate getting sharked or tricked or grifted, for real. But again, this wasn’t a matter of not understanding the end, it was a matter of expecting a different one. A meatier one.

That doesn’t mean I’m a Person Who Thought The End Of Lost Was Awesome now. No, it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. But I’m finding it easier to direct my anger only at bullies, and I’d like to put something a little more positive out there in the universe, especially since suddenly, thousands of people are listening.

Lost was all about the Jack’s journey from Man of Science to Man of Faith. Lots of us think the journey ought to go the other way, but the writers of Lost didn’t, and that’s their choice. I don’t have to like it, but I do like their central theme about living together so we don’t die alone.

I also wanted to thank the thousands of people who took the time to read my rant, the thousands of people who said that it really spoke for them. For my part, I got a lot of my rage out, and it’s not healthy to rant forever. I might have hated the end, but I did love the show for a long time, loved it in a completely unique way, as far as television goes.

 
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Posted by on May 29, 2010 in LOST, Television/Movies

 

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An Open Letter To Anyone Who Thought The End Of Lost Was Awesome

Let’s just start from a position of mutual respect, because I mean it when I say that I don’t want any trouble. I’m not here to pick a fight, and I’m not here to assess your intelligence, and I don’t want to call anyone names, though it’s possible that before I’m finished here, I will do all of those things.

But only if you’re asking for it. If you are simply a person who enjoyed Lost right up to Hurley’s Church Jamboree, then I am nothing but happy for you. I am in fact, jealous of you. I wish with all my heart that I felt right now, about Lost, the way you feel. Please, treasure your happiness and joy and satisfaction – I have no interest in taking it away from you.

And by the same token, when I tell you that I, and millions of others, feel enraged and betrayed by the ending, that we are utterly stunned by the forest of unanswered questions, that we expected most if not all of the bizzaro plotlines to converge in a more direct and satisfying way, let’s just agree to disagree.

All I need you to do, is refrain from trying to tell us that we are stupid, or that we don’t “get it.” See, that’s false and it’s insulting, and that’s how problems start.

We all watched the same show, and we all watched the end. If you liked it – or even loved it – I don’t think you’re stupid. I think your expectations were different from mine, that’s all. By all means, keep your dignity, and I will keep mine.

You can even think of it as living together so we don’t die alone, if that rings your bell.

No, if that’s all right with you, then this letter is over. Namaste. Rock on, fellow human being. Please, take nothing past this point personally, because you and I can live in peace, my friend.

But you’re really not who I want to talk to right now. This next part of the letter is for a different kind of Person Who Liked The End Of Lost.

Right now I want to talk to every one of you posturing pseudo-intellectuals, who’s been blowing up the internet with your insipid insistence that the show actually did answer a satisfying number of questions, that the ending really was full of meaning and depth, that they really delivered the goods they’ve promised us for six years.

Those of us who didn’t like it, just didn’t get it, you’ve all been blathering. Because we’re stupid. Because we’re shallow. Because the show was only for super geniuses, like you.

I’ll tell you what, I’m not even going to debate the answers to the questions. I’ll bet there are a few things that I missed, no doubt. And I understand that I can extrapolate the answers to a lot of questions, and fill in the blanks for myself. Yes, I could have done that without watching the end, and you know what?

I could have done it ten times better. There. I’ve said it.

Don’t believe me? Give me ten million dollars and an island, let’s find out. Trust me, I’m not claiming to be a superwriter here, just pointing out the bar is very, very low right now.

You know that they didn’t have the WHOLE story together from the beginning, right? You know, for instance, that Mr. Eko was meant to be the anti-Locke. That they simply failed to hammer down his contract, and he split. So tell me, a major character like that and they just dispose of him for practical reasons – how does that fit in with the “all of this happened for a reason” theme?

That’s why the kids were disappearing, too. Because by season two, they’d look a lot older, and the plot was only what, a couple of months at that point? So they had to use a plot device, get the kids out of here. Yes, everything happened for a reason, all right. Just not very good reasons. Reasons unrelated to the story.

Your idea of answers is far different from mine. If you showed up in my bathroom at three am, and I said, what the hell are you doing here, you’d say, “I’m an accountant.” And then you’d be bewildered that I was expecting a better answer than that.

What’s this obsession with answers, that’s so shallow, you’d say, and then you’d be picking your teeth out of my sink.

What the hell was the island? You’d think they could have told us that, an island that moves, what is it, why the time travel?

Here’s you: “You’re so dim! The island symbolized the struggle of good vs. evil!”

But that’s not what I asked. The show started off about a literal plane crash, on a literal island that you could get to in a submarine or a boat or a plane, from our literal world.

I know what it symbolized, you arrogant ass. You can put your sock puppets down.

Because all along when they were throwing crazy plotline after crazy plotline at us, we kept asking the producers in letters and interviews and online, are you guys totally full of crap, and just throwing things at us, or do you know what you’re doing with all this? Are you going to hook all this together?

Don’t worry, the producers said, we know exactly what we’re doing. All will be revealed.

So, for instance, the time jumping was explained as a mysterious wheel that was stuck. When they said, all would be revealed, I expected them to eventually reveal what was up with the wheel. Now, eventually Widmore “explained” the wheel as, wait for it..

A wheel. A wheel they brought along, that they were going to “hook up” to the “energy pocket.”

Listen, if that counts as an answer to you, chief, that’s fine with me, but trust me. It doesn’t make you smart.

Okay, how about the numbers? Why the numbers? What was up with the numbers?

