So it's come to this after all these weeks. We've had brutal deaths, glorious goat-faced babies. The highest of highs and the lowest of lows. So it comes with monumental sadness that we have reached our penultimate point. Yes, next week marks the last ever Lost Deconstruction from Hecklerspray.
And, yes, we know it’s already over, but we’re sticking to this one-a-week system, OK? Pipe down.
It's sad – we’re certainly sad. We at least hoped someone would send us a T-shirt or something to mark this landmark blog. Even one of those inflatable flannels would?ve been nice.
But what a triumphant return to form for Lost with What They Died For, blowing away last week?s dusty mythological meanderings in a few off-hand remarks, instead focusing on placing the players in various characteristically contorted positions for a barmy finale.
Fully embracing the spiritual undercurrent that this season has so unapologetically ladled on, it further muddied the nonsensical waters for which the show so carelessly wades through; child Jacob being an overtly petulant happy-slapping youth who turns into grown-up pensive Jacob? Perhaps we need to go to church more.
Once we got that out the way, Jacob ? who not can be inexplicably seen by the whole group – gathers the remaining living members of Jack?s pack and explains to them everything. Well, everything and nothing. He explains that he brought together everyone to the Island so that they could be his replacement. Apparently everyone was a lonely, sad, closet masturbator who had nothing better to do than sit around on an Island for all eternity.
Kate?s name was stricken from the list of ?Candidates? because she became a mother ? Sun, however, never spent any time with her child, so obviously she was still deemed a viable enough arsehole to replace the Island god. It was a slight tenuous explanation for the candidate theory, one that grows feebler the more you're left to ponder: Hurley was pretty happy until he won the lottery with the cursed numbers that the last candidates were assigned ? what's with that?
While they were all left on that side of the Island trying to find the script that went missing some time ago, we finally got reacquainted with Lost?s premier antagonists. Cocke, Ben and Widmore were all joined together, in maleficent convergence. All that hard work at the beginning of the season sculpting Ben into a figure of redemption seems to have been thrown out, realising that it leaves nothing for the character to do. Instead, he's up to his evil doings once again, bitterly banging on about his dead daughter. Honestly, move on, buddy.
This did offer us the pleasing moment of Evil Tina Fey Clone getting her comeuppance. Her throat was nonchalantly slashed by Cocke, a scene that only could?ve been made perfect by slow-motion instant replay for around forty minutes. The scene also offered some exciting morsels of information for the finale, with Richard being smashed – Wylee Coyote style – into the jungle, Miles on the run, Widmore dead (not before whispering about Desmond‘s destiny) and a Cocke/Ben evil alliance.
The setup continued in the sideways land, with Desmond doing his bit to round-up the main characters and get them all to the same place ? most likely, Jack?s son David?s music concert ? where either the Island will explode or they?ll all live happily after. Expect cameos galore and some more ?enligtening?, Des style; which, this week involved punching the living eyeballs out of Ben (as most of his Island highlights have involved this somehow).
It was an episode packed to the brim with a season?s worth of plot and character, clearly hefting the slack from a slow series. As we came to a close, it appeared Jack was prepared to fulfil his destiny and become the new Jacob of the Island and take Cocke down. Either that or Jacob?s colossal stalking methods had reached their exciting climax, having just spiked Jack?s drink making him all susceptible and bleary eyed. Oh Jacob, you and your crazy perverted ways, will you ever learn?
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stella says
I’m disappointed, you’ve decided to get a grip on yourselves and not to vent months of pent-up anger and frustration until next week.
You self-control is admirable, must be some kind of endurance exercise. Good for you.
There