By Andrew Dignan
And I thought they got rid of that damn hatch.
Five months after its dazzling second season finale last May, Lost returned last night with the show very much back to its old tricks. Nothing on broadcast television is as ambitious or as frustrating as Lost. Even the best episodes unfold along a sliding scale of mediocrity-to-brilliance, and from minute to minute, you never know where a scene will land. 
So as was the case with A Tale of Two Cities a title that, coupled with the book Desmond (Henry Ian Cusack) favored last season, would indicate there are some Dickens fans on the show’s writing staff. The episode follows a familiar pattern of giving the audience a migraine-inducing amount of information in a very short period of time while giving us nothing completely concrete to comfort ourselves with. It's the sort of show that gives the viewer two choices: stretch before you watch it, or get cramps trying to catch up.
Returning to the show after spending a year fending off Tom Cruise with a bullwhip and a chair, co-creator J.J. Abrams resumes his writing duties along with executive producer Damon Lindelof, starting the season off with a wonderful bit of sleight of hand. We’re introduced to Petula Clark-loving, muffin-baking Juliet (fetching new cast member Elizabeth Mitchell) who’s hosting a regular book club. The drama of the moment is a heated exchange over the week’s choice in literature, as one of the circle’s snobbier members derides the poor quality of Juliet’s selection (network TV's most pop culture-savvy drama shows us that the book is by Stephen King, who’s not only on record as a fan of the show, but has also been known to sprinkle references to his favorite music, film and television programs into his elephantine novels) and points out that one of group’s absentee members would never permit such an infraction.
This domestic tableau is shattered as the world shakes around our contentious gathering, forcing everyone outside with eyes skyward. It’s only now, as the man known as Henry Gale (Michael Emerson) emerges from a neatly-kept house nearby, dressed in khakis and a buttoned-down shirt, that we realize we’re still on the island, albeit a part of it we’ve never laid eyes on before. Finally illustrating the horrific moment that served as the impetus for the show, we watch Oceanic flight 815 as it splits in half mid-air, forcing an eerily calm Gale (whose real name we learn is Ben) to direct familiar faces Ethan (William Mapother) and Goodwin (Brett Cullen) to infiltrate the ranks of survivors. We then pull way out to reveal an idyllic community of homes built amongst the wilds of the jungle, like a desert oasis or a moon-base, far removed from the smoking wreckage at the far ends of the island.
If the lasting question posed by season two was “Who are you people?”, then Lost seems willing to up the ante in showing us that the so-called “Others” seemed to have been living quite comfortably before that fateful day Desmond chose not to push the buttons. These people could not have possibly anticipated an airplane crash, and yet their level of readiness and focus would seem to indicate otherwise. And why did Ethan and Goodwin forgo aliases and disguises when it was standard practice for Ben and Tom (MC Gainey)?
Alas, in posing tantalizing possibilities and in sheer inventiveness, not much else in the episode matches the opening; instead, "A Tale of Two Cities" regresses into disconcertingly familiar scenarios.
Season Two of Lost was widely recognized as a step in the wrong direction, forcing its cast to act out thumb-twiddling social control experiments that centered on punching 6 numbers into an antiquated computer every 108 minutes. Not merely dramatically limiting, it encouraged the show to crawl deeper inside its own mythology rather than expanding outward. Just as the characters were made prisoners of the ever-ticking clock and the mystery that accompanied it, Lost stuck in the corner it had written itself into. When Locke (Terry O’Quinn) and Desmond blew the hatch sky high last season, the accompanying catharsis was like a blast of warm air. Finally, these people could stop jumping through silly hoops and start getting to the bottom of things.
Well, not quite yet. As in last season, our huge cast is scattered to the wind, with those receiving the most immediate attention being Jack (Matthew Fox), Kate (Evangeline Lilly) and Sawyer (Josh Holloway) whom last we saw were betrayed by Michael (Harold Perrineau) and taken away blind-folded to the hidden lair of “the Others.” The fate of Locke, Desmond, Eko (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje) and the rest of the gang will have to wait for next week. As for our three abducted castaways they’re still getting used to their new surroundings which feel equal parts B.F. Skinner and The Prisoner. Using the flashbacks as a barometer, this is a Jack episode, which once again reminds us that the character’s passive, Alpha-male routine is more interesting in the wilderness than it is back in the real world.