Yes, I know. I saw them written on the cave wall. If writing the numbers on the cave wall and having Locke Monster tell you with a twinkle in his eye that every character has a number, if that counts as an explanation to you, then I think maybe it’s time I told you, babies don’t come from storks.

Why would the numbers have to be entered every 108 minutes into a computer? Why, smart guy? Did you just say because the numbers add up to 108?

Seriously, I am not even going to spend sixty seconds looking up the numbers and checking, since the producers couldn’t be bothered to write their show, but would that really count as an answer to you?

Did Jacob manipulate the lottery, so the numbers would bring in Hurley? Or did the numbers become important because Hurley was going to replace Jacob, and he won the lottery with them?

Here’s you: “Not everything has to be spelled out, man. The pieces are all right there, just put them together and stop asking to be spoon fed. It’s spiritual, man.”

But see, when the producers said, “all will be revealed,” that’s what I took it to mean. Not, we’ll leave the existing pieces lying around the set, and you can use your imagination to put them together and form your own answers, because it’ll be spiritual. This isn’t a book of Mad Libs. This was the most convoluted plot in television history, and they said they’d tie it all up.

There’s no denying, they didn’t tie it all up.

I’ve seen a lot of you claiming to know all the answers, but also claiming to be somehow above explaining it to lesser minds. The Emperor sure has a nice outfit on, doesn’t he, genius? Are you 100% positive, that the joke is on us, and not you?

Jacob uses magic ashes to explain to everyone why he brought them here, after he’s dead? Seriously, you’re all right with that, and I’m the simpleton?

How ‘bout Jacob walks on up the beach on day one, or even day two, says, “Good news and bad news, everyone. Let’s have a talk.” You see how we wouldn’t need the Magic Commune With The Dead Ashes Plot Device, right out of the clear blue sky, that way?

My favorite is when I’m called a “so-called” fan. Because, now that I’m saying the ending sucked, it’s like the Indians are on a losing streak and I jumped ship. But this isn’t a baseball team, all right? When a show starts sucking, and you pretend to still like it, that’s not admirable. That’s you, being a posturing, gullible fool.

See, if I had really missed the point, and the point was really right there, then someone around me would be explaining it to me by now. The vast majority of my friends and associates have either never seen the show – and frankly, I envy them – or they are every bit as livid as I am.

You seem to believe, Mr. The End Of Lost Was Awesome, that we all missed it, and you got it. That you’re that much smarter than everyone I know.

Basing your entire assessment of your intellect on your television watching skills. You’re awesome at watching television. Go ahead and look in the mirror and say that a few times, see if you puke, cause I just did, a little bit. In my mouth, just typing that.

I’ll tell you what I expected. I expected them to not just provide an ending to the main story, but to provide an explanation for all the baffling things that happened. All of them. If they had done that, it would have been without question or hyperbole, the single greatest work of fiction ever produced, including all the works of Shakespeare and John Steinbeck and Charles Dickens combined.

Here’s you: “There’s no way they could have done that. It would have been impossible.”

Maybe so, that’s why we were asking, every time they introduced a new wacky plotline or a new wacky character, that’s why we were saying, dudes, are you positive you got this? You’re sure you can deliver a package this size? Cause you’re writing a pretty tall order here.

We got it, they said, with their John Locke twinkle. Don’t even worry. All will be revealed.

Then the sideways timelines showed up. I’ll tell you what I was thinking, because I’m so stupid. I was thinking, in physics, they say that you can’t change the past. That if you were to go back in time and try, you’d end up creating a new timeline that runs parallel to it.

But that’s just because I’m a slobbering monkey man who doesn’t recognize a decent ending when I see it. My consultation of quantum physics was all because I refuse to use my brain when I’m watching an interesting show, that’s all that is, right?

So anyway, in my sub-moronic hypothesis, I was thinking, the parallel timeline characters would then end up back on the parallel island, and that they’d end up in the parallel past as well, and that they’d set off a parallel nuclear bomb, and that the two nuclear explosions in parallel universes would be the source of the energy pocket.

Two nuclear explosions, causing each other, negating each other. And that the wheel was going to be half in one universe, and half in the other.

And I thought, the Dharma Initiative, being all about harmony, was created to maintain some kind of balance, keeping the two universes from crashing into each other and destroying each other. And that they were caught in an infinite loop, the one nuclear explosion creating the one timeline, the other nuclear explosion creating the other.

The struggle between Jacob and his brother would be that each was a representative of a universe, that each wanted his own universe to survive the struggle. That neither was good nor evil, just both of them selfish, and imbued with power somehow by the energy pocket.

Yes, but you’re the genius and I’m a slack-jawed manchild, with drool on my shirt, because a smarter explanation is, there’s a big, literal cork in a hole in a smoke monster cave factory, and the sideways timeline is a Pantheistic Pizza Party Afterlife Paradise Land, that all the characters created to be happy together in. That the writers killed half a season, Planning The Pizza Party, instead of answering questions that you just told me, they’d never have time to answer.

God, I wish that I was as smart as you.

Now, you might want me to come over to your blog and read what you think happened, but there’s a good reason I’m not going to do that. Several, actually.

The main reason is, the producers of Lost assured me all this time that they would tie all this up. They said, don’t worry, we know what we’re doing. They didn’t say anything about you.

They didn’t say, don’t worry, we’ll wrap it up in such a way that you need to have a stoner who reads too much Ayn Rand explain it to you on his blog. If you write something that takes six years, and then at the end, a total stranger has to explain it to millions of people, then guess what? You wrote it poorly.

