Please don’t read this if you haven’t seen the final episode of Lost, or if you ever intend to watch the show.
My island has been divided into two warring camps today, two groups of hostiles with opposing viewpoints and opposite philosophies.
On the other side of the island, by which I mean my house, is a person who thinks the finale of Lost is a colossal copout, a cheat, clear evidence that the producers and writers have been flying blind from the start. All their talk of having mapped the show out and “everything will make sense” is bullshit, she now argues. “I don’t ever want to watch or even think about that stupid show again,” she said a few minutes after Jack’s eye closed.
On this side is me: happy, content, moved and a little weepy over the gorgeous final notes of the series, those last scenes in the church, and Lost‘s vision of connectivity, love, loss and redemption.
- Honestly, this final episode was filled with characters reuniting with their long-dead loved ones. How could I not find peace in that kind of story?
Elizabeth hated it. But she is a pragmatist, and I am a dreamer, something that makes our relationship work very, very well. We’re like the black rock and the white rock on Jacob’s cave scale. We are order and chaos, yin and yang, and together we are an effective force.
If I were to say that to her, she would laugh at me.
I understand why she didn’t like the finale. She wants answers. She has wanted answers since the island started skipping through time. And she didn’t get them. Not the ones she really wanted, like “Where’s Walt?” and “Who was in the other outrigger?” and “What exactly is the damned island?”
I’m okay without the answers. I didn’t realize this until The End had ended, and I knew there would be nothing more. I let the message of Christian Shephard wash over me for a moment, and I let Jack’s realization of what had happened sink in. I thought about Hurley and Ben’s brief exchange outside the church and understood what that meant.
And I wished for a moment to be in the Lost world … not to be able to time-travel, or to live on a fantastic deserted island, but to be able to erase death and move forward, move on.
Lost was never about the action and mystery for me. Those trappings helped sell the program to me, and kept me engaged — really, how was I not going to watch a TV show about people stranded on an island where the rules of physics don’t apply and ancient conspiracies are woven into the tapestry, with time travel? It’s like it was made for me.
But from its first episodes, Lost was more than that. It was about the connections we make in life, how we lose them, and what that means. It’s about the things we’ve lost, not being lost. And it’s about being broken, and getting fixed.
Life doesn’t always provide answers. That’s something I’ve slowly come to accept. And Lost is like life in that respect. We didn’t get the answers. We got a message of hope, of love, of faith and of trust, one that was well-hidden in a powerful narrative that kept me engaged for six years.
I’m happy with the ending. In fact, with 24 hours to think about it, I will say that it exceeded my expectations and moved me on an emotional and spiritual level.
I’m content to let Lost go, now that I have that last five minutes.
Come to think of it, though, I guess I would like to know who was in that other outrigger.