After waking up in a dank cell that looks like a leftover location from one of the Saw films, Jack screams, stomps, and throws himself about the room until Juliet (she of the opening book club) emerges behind a thick piece of glass in an observation room next door. In a show where earnestness often walks hand-in-hand with treachery, Juliet’s especially hard to read; she tries to bring Jack back from the brink of insanity with kind words and a grilled cheese sandwich “fresh from the frying pan.” Like the rest of the Others, Juliet possesses a spooky-level of intel on the castaways which would seem to extend into present day activities, but there’s a forthrightness to her that would be reassuring if the show hadn’t taught us to be perpetually on guard. After a violent escape attempt leads to her and Jack to near-drowning, Juliet authoritatively punches out Jack (which probably speaks more to Abrams’ love of action girrrrrls and less to the fortitude of Jack’s jaw), returns him to confinement and calmly informs him they’re in an underwater chamber codenamed “the Hydra.” She possesses a thick folder of information on Jack as well as his ex-wife Sarah (Julie Bowen).
Jack spends much of the episode reflecting on the dying days of his marriage, with him in full-tilt paranoia and jealousy mode—apropos of nothing we’ve seen in his character in the past, by the way—stalking his soon to be divorced missus and going so far as accusing his alcoholic father (John Terry) of sleeping with her. I’ve always felt this show's flashbacks were largely pointless and used to pad the show out with Emmy-bait backstory, and “A Tale of Two Cities” does nothing to disprove that suspicion. Jack’s obsessive personality has been covered at length in previous episodes; conjuring up a Schrader-esque mini-narrative to hammer home his isolation and unease in his new situation is working overtime the name of garden variety psychoanalysis.
But isolation would seem to be the word of the day as Jack never comes into contact with either Sawyer or Kate during the episode; they themselves are acting out their own bizarre experiments in control. Sawyer’s been confined to an open air cage (a polar bear cage?) with a complicated feeding apparatus that keeps him busy in between making wise cracks towards a detainee (Blake Bashoff) across the way. This younger man, Karl, can break out of his cage at will, and involves Sawyer in a run-and-gun escape that doesn’t end well for either of them. After both are re-captured, a bloodied and beaten Karl is forced to apologize to Sawyer for getting him caught up in his crazy plan before being dragged away to a fate left to our imagination. The Others seem barely chagrined by Karl (facial lacerations notwithstanding), leading me to believe he may not be quite the captive he appears.
Karl’s newly vacated cage will ultimately go to Kate, who's granted a warm shower, a clean sundress, and a tasty breakfast on the beach with Ben. After inquiring why she deserves such amenities, Ben coldly informs her it’s something to hold onto because “the next two weeks are going to be very unpleasant,” reminding us that Emerson can do coiled menace better than anyone else on television. With his glassy eyes, bird lips and demeanor like still waters, Emerson’s Ben has always given off a serial killer vibe, even when imprisoned under the Henry Gale moniker last season. There’s a touch of Hannibal Lecter in the way Ben dissects Kate’s seemingly agenda-free questions, rooting around for answers to the query that’s served as message board fodder across the web for years now: Jack or Sawyer? 
The Emmy-winning actor (who tellingly won for playing a multiple-murderer on The Practice) got the show through a many a dull patch last season, so I’m glad he’s been delegated to the role of show regular for Season Three; things will never become predictable as long as he’s around. To that end, one can’t help but wonder if a scene where he barricades Juliet in a room quickly filling with rising water is motivated by cowardice, survival or the fact that they may have been former lovers and the split was acrimonious.