The other reason is, I’m pretty comfortable with my intelligence. I’m not the smartest guy in the world, no doubt, but I’m pretty sure I’m not an idiot. And I have one hundred percent confidence in the intelligence levels of my friends. If there’s something I’m missing, one of my guys or one of my gals would have broken me down by now. Happens all the time.

But mostly it’s because you guys who are claiming that the ending was satisfying – you’re not fooling anyone. You’re a bunch of deluded Hot Pocket Munchers, and if Lost was speaking to you in a way that my friends and I couldn’t understand, then it was in the same way Spongebob Squarepants speaks to children.

In other words, no thank you. I’ll be staying out of your basement, freak.

Here’s the truth, they lied to us. They were even laughing about it, on the wind-up special, laughing about knowing where it was going and pulling plotlines out of their butts to kill the time. Like driving around town for six years, taking crazy turns down alleys and sidestreets and through parking garages.

You sure you know where you’re going?

Then six years later, they get on the interstate, and say, “See, told you I know where we were going. Cleveland.”

Not very impressive, even if you think Cleveland rocks.

Hey, I kind of like the idea of a Hurley Afterlife Party, but only as an epilogue.

The idea that HALF OF THIS SEASON was a Hurley Afterlife Party Planning Meeting, oh my god. Where’s Patrick Duffy when you need him, in a towel?

Listen to me. You did not understand the show any better than I did. We both understood it. You were simply satisfied with what little you received, and you chose to stay on board. That part I understand, and even applaud.

But next, you chose to judge the rest of us, for wanting what we expected. You claimed, you actually got what WE expected, even though you clearly didn’t, and you did it to make yourself look spiritual and wise.

If I look at a pile of crap, and say that I don’t like it, that doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. I understand the pile of crap just fine. I just don’t like piles of crap.

You do, that’s fine, and you prefer to call them masterpieces. Awesome. Grab a spoon, genius.

But you’re not fooling anyone. To the rest of us, you look like a little kid, pretending to read a book, holding it upside down. It would be cute if you weren’t spewing venom all over the place about how none of the adults around you can read.

Instead it’s simply sad. I feel sorry for you. On behalf of myself, and so many of my friends who have been fans of this show since the beginning, I wanted to tell you that. You’re not fooling anyone. Your behavior is sickening, your reasoning is weak, and we don’t want you to explain to us what it’s like to live in your world, or to pretend to.

Everyone this is an open letter, but please feel free to forward this to anyone you think might need it.

For my part, that’s the hairball I needed to cough up. My apologies once again, if you liked the show and you aren’t walking around being a dick about it.

As for the writers and producers, listen, good one guys. I appreciate a good practical joke, I understand you made a stack of cash, and we’re definitely cool, you and I.

You hit us with the old Kansas City Shuffle, and it was no one’s fault but ours.

Namaste, you sons of bitches. Namaste.

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The Curse of Future Tom

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Before the finale: Making My Peace With Lost

Then more recently: Lost Rant Follow-Up: Live Together Or Die Alone

 

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Making My Peace With Lost

I remember the first time I saw you, Lost.

By then I’d already heard about you. I’d read an article here and there, hear one of your writers talking to Teri Gross on NPR. I have to admit, I stalked you a little bit, before introducing myself. I wanted to know more about you, before I let you get close to me.

The word was, you were in the process of completely redefining what a television show could be, and that’s the truth.

Lacking DVR technology at the time, it was too late to start watching you then, but you were pretty easy to avoid. You hadn’t swept the country like a superflu virus yet, and so all I had to do was stay off your website, and stay off ABC – not too hard.

Then at Christmas, I bought the whole season on DVD, and over break, my wife and three kids and I all sat down, and watched the first four hours, culminating in an unbelievably moving song about starting over, sins getting washed away, and I’ll just shoot you straight here. I was literally moved to tears.

Yes, and we powered through that first season in a matter of days, twenty hours of television, fumbling with DVDs and slapping in the next one before we even put the last one away. We were exhilarated by the constant sensation of swinging our heads around to stare at each other when something crazy would happen, and saying, “WHAT??”

And when it was over, we freaked out like a bunch of crackheads run dry. And we had to wait a year for another fix.

The feeling was – anything could happen, and that was not something we were accustomed to, on television. Usually, on television, you knew approximately what was going to happen by looking at the clock. If Monk thought he knew how the librarian was murdered, and the show was only half over, then Monk didn’t really know yet. And if there were ten minutes left, then he was about to figure it out.

If Raymond Who Everyone Loves lied to his wife about being sick, and he was really going golfing, you could bet your ass she’d walk in the house just as he was coming in wearing his clubs over his shoulder, and funny pants.

In Lost, the standard formula didn’t apply. A monster could show up, even though so far, the show had been viscerally realistic. A polar bear could run out of the jungle. A math teacher could suddenly, and very simply, explode.

It was like meeting someone new when all you were used to was romantic stagnation, someone exciting who made you laugh and gasp with surprise and feel alive. Those first couple of years – and I’m dead serious here – were simply magical.

If you were a woman, Lost, I’d have left my wife for you, and if you were a man, she’d have left me. No question, and both of us would have understood.

After a while, though, unpredictability and moments of jaw-dropping confusion became the formula. Defying the formula, was the formula. Pretty soon, we were getting a little nervous that there wasn’t anything behind the charm and good looks. Because if all of these crazy plot twists actually fit together in one piece, then this was a work of art, but there was a growing concern among us, that they didn’t fit together, and that would be better described as a pile.

Like any relationship that seems too good to be true, I started thinking, maybe you’d been full of crap this whole time, and that we were hopelessly blind to it all.

