LOST: The End

by Scott Von Doviak

Here’s the thing about Lost: My Lost is not your Lost is not Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse’s Lost. We all have our own ideal version of the series – our own theories, our own favorite storylines and characters, our own list of grievances. For some – maybe for the majority – the ideal iteration of Lost was the first season. How many times have we heard it over the past few months: “Didn’t this used to be a show about the survivors of a plane crash?” This drives me crazy. Taking nothing away from the first season, which was groundbreaking for network television in many ways, I personally can’t imagine that version of the show sustaining three or four seasons, let alone six. Do people really wish they were still watching Jack, Kate, Charlie, et al, living in their little huts on the beach, hunting and fishing, getting into various romantic entanglements, having ever-more obscure and irrelevant flashbacks, and plotting, always plotting their escape, building rafts and coconut phones in the desperate hope they would somehow someday get off the island?

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