The episode is especially disappointing not just for its regression into mind games and interrogations, but for the lack of dynamic inherent in its design. Kate, Jack and Sawyer are each given a different piece of the puzzle, but we never get the opportunity to see them compare notes. These characters in and of themselves aren’t especially interesting, and are never far removed from the various comic books and storytelling archetypes that inspired them. It’s only the island microcosm--the proximity that forces all these personalities to bump up against one another--that brings these ciphers to life. I can only hope that future experiments the Others have in store for our star-wattage trio will require them to share a cage for a spell.
I’m also continuously amazed that a show this densely archival, so brimming with visual clues just inside the frame and unelaborated-upon literary and philosophical allusions, insists on underlining the simplest plot and character shadings. I’ve already touched on Jack’s flashbacks, but what about the episode-ending stinger where we learn Henry Gale’s real name, which had been obvious since the pre-credits sequence? How a show this smart can continue to lob softballs at the same audience it presumes to challenge every week and not get smashed in the face is a mystery. In the end, neither the casual nor the devout viewer are completely satisfied. Sounds more like a tale of two target demos to me.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Lost Thursdays: Season Three, Ep. 1: "A Tale of Two Cities"
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19 comments:
While this wasn't perfect (or even as good as last season's wonderfully disorienting opener), I'm inclined to find this better than you did. I give more developed thoughts than this at my place (click on my name, since I could never figure out links).
While I agree the show is hardly ever subtle, the premiere showed it's willing to be MORE subtle this year than it was last year (last year, we would have gotten a scene of Jack weeping while admitting he basically killed his father -- not true, but the sort of guilt he would take upon himself). Also, for a show that has to deal with network interference and placating an audience of 15-20 million on a weekly basis, it's admirably willing to make its main character a big jackass. This is not to suggest that it automatically wins points for doing so, but Jack's jackassery grows out of something that we see all of the time in cinema but rarely in TV -- an examination of the thin line between being a hero and being an obsessive jerk. Jack's compulsive need to save everyone manages to screw more people over than it helps (this was explored a bit better in the episode where he basically tortured Boone under the pretext of saving his life). At my blog, another one of my writers, David Sims, compares him to Seth Bullock on Deadwood. While Bullock is painted with a lot subtler and finer brush, the fact that Lost is willing to embrace someone who barely keeps an obsessive rage tampered down says more for it than you would think.
Hey, Todd: Here's the link to you and David Sims' rundown of the premiere.
Todd:
Took a brief read through your response over on your site and I think I identified a couple of basic tenets that are going to place us at odds over this episode. For starters I'm no great fan of Man of Science, Man of Faith and thought the Desmond reveal was poorly handled. I've come to terms with the "we're all connected" through line at this point as contrived and credibility straining as it may get from time to time, but that episode felt less like part of the show's grand design and more like a game day decision to goose the audience. Desmond's only introduced in Jack's flashback like 15 minutes into the episode, and done so in a really clumsy and forced way (let's strike up a profound conversation with this random guy for 5 minutes while I'm exercising) so when the ultimate reveal is made it felt a) not all that surprising to me personally and b) something of a cheat. You really want to impress me? Introduce the guy back in season one and then pull back the curtain.
I also feel that Jack (like almost every character on the show) becomes less and less interesting the more we know about his life pre-island. The problem with Lost is it reduces every action or motivation to an easily distilled mini-story that's called upon at a moment's notice, removing all mystery from the present day behavior and making characters who are already quite thread bare on the page even more easily-defined. To carry on the Seth Bullock analogy, how interesting is that character if every time we see him do something unexpected or bizarre we get a flashback to his days back in Montana explaining, for example, why a man like Hearst rubs him the wrong way (you see there was this evil coal baron who made him feel so helpless until the day...) This is one of the better casts on television, but the show does them no favors by externalizing every inner working of their personalities.
Did Jack's flashbacks reveal an element of the character that might make him look less heroic than expected? Possibly. Were they also derivative and hammering home much the same point made when, as you pointed out, Jack essentially tortured Boone in order to prove that he can save everyone? You betcha.