We broke up a couple of times. When Sawyer and Kate spent a few weeks in polar bear cages, we had a little bit of a falling out. And what you did to Billy Dee Williams – not cool, we declared. But I stuck by you when the time travel started, stood right there while a bunch of people bailed. I stuck around, but I harbored my secret fears.

Evidence was showing up that, although you swore you knew where you were going with this, that maybe you really didn’t. That maybe this was a soap opera with the biggest budget in soap opera history. That this was an Ashton Kutcher movie, and we were the wealthy girl you’d charmed with your lies, and that the whole thing was going to come crashing down pretty soon, and who was going to get hurt, Lost?

We were, that’s who. And so I really hope this last episode is the heartwarming scene where Ashton Kutcher demonstrates that he’s learned what love’s all about, and that he’s ready to grow up and try it for real. Trust me, if you do, I’ll swoon.

See, I couldn’t stay mad at you. You’d call me at one o’clock in the morning, sounding tipsy, and I’d always let you come over even though I promised myself I wouldn’t, and pretty soon, we’d be right back where we started, locked screen-to-eye, my mouth hanging open, whispering astonished swear words in the dark.

I have to tell you, I’m pretty alarmed at what you think it means to explain what’s going on here.

For instance, Jacob has magic ashes that burn and bring him back to life. That’s pretty handy, since he needed to explain to everyone what was going on, now that the Smoke Monster was kicking so much ass, but you know what would have been handier than that really contrived plot device?

Showing up on day one, at the airplane wreckage, going, “Hey, you guys, come here, I need to talk to you about a magic Island Light.”

Yes, yes, I know. He had to test them. It had to do with the game. The magic game which you don’t really explain. Sigh.

Also, I would have preferred “crashed alien space ship” as an explanation for the energy pocket, for the island itself. I would have preferred, well, practically any explanation at all.

Instead, what I’ve got so far is, the Island has always been here, and it symbolizes the struggle between good and evil, and where’d Jacob and the Man in Black come from?

They came from their mom, and don’t ask any more questions, because only stupid, dense people keep asking questions.

Really, really, not crazy about that, Lost. I’m all for symbolism, but I’m of the school of thought that symbolism should run parallel to the story, not that symbolism should be used as a heavy plaster, to patch enormous holes in the plot.

Take the sci-fi classic Alien. There’s very definitely a symbolic subtext there about feminine identity versus male domination. The design of the alien, for instance, is based on the phallic drawings of H.R. Giger, and they’re not just a little bit phallic. The alien is a giant, monstrous penis with a smaller penis inside him.

Giger has a ball (no pun intended) making intricate painting after intricate painting of monsters and weapons made of penises, and I’m not here to judge him. Let’s just say, I don’t think that was lost on Ridley Scott, when he made his design choices.

The alien orally penetrates its victims, implanting its offspring, which then destroy the victims’ bodies. Throughout the movie, the symbolism is clear, but here’s the good news: You don’t need the symbolism. Most people don’t even notice it.

Because the symbolism isn’t the explanation. It’s a theme, separate from the nuts-and-bolts decisions and practical circumstances that comprise the story.

Where did the alien come from? From a crashlanded ship, which crashed when the aliens overran it.

It’s not, where did the aliens come from? Oh, they symbolize male domination over women in society, so shut yer word hole.

That’s like saying, what time is it? Orange, stupid.

The symbolism is fantastic. I’m all for it.

But the story began and always has been very visceral and real. It saddens me to watch it descend into this arrogant sort of, “Oh, it’s your expectations which have failed you, not the story! Free your mind!”

When I was still really angry about the way things were going, one of your minions sent me a message in which he answered exactly one of the many, many things I needed explained. Mind you, he didn’t explain it, he just answered it.

Like if I said, “Why was the crashed ship transporting the aliens in the first place?”

And he said, “They were taking them to alien school!”

Big difference, between an answer and an explanation.

This fellow then went on to tell me that he actually knew ALL of the answers to ALL of my questions, and that he wasn’t going to waste his time telling me, because I was obviously not as intelligent as him, and it wasn’t worth his time.

That may have been the first time I’ve ever heard someone declare themselves to be intellectually superior based solely on their television-watching skills, but that’s what he said. And the thing is, I think he was serious.

But that’s just a guy who’s pretending to see the Emperor’s New Clothes, so people will think he’s awesome. He can’t see the clothes. Don’t be ridiculous.

You see, Lost, I could have sworn that I and millions of others were perfectly clear this whole time, when we kept asking you, “Are you sure you know where you’re going with this thing? You’re not just pulling shocking plotlines out of your butt, and then worrying about tying them up later?”

You kept saying, “We know exactly where we are going, and all will be revealed.”

I mean, I know you had to say that, either way. It’s like asking your kids if they ate all the potato chips – the answer’s going to be no, regardless of what happened.

I can ruin a perfectly good movie by thinking about it too much. Take Avatar. Very difficult for me to watch, since so many solutions to the plot were obvious early on. For instance, the big mine full of unobtainium or whatever, was under the natives tree city, and they had to go after that stash of it, because it was “the biggest deposit in two hundred clicks!”

Thinking, yes, you came here in spaceships, I have an idea. Land two hundred clicks that way, where the other big deposit is.

And sure, even if you really need what’s under that tree, you’re obviously willing to destroy the tree to get it. What’s with the tanks and the ground troops? You got a facility in orbit. Carpet bomb the whole area from space, be done with it. Start digging.

So maybe it’s time I follow my own advice, and decide if I’m on board or not, for this one last boat ride on Lost. Because they’ve made it pretty clear, my idea of answering questions is not their idea of answering questions.

