Fucking islands, how do they work?
“Lost” is coming to a close, and though I’m still a couple of episodes behind, I’m already starting to feel a little empty inside. I’m not pissed off, though, like everyone else seems to be. There could never be a satisfactory ending to the show, and I’m not sure why anyone thought there would be.
The science-minded are pissed off that it’s supernatural, and the supernatural-minded are pissed that it’s not the supernatural thing they wanted. (Hell, I’m pissed that Richard is only about the same age as Spike was on “Buffy.” They kept hinting that he was really old, and pshaw. He’s only like 170. Whatever.)
But that’s just it. Part of the beauty of “Lost” was its ambiguity. You could sift between any number of myriad mysteries and see whatever the hell you wanted to see: ultimate televised apophenia. It only worked when most things remained unexplained — no one thought about how terrible it would be when they finally started making things clear.
And we’ve all been through this before. Beloved shows end, usually badly. Look at how “Twin Peaks” ended. We all recovered (eventually). You can even see these things as a learning opportunity. For me, the ending of “Battlestar Galactica” was good practice for attaining Buddhist-style non-attachment to television plotlines, for instance.
So…I’m just along for the ride. I’ll keep watching until it’s done, and I’m not feeling invested in any particular outcome.
Unless they kill Hurley, and then I will cut a bitch.