My immediate reaction after watching the show was how much more interesting "the Others" storyline is right now than the castaways, and while I'll concede part of that is the "newness" factor it's also because the show is keep its cards close to its vest with them. I’m left to wonder what exactly is going on behind Ben/Henry Gale’s eyes and so I’m never certain where he’ll go next. I'm terrified of the day we spend the better part of an episode exploring how Ben and Juliet first met and our recruited for "this crazy island experiment," which as both characters are now regulars, is eminent.
Most of the stuff I'm criticizing here is built into the show's structure and it's probably foolish of me to still aspire for the show to change its spots (incidentally my favorite episodes such as the Pilot, the Other 48 days, Live Together Die Alone as well the season one finale are the episodes that are less dogmatic in the use of the flashbacks) but if we must continuously break the trance of the island to the safer recesses of the real world in the safety of the past than I wish it wouldn't lay-out the characters neatly on banquet tables.
Andrew writes, "The problem with Lost is it reduces every action or motivation to an easily distilled mini-story that's called upon at a moment's notice, removing all mystery from the present day behavior and making characters who are already quite thread bare on the page even more easily-defined. To carry on the Seth Bullock analogy, how interesting is that character if every time we see him do something unexpected or bizarre we get a flashback to his days back in Montana explaining, for example, why a man like Hearst rubs him the wrong way (you see there was this evil coal baron who made him feel so helpless until the day...) This is one of the better casts on television, but the show does them no favors by externalizing every inner working of their personalities."
This isn't just my sticking point with Lost, it's something that bugs me about 90 percent of TV and movie storytelling. I prefer characterizations that do not resolve contradiction and that leave some areas of personality fuzzy or unexplored. It's truer to human nature than the type of characterization practiced on so many series, network and cable -- a character walks into the room for the first time ever, and gives you an expository speech telling you where they came from, how they grew up, what sort of person they are, etc. I'd rather just watch them interact with other people, or do their jobs, or otherwise go on about their business. You really nail this in your description of Jack. That episode where he tries to save Boone and causes him increasingly intense pain -- underlining the fact that this is really not about Boone at all, but Jack's feelings of helplessness and his compulsion to save everyone and prove he's supercapable -- was one of the more intense hours of TV I've ever seen; if I'd never seen a single flashback to Jack's past, I still would have known all I needed to know about him based on this one episode. Mystery causes us to obsess, to supply our own answers, and bond to the characters and the material on a more personal level; when writers supply the answers piecemeal -- or worse yet, dole them all out in one mammoth Rosebud-gone-horribly-wrong flashback, it removes the pretense of universality and gives us permission to stop obsessing and go on about our daily lives, secure in the knowledge that we know all we need to know about this character.
Also, with each passing week I am less convinced that the writers are interested in allegory. I think it's more about outsmarting the fans at this point -- proving that there's grand design to everything, even though it's increasingly apparent that there probably wasn't one to begin with. The tail is wagging the dog while pretending it's the other way around, and that's why I'm reluctant to commit myself emotionally to anything that happens.
On top of that, Kate has no chemistry with Jack and never did, yet she and Sawyer burn up the screen. Why the pretense of a triangle?
I'm something of a flashback pragmatist -- some are awful, some aren't and some are pretty good (though, admittedly, most of those were in the first season). Even if a flashback largely unveils something we already knew, I'm willing to go with it if the acting is any good. It's a flaw in the show's structure, to be sure, but it was one that seems as though it was dictated by structural and budgetary necessity (at least in the first season), when every episode couldn't cost $10 million like the pilot (you'll notice that the criticism of the flashbacks rose exponentially last season when, with the Hatch, there was always somewhere to "cut to" that wasn't an island location). Most of the characters didn't have more than two flashbacks in them, so they rely a LOT more on the actors now. In late season two there was something of a willingness to play with the idea of what a flashback was (flashbacks that took place on the island itself, etc.), and I hope they continue down that road.
Though I have to admit that I was amused by your idea for Bullock's flashback.
I'll agree with your criticism of the Desmond reveal, but I liked the rest of MOSMOF and its contrast between the trappings of suburbia and the apocalypse the other Lostaways think they're suffering through.