Yes, like an emotionally abusive girlfriend who keeps cheating on me with my friends, I keep coming back to you Lost, and I feel like a chump now, as you’re leaving town for good, because all I can think about are the good times we had.

The hatch, the numbers, Benjamin Linus and Daniel Farraday. The Magic Moving Island Detecting Pendulum Room. We had some great times, for sure, you crazy, sociopathic bitch, and I wouldn’t trade ‘em for the world.

So we’ll hit the town, one last time, and I’m going to try and love you for who you are, with all of your beauty and brilliance, your mood swings and selfishness and drunken, bitchy arrogance. I’m going to remember that Raiders of the Lost Ark is still one of the greatest movies ever made, regardless of all that business with the Crystal Skulls.

And whoever’s writing you, whether you’re secretly Stephen King or exactly who’s on the box, I’m going to remember that I am absolutely nothing compared to your magnificence. The truth is, as a writer, you’re simply the biggest dude in the prison yard right now, and maybe a part of me just thought it’d be a good idea to take a swing at you, try and gain your respect.

My expectations have been lowered, my dear. Just like that old crazy girlfriend, I no longer expect you to marry me, or make me happy, or replace my mom. No, I expect you to do your thing, like Marilyn Monroe said. If I can’t handle you at your worst, then I damn sure never deserved you at your best.

I’m sorry, Lost, that I’ve been a little bit of a jerk. I’m just out of my head with remorse, that you’re leaving for good, and I’m frightened of learning that maybe you’ve been lying to me this whole time. That maybe, none of this meant anything to you, except a raft of cash.

But I’ll be there tonight, and I can pretty much guarantee, it’s going to end where it began – a grown man and his family, jaws hanging open, crying for the loss of our beloved and selfish old friend.

 
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Posted by on May 23, 2010 in LOST, Television/Movies

 

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Watching The End Of Lost Without Launching Your Television Into The Street

 

We’re going to have two choices at the end of Lost, and we’re all going to divide into two groups just like our favorite characters, and it’s going to be like The Emperor’s New Clothes.  They’re going to tell us that their ending is super spiritual and mystic, and that our expectations of clarity are exactly what they’ve been talking about the whole time.  They’ll tell us, not knowing is like life.  That mystery is what meaning is all about.  And that they’re going to leave a huge mulititude of questions unanswered because that’s symbolic of our own lives, how we never get all our answers.

In other words, they’re going to judge the very idea of expecting a good ending as shallow, and then hand that to us as an ending.  Then when we say, “We expected a better ending,” they’ll get a John Locke twinkle in their eye and smile at us knowingly, watching us try to get our tiny little minds around their wisdom and magnificence. 

Of course, you expect an ending with clarity, they’ll say.  That’s the point.  But our point all along was, stories don’t have endings.

And that’ll be the end.  Like the crane defense from The Karate Kid – if executed properly, no can defense.

Our whole show was about you not being able to criticize our show, they’ll tell us, without that critique revealing you as an unenlightened fool.  It wasn’t that they were too lazy to wrap it up – they’re like a kid who misses the ramp on his bike and somersaults into a bush, then says he meant to do that.

Just try arguing with them, if you’d like to participate in a Monty Python skit.

I’m positive this is what they’re going to do for several reasons.  The first is, that’s exactly what Stephen King likes to do, and as I’ve said, I’m pretty sure he’s got his mitts in here:

If you actually plan to read Stephen King’s seven book series, The Dark Tower, then skip down to END SPOILER.  I think it might be considered a spoiler.  

Stephen King spent seven books taking us on Roland’s quest for The Dark Tower, all the while never telling us exactly what the Tower was, just that it stood at the “nexus of all worlds.”

In one of the early books’ introductions, he even says it loud and clear, I don’t know how this story is going to end because I’m too artistic and old school for outlines, but I do know this – one day Roland is going to get to The Dark Tower and see what’s at the top.

Then a few books later, he mystically, nonchalantly said, you must all prepare for the possibility that it may not be Roland who gets there.  I said, Huh? 

Then at the end, Roland gets there, and Stephen King tells us, okay, he’s at the tower, and he’s about to go inside, The End.

But there’s another chapter, and the next chapter he tells us – again, suddenly talking right to us, about the book he wrote and starred in – I don’t think you should follow Roland into the Dark Tower, because the journey is what’s important, not the destination.  Clearly responding to some pressure from the publisher – Come on, man, you promised.  One more chapter, Stephen, that’s all. 

Then you keep reading, and he starts bitching at you about it – oh, you’re the kind of jerk who just has to see what’s at the top of the Dark Tower even though I just told you the journey’s more important.  Well, fine, go ahead.

I’m not joking, that’s his tone, right there.

So Roland goes on up there, and finds a door, and opens it, and says “Oh no!”

And the door transports him back to the first sentence of the first book.  I wouldn’t ruin a seven book series for you if I didn’t think I was doing you a favor.  I couldn’t believe it.

END SPOILER 

Anyway, that led to an earlier prediction of mine, that the last scene of Lost would be the first scene – Jack’s eye flashing open as he lies on his back after the plane crash.  If this is the ending of this story, then I hereby declare it the worst, laziest ending possible, ruling out actual footage of paint drying on a wall.

The other reason I know that they’re not going to tell us anything, and that they’re going to pass that off as mystically deep, is that they told us.  The crazy lady – just before she killed Jacob’s mom – told her impatiently, something like “Any question you ask will only lead to more questions.”