I think what I'm trying to say is that I don't disagree with you, but, also, I do. I don't know why I'm such a Lost apologist (well, I do, but the whole subject is essentially a blog post rather than a comment), but it strikes me as roughly similar to being a Stephen King apologist -- one has to wade through a lot of self-indulgent crap to get to what's at the core, but what's at the core is usually (at least) a hell of a story, well told. And sometimes it goes beyond that.
Great. Now I've admitted to a fondness for Stephen King.
Lest this turn into the House Next Door contributors talk about Lost, I'll shut up now and hope for others to weigh in.
"but it strikes me as roughly similar to being a Stephen King apologist -- one has to wade through a lot of self-indulgent crap to get to what's at the core, but what's at the core is usually (at least) a hell of a story, well told. And sometimes it goes beyond that."
I think this nails it on the head. To bring things back to the original post, isn't Dickens often the same? How much water-treading do you have to sit through to get to the poetry of "Barkis is willin'?" And I'll make the case that King is the best living inheritor of Dickens's mantle.
Re: Jack:
The question of "why a triangle" and "why give him a backstory that seems inconsistent" have more to do with who Matthew Fox the actor is, and less to do with practical exigencies of character. Even ensemble shows need a star, and Fox, with his Party of Five pedigree, was that for Lost. So of course he had to have a love thing with alpha-female Kate. Now that the show's success rests on the ensemble as a whole, the writers can stretch their wings and give Jack some much-needed nuance and depth. Personally, I was getting sick of his heroics and welcomed seeing him unhinged.
I’m increasingly convinced that the whole show is a con. Oh sure, I do think there’s a grand design, so to speak—there will be an explanation of sorts. But when we get it, it won’t be something specific or intricate: it’ll be something that can be explained fairly quickly and will create a general sphere where most any weird crap the writers think up will be explained. Not quite “it was all a dream!” but something similarly overbroad and undercooked.
I’m also pretty irritated about the way the show presents itself. Especially with the season openers, the entire show is predicated on the idea that it’s going to reveal a secret of the island. But it hasn’t revealed a damn thing. Think about it: what spooky island occurrence is actually explained by something solid and dramatically satisfying? The father hallucinations? The polar bears? The smoke monster? The biggest “reveal” we’ve had so far is the reason for the crash of the flight. But was that ever a mystery anyone cared about? Did you ever read or hear anyone watching the show say “wow, that was intense! And I wonder why the plane crashed to begin with.” Nope. But they had to explain something, so they chose something that didn’t matter.
And yet.
I can’t stop watching. First, because the mysteries really are compelling, and, though I don’t think the explanation is going to be all that complex, the show’s visual design, tone, and inventiveness give the appearance of complexity. It’s just got good hooks, and they’re damn hard to get out.
And second, despite the show’s real weakness as a long-form narrative—it’s moved from place to place but unlike BSG, The Sopranos, The Wire, etc.. it hasn’t really developed beyond piling on the weirdness—it’s pretty solid from episode to episode. The production values, acting, dialog, are all quite good, maybe even very good, and the mini-narratives, the little character arcs are, especially compared to what’s typical for TV, nicely built. They don’t tell us much about the grand design, but as individual entities, they’re rather effective.
So I'll remain frustrated , but I'll also keep on watching. Which, it seems, is the show's goal.
I would like to extend an invitation to you to join in on a collective blogging section of our upcoming winter issue of Reconstruction. The issue is the “Theories/Practices of Blogging.” In addition to the special section of posts on blogging there will be about a dozen essays on blogging.
The deadline is October 20th.
Our intent in this section of the issue will be to collect a wide range of bloggers and link up to their statements in regards to why they blog (something many of us are asked) and any statement they have on the theories/practices of blogging.
If you already have a post on this you can feel free to use it, or, if you are interested, you can submit a new one.
We will link to each statement from the issue at our site, with the intent of creating a hyperlinked list of statements on blogging that can serve as an introduction to blogging (or an expansion of knowledge for those already blogging).