Not talking to the lady, I’m telling you, talking to us.  Like after six years of unanswered questions, followed by a series build-up this year which told us, “THE TIME FOR QUESTIONS IS OVER!”, now we’re learning that the explanation is, this is the Magic Answerless Question Island, which is why we’re not actually going to answer them.

When someone tells me the time for questions is over, I tend to think they’re going to start answering them.  All they meant was, we’re going off the air now, so we won’t be handing you any more baskets of questions.

A common thing for people to say in defense of the very dissatisfying ending that is undeniably cruising our way, is that there is no way to wrap up all these questions, it’s impossible.

My first response to that would be, maybe they should have toned it down a little then.  If you don’t have time to answer the questions, you asked too many questions or you’re going off the air too soon. 

But my second response is, of course they could answer all the questions.  I mean, not now.  They’ve got three and a half hours left.  I was very surprised to see how meanderingly slow they proceded this season.  You can’t wander around like that and then throw up your hands in frustration, when the clock’s running out.

Besides, they’ve got the most flexible plot devices known to man – time travel, parallel universes, people who don’t age, teleportation.  They could have literally explained everything, all they had to do was pick up the pace.  They still could, just say, then Richard and Hurley got in the time machine, and they went here, here, there, and here, and did these five things, and that explains that.

Remember Farraday?  Where the hell is Farraday, and his mom’s Moving Island Detectin Floor Pendulum Octagon Room?  Seems like maybe they could point a flashlight over there for a second, let a guy know what that in the name of the wide, wide world of sports that was all about? 

Instead they explain mysterious Jacob and his mysterious brother, with a mysterious shipwreck from somewhere we don’t know, and his mysterious mom who is murdered after their births by a mysterious woman, who wants them to stay away from a bunch of mysterious people out in the woods, because of a mysterious light she’s supposed to be protecting.

That’s a bunch of bullshit, everyone.  That’s not explaining anything.  You’re not answering questions, you’ve planted a lush, bountiful question garden.  Like the old story, about the world resting on a turle, so what’s the turtle resting on, etc. 

Turtles all the way down!  That’s Lost.  We’re a bunch of morons, because it’s turtles all the way down.   

I mean, a light?  This whole time, that’s the answer?  A light?

Oddly, I actually kind of liked the episode, if it had been last year.  If I was in the mood for a bunch of intriguing new mysteries.  But I was told that the time for questions was over, and then they hand me this Chicken Question Mark Salad, and tell me, “People who don’t like questions without answers hate freedom.”  And I’m supposed to salute.

So now, for my own sanity’s sake, I’m having to figure out how to lower my expectations to some point where I don’t launch my television into my front yard in a couple of weeks here.  What’s the bare minimum that I can stand to get told?

See, my problem is, I think that they think, that they already explained Jacob to me.  Remember when he showed up and touched everybody, throughout their lives?  I’m going to need to see what that was all about.  Remember when Richard showed up at John Locke’s house, when he was a little kid, showed him a bunch of objects, and got mad at him and left?  I need that explained to me.

What about the Dharma Initiative?  They had the underwater base, the two hatches, a little town, and the Others killed them all – I need to know what the Dharma Initiative was all about.  Do they think they already told me that?

Above all, I need them to not end it as something like And Then The Cycle Continued.  A new group of people crash, Sawyer and Jack are the new Jacob and the Man in Black – this is Shawn Schiller’s prediction here.  That the characters will take on the roles of ealier characters.  And then I’m supposed to be mindblown that this cycle goes on forever.

But if the cycle goes on forever, then why are we watching this particular group here?  It seems like the obvious reason would be, this is the group of people who put an end to the cycle.  If they’re not, then why did they get their own show?

My new right-off-the-top-of-my-head-prediction is, the sideways people all get on the plane for their own reasons, and crash on the sideways island, and the Others are their parallel selves, trying to stop them from doing the same thing again.

On the other hand, I’m just about to take my Time-Traveling-Sawyer-Was-The –Con-Man-Who-Took-His –Parents-Money, right off the table. 

I think a big factor is going to be expectations.  I think the key to enjoying the last of this show, is to drop them as low as you can.  What to expect, is a trainwreck.  Expect to be insulted.  Expect to have people point at the woman’s statement, that questions lead to more questions, and then frown at you for asking questions.

I mean, what if she said, “storylines do not need moved along at all, and it’s fine to sit here doing nothing.”  And then she picked her toes the rest of the hour and you said, what was that, all she did was pick her toes.   Would we all say, Ah, but that’s consistent with what she said, so it’s groovy and cool.

No, expect to be insulted, and that way, if you’re disappointed it will be in a good way, and you won’t feel like you got suckered.

 
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Posted by on May 15, 2010 in LOST, Television/Movies

 

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The Stephen King-LOST Connection

I’ll tell you in a nutshell – I think Stephen King is secretly writing or overseeing the writing of Lost.  Sometime later next year, after the first wave of box sets has sold, there will be an announcement.  They’ll break the story that Stephen King had a hand in it, and then they’ll release another box set, with Stephen King doing a commentary.

By then it will be obvious, for two reasons.  First, the end is going to be awful.  Stephen King’s idea of wrapping up a huge convoluted story is usually a lot of what I’m seeing on Lost right now – powerful unseen forces manipulate the giant cast of characters through the use of incredible coincidences, which are then supposed to be accepted not as lazy or contrived, but as a mind-boggling feature – and further evidence of  – the powerful unseen forces.  Another thing Stephen King characters like to do is “know” things, and then solemnly tell other characters, “I don’t know how I know it, but I’m sure.”  And then they all nod gravely – again as evidence to the powerful unseen forces, not the way people would really react to a sentence like that.  These people are acting exactly like Stephen King characters, and I don’t think he’s ended a book well since Misery.

Second, Lost is going to end with open tie-ins to another Stephen King project, so that an unbelievable and unprecendented spinoff happens.  See, I don’t think people would get on board for a standard Lost spinoff – who wants to go through this again?  But what’s going to happen is, they’ll spinoff into another Stephen King series.  Listen.

Stephen King – according to my wild, speculative theory – was brought on board by JJ Abrams, to help him tie the crazy plotlines together that he had developed.  They did this secretly, because the show was already a runaway hit and they didn’t need King’s name and because the secret itself would be worth money down the road. 

I’ll bet Stephen King came on board in Season Two.  That’s not really when the show began to feel like a Stephen King book, but it’s the first time a Stephen King book showed up on the show.  When we first met Juliet, she was having a book club party, and the book was by Stephen King.  Juliet described the book as her “favorite book.”   

Stephen King loves to reference himself.  You’ll find a copy of his books in any movie he has a hand in – and he’ll frequently do a cameo, too.  He referenced Stephen King in his Bachman books, too – in Thinner for instance, someone says, “You sound like a character in a Stephen King novel.”  For crying out loud, he writes himself literally into The Dark Tower – the characters come out of their world and interact with him, the writer – because he’s the most important person in the universe!

When the Man In Black shows up in Lost, that’s when Stephen King really has his hooks in it.  I’d say, when he came on board in Season Two, Abrams and his crew already had some plotlines laid out, and it made sense to keep them. 

The Man in Black, especially in the form of Locke, is exactly like Randall Flagg, Stephen King’s favorite villain.  The scene in which The Man In Black releases chained-up Richard from The Black Pearl mirrors the scene in The Stand, when Randall Flagg releases Lloyd Henreid from jail.   This is also when the psychic people show up, the people who can see dead people, the series of jaw-dropping coincidences being mystically accepted as “fate” – all staples of Stephen King.

I could go on for a long time about these similarities, but for now, that’s all they are is similarities, so they aren’t important.  I’m just seeing Stephen King’s fingerprints all over this thing.

What is important is motive.  Why would J.J. Abrams do this, and why would Stephen King?

 J.J. Abrams is the executive producer of the show, and his motivation for seeking out Stephen King, and for doing so secretly, is pretty simple.  First, he admitted when the show began, they had no idea where it was going.  They filmed a few episodes, not knowing if it would take off or not, and when it did, they were under the gun, finishing scripts within hours of filming.  Pulling things like polar bears and feral French women right out of their butts.

Once the show took off, J.J. Abrams was a pretty big name.  He started to get other projects, and the job of sitting down, pulling all these random plotlines together – that was a lot of work.  It would be an obvious move for him to bring someone else in, and a big name he respected would be ideal.  Stephen King, for reasons I’ll go into later, was probably jumping at the project.  They had a meeting, made a deal.

So maybe you’re thinking, why wouldn’t they then slap Stephen King’s name on it, since he’s a huge name in publishing?  Well, because this isn’t publishing, it’s television, and Stephen King is not a big name in television.  He’s had a lot of books adapted to television, but usually someone else writes the screenplay.  And they don’t usually win any awards, or rake in ratings on the level of Lost.

There would be no initial benefit to Abrams, in saying, “Good news, I’m handing this off to Stephen King.”  Because although he sells a lot of books, his name doesn’t mean “good quality television” or “good quality film” to most people.  His name at that point would have had a negative effect.   It was already one of the top shows, and had no place to go, really, but down.

But there would be a benefit down the road – because that’s a second wave of DVD box sets.  Just like when Stephen King wrote as Richard Bachman for several years, not making much money – until the secret was out.

Which brings me to Stephen King, and his motivation.

Well, first, Stephen King seems to like to write for television.   He’s not particularly renowned for it, sure, and when his books are adapted for television, he’s rarely the one to write the screenplay.

But there was Rose Red in 2002, and Kingdom Hospital in 2004 – right before Lost began.  What on earth could his motivation have been then?  Whatever it was, that’s part his motivation now, except with a bonus.  The bonus is, he doesn’t have to work under his own name, with all the baggage that comes along with it – and the project starts out as giant and lucrative. 

But that’s not the main reason he’d do it.

Stephen King likes to Show Everybody, that’s the main reason he’d do it. 

I’ve read about twenty-five of his books, and I know this guy.  He’s self-conscious about being typed as a horror novelist, as a fiction-by-the-pound page factory, who could phone in a book and watch it take off.  People say he doesn’t have to really write anymore, since everything that flies out of his computer is solid gold.

That’s the reason he started writing as Richard Bachman In the eighties to Show Everyone.  At the time, he had written so many best sellers, people were saying, “Stephen King could publish his laundry list, and it would be a best seller.”  So, he says, he decided to write under a pseudonym, and Show Everyone. 

He wrote them, sold them as Bachman books, almost got one on the bestseller list, and then someone busted him out.  And if you asked him at that point, what was your motivation, Stephen King – he’d say, watch this.  Because right when he was busted he published all of them again with his own name on them, and made about five zillion dollars.

And he made sure to tell us, in The Bachmnn Books introduction “Why I Was Bachman,” that he had published them secretly, to Show Everyone.

He also insisted on directing Maximum Overdrive.  To Show Everyone.  Not so much money on that, probably.  Kind of backfired.  But we’re talking about motivation, and that particular crapfest is a good example of Stephen King wanting to Show Everyone, whether it made perfect sense to do so or not.