If you are interested please contact me at mdbento @ gmail.com
I thought this was one of the worst episodes in the show's history -- a monotonous, obvious, repetitive slog through the same plots and themes (Jack has daddy issues; Jack always needs to "fix something"; Kate and Sawyer have the hots for each other; Ben-ry Gale is creepy and calmly menacing, etc.) that were already thoroughly traversed last season.
As always, the characters behaved more like the pawns of a lazy screenwriter than actual human beings -- Kate and Sawyer see each other for the first time since being abducted by the Others, and rather than attempt to ascertain what the hell's going on ("Where'd they take you? Why are you wearing handcuffs? Where are we? How long have we been here? How many of them are there? Where's Jack?"), they have a flirty conversation and share some food.
The episode's opening scene was one of its most maddening -- in the span of about three seconds, Ben watches a plane explode over the island, immediately determines that there will be a large group of survivors, and launches an elaborate plan to infiltrate their ranks. Andrew pointed out that their level of readiness would seem to indicate that they knew it was coming, but the entire scene still felt off -- they knew something momentous was on the way, but still had time to bake muffins and have a book club meeting?
I know I said I would shut up, but I do agree the writers probably have an explanation for what's happening that's sure to please almost no one. At this rate, Lost has become something where what YOU think about what's happening almost says more about you, yourself, than it does about the show. Whatever the writers have can't possibly be as intricate as the dozens of incredibly detailed fan theories.
vic: Amen, brother. The failure of these characters to talk to each other -- to share information in an organic way, or to seek it when it's important -- is probably the main reason I booted this show off my season-pass list last May. I don't need to see Terry O'Quinn badly bewigged in yet another flashback about his kidney-yoinking daddy. I need to see these people behaving in a way I can relate to, and they just don't.
vic:
Excellent catch w/r/t the out of place flirty banter between Kate and Sawyer. It had a very Indy and Marion feel to it, which is cute on a surface level but when you come right down to it speaks either to the shallowness of the character or the obliviousness of the writers.
And I think we can all agree that Sawyer/Kate/Jack has moved clear into "who gives a shit?" territory. Somewhere along the way every sexually available woman on the show has been killed off leaving this lop-sided triangle to set hearts a flutter and it hasn't been interesting to watch since season one. As Matt pointed out, Jack and Juliet had a lot more chemistry together than he's had w/ Kate in ages. What I find sort of baffling though, is how Abrams, who built his television career writing for smart young women on Felicity and Alias allowed the show to turn into a boys club.
todd:
I can respect your defense of the show using the "Stephen King" argument, not only because the show seems to acknowledge as much with this episode (one can almost transport the bitchy rant from the book club about how "it's pure popcorn" and "a garden variety religious metaphor" being applied to discussions of this show) but because I recognize many of the same strengths and failings in the show as well, and ultimately that's why I keep coming back to watch. I will say this though: The Stand, which strikes me as a pretty clear harbinger of Lost, went a similar route with the various archetypes coming together model without them coming across as quite the walking clichés that they do on this show. Granted that was an epic novel but there’s a way to tell a story this way and still turn it on its ear. Good point though about the show as Rorschach test. If the show could somehow encompass that idea into its “final solution” I would probably walk away from the whole endeavor with a fair amount of respect for it.
as for the "episode-ending -stinger": I didn't see it that way. To me, the final exchange served less to "reveal" Ben's identity as to address the strained relationship of Ben and Juliet. But that's just me, I guess.
I know I'm late to the game here, but I thought the exact same thing about Indy and Marion; esp. because of the scene in Raiders when Bellocq dresses Marion up in the white dress. Which is then further reflected in Sawyer's and Kate's banter...
Wow. This has all been really satisfying to read.
Just so you know, I'm a recovering Lost viewer. After the first season and maybe two episodes of the second seasons, I had to do something radical; I had to go cold turkey.
I was just getting more and more angry at the way the show at distrusted and disrespected me, the viewer. I know that's harsh language, but that's exactly how I felt. The cliff hangers within cliff hangers just became obscene. I mean, I swear, I'll come back after the commercial even if someone's life is not hanging by a jungle vine. Jesus.