The Bachmann books are also a good answer to anyone who doesn’t believe such a secret could truly be kept.  You might think, there’s no way we wouldn’t have heard about it by now, someone would have squealed.

Well, of course there was no internet at the time, but he managed to keep the Richard Bachmann secret for five novels.  And it wasn’t like he was the only guy who knew – there was an agent, a publisher, a wife, three little kids, probably some personal assistants, etc.  They kept that secret for years.

Stephen King is probably not too motivated by money – he’s got more of it than God – but it couldn’t hurt that there was a stack of cash involved.  So Stephen King’s motivation would be money – now and down the road – and his intense desire to Show Everybody.

Pure speculation, I know.  I was half-joking at first.  But then as I was writing, I figured I’d look up the writers of Lost, and cross reference their filmographies, see if they linked up with a bunch of Stephen King movies.

So the three writers are J.J. Abrams, Jeffrey Lieber, and Damon Lindelof.  I found no connections with Jeffrey Lieber, but when I checked Lindelof, I found this:

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0511541/news#ni2278954 

The link reveals that J.J. Abrams bought the rights to Stephen King’s The Dark Tower  – a seven novel series which leaps around in time and space and parallel worlds, and whose villain is none other than Randall Flagg – also known as The Man In Black.

The first line of Stephen King’s The Dark Tower is: “The Man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.”

Which reveals a very believable motivation for Stephen King’s collaboration on Lost.  It’s a believable motivation for Stephen King getting involved – because he’s going to use Lost to springboard his Dark Tower series to television. 

And it’s also a believable motivation for J.J. Abrams bringing Stephen King.  He bought the rights to a whole new show, while he was at it.  The Dark Tower is seven novels – it could be a LOT of shows.  And now he has a Lost spinoff which will hold onto the diehard viewers, and gain every Dark Tower fan in the world!

Yeah, but that was a few years ago, when they first made their secret deal.  Since then, JJ Abrams has sold the rights to Ron Howard, who is working directly with Stephen King.  They’re talking about making a television series and a movie trilogy, without Abrams.  My guess is, the reason that Abrams sold back the rights, was that he was not at all impressed with the crappy ending that Stephen King has provided, and is no longer interested in working with Stephen King. 

But I’ll bet the tie-in remains, and I’ll bet that Terry O’Quinn (the guy who plays Locke), will get cast as Randall Flagg/The Man In Black in The Dark Tower television series, and I’ll bet there’s a good chance that another Lost actor  – possibly Sawyer – gets cast as The Gunslinger.  That they literally end up on another parallel world in their last scenes, via one of the Island’s Wheels or Towers or Machines, and that The Man In Black will flee across a desert, the gunslinger following.

You heard it here first!

Or a simpler version is, the writers of this show admire Stephen King WAY too much.  Because I’m watching the show, and I feel like I’m reading a Stephen King book right now, and I’ve been plowing through it because I just have to know how it ends, but the pages are dwindling, and I’m starting to realize, there’s no way he’s wrapping this up.   He’s just going to take a little statue of a turtle, or a key carved out of wood, or a bunch of refrigerator magnets, or something mundane and he’s going to solemnly and mystically bestow upon it mystical powers, and it’s going to be like the Emperor’s New Clothes.

When you point out that it isn’t an answer and doesn’t make sense, the idea will be that you just didn’t get it.

But that’s not going to be it.  Right now, they’re spending an unbelievable amount of time telling me the geographic location of every single character, and then sliding the characters from one side of the board to the other, and I get from the preview for next week, that’s what’s going on.  Jacob and The Man In Black are playing a game, and the people are the pieces.

Maybe it’s God and the Devil.  I’ll just quote my twelve year old daughter on that possibility:  “Are you kidding, they’re not going to pull that crap are they?”

Why not just have them all blast out of the wardrobe, say they were in Narnia, call it a day?

I think a better end would be this:  The sideways timeline, caused by the atomic bomb, results in everybody getting back to the island and attempting to stop the atomic bomb, which causes the explosion of another atomic bomb.  And then the sideways timeline causes the regular timeline, which causes the sideways timeline, which locks everybody in a loop forever. 

Then Hurley does something cool, gets them all out of it.

I don’t know.  But I’m not going to count this Lost rant as a full day of Future Tom.  It’s just me freaking out.  Sometimes, I don’t have any idea what to write, and so earlier this week, this is what I started, freaking out about Lost.  I don’t know how I’m going to handle this horrible, horrible beating I’ve got coming at the hands Of JJ Abrams.  How could he do this to me?  I was defending him when people were sitting around in effing polar bear cages, when he took a whole season just to open the hatch door – and then didn’t show us what was in it – BECAUSE HE DIDN’T KNOW!

While I’m on the subject, you know why the Others were taking the kids in Season One?  Did they even tell us, I can’t remember.

They were taking kids because a whole year was going to go by before Season Two, and the kids would look a lot older then, and the characters weren’t going to age.

Like Hurley, not losing weight.  Hurly should lose weight, if Sawyer got to work out and suddenly show off his chest all the time.

And Mr. Eko?!  Did you know he left not because the script called for it, but because he decided to leave and they hadn’t nailed down his contract!  Maybe a DUI or something, I can’t remember, but how do you claim you had the story going the whole time, and then lop off a character and start wandering elsewhere?

I am going to systematically lose it for the next month.  If you see me out, wandering about, babbling, please put me in a cab or something.  Thanks for listening.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on May 5, 2010 in LOST, Television/Movies