And, as Pete was getting at, the six new mysteries for every one (not really) revealed, became tiresome and really does begin to feel like a con. And just plain disrespectful on such a smart show. I understand the pressure to throw a wide net, but I think it's a misguided notion: the huge number of people who are hooked on the show would remain hooked minus maybe 50% of the cheap shots, and those of us who felt exploited might still be watching.
Being a borderline inappropriately preoccupied Deadwood fan, I must shout YES! to the Seth Bullock (or any Deadwood character) analogy. I laughed outloud at your Montana flashback, Andrew. People talk so much about the writing on Deadwood -- rightfully. It is remarkable. But what is left unsaid is just as remarkable. What is spoken in the silences on that show can be breathtaking -- a testament to the acting, of course, as well as the writing.
The Lost/Deadwood character development comparison is fascinating to me, an almost perfect illustration of the more-can-really-be-less principle. The Lost characters become less and less interesting the more their (irritatingly simplistic) motivations are revealed; the Deadwood characters become increasingly layered and compelling with very little back story. This is not because of some mystical effect of "filling in the blanks however you want to," in my opinion -- though the show does have a kind of magical alchemy in all sorts of it-shouldn't-work ways -- but because, as a couple of people have said concerning Jack's treatment of Boone, their complexity is revealed through their actions. These actions do include judicious references to thier lives before Deadwood of course, but almost always in an enriching way, rather than a tie-him-up-in-a-bow-way.
But I don't want to give the impression that I wasn't taken with Lost. The first season had been taped for me and I watched the whole thing within days. I could bear the cliff hangers as long as I could put the next episode on immediately and very much enjoyed the intermittent superior writing. It was when I had to wait a week in between that it really started to feel like some kind of diabolical candy.
I like the fact the sandwich Juliet was about to give to Jack was slightly burned. Obviously the dear woman is not the greatest cook.
I think the trouble with "Lost" may be that the writers just don't have the discipline necessary for a long game, the kind of discipline David Milch brings to "Deadwood" and David Simon brings to "The Wire." J.J. Abrams is an absentee landlord with ADD. The first two seasons of "Alias" were really good, but the last three often spun into complete ridulousness or endless re-treads of ground already covered, a pattern "Lost" seems to be slipping into. The first season of "Lost," before it seemed to became purposefully obtuse to prolong the life of the series, was the best. It remains to be seen whether they can bring it back to that level, or will continue to rotely milk it like a cash cow.
good conversation you guys are having here.
I would just chime in to say
a) that the opening sequence was very effective. The idea that Benry presumed there would be survivors was a stretch, but it does seem clear that the Others have a protocol in place for dealing with people who blunder into their hidden bubble.
i just thought the fact that the others have built this little Truman Show/Robinson Crusoe suburban world is intriguing and raises a host of questions about who they are and whatever happened to the Dharma Initiative.
there were two occurrences that are interesting to juxtapose. On the hand, the Others seemingly 1) didn't know this particular crash was coming and 2) didn't know the anything about the people on the plane. On the other hand, they were able to work up a full dossier on Jack and, presumably many of the other survivors, within two months.
The dossier, as well as the energy and infrastructure needed to create their little neighborhood, raises questions about what the Others' link to the outside world is. It's clearly more than just the supply drops in perpetuity mentioned in the Sri Lanka video.
not much happened in the rest of the opener, but that was okay with me. as long as there's the promise of a new episode next week and not, like last year, two repeats.
b) i have faith the answer to the island and the dharma initiative will be pretty satisfying. i think they've figured it out and won't give us some vague mumbo jumbo "it was all a dream/other dimension" deal.
the others' reaction to the plane crash works against the theory that the survivors' memories are somehow implanted, because if that's the case the others don't seem to be in on the plan. Of course it's quite possible the Others too are pawns in a game they don't understand.
If the memories aren't implanted somehow, then we're looking at a different sort of answer entirely with regard to how the survivors seem to have been predestined to wind up on the island and may in fact have been selected for reasons unknown to us now.
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