Zombie Politics

I drank your milkshake.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

"Lost" Was Six Ways to Awesome




So, people were pretty pissed when they blew open the hatch at the end of season uno and saw… a long tunnel and a broken off ladder and a whole lot of nothin’. There was grumbling all summer about how people weren’t going to watch it when it returned. “Fuck ‘Lost,’” the naysayers said (presumably after saying “nay” a bunch of times).

Yeah fucking right.

The same naysayers that said “fuck ‘Lost’” (and, again, “nay”) bought the Season 1 DVD set and cheered them on at the Emmys, although mostly because you found out that Sayid is banging Barbara Hershey (20 years his senior). The naysayers watched it this past Wednesday. And you know what else? They loved it.

How could you not?

With the super-sweet, is-it-a-flashback-or-not introduction to hatch-man Desmond and what appears to be another EPCOT Center underground; it virtually insures that you’ll be tuning in again, every week, with the same ardent passion, devotion, and completely wrong plot hypotheses.

Oh, completely wrong plot hypotheses, how I love them.

What’s great about this second season premiere (besides everything else) is that it really showed the other shows this season who’s boss. Everyone else is trying, desperately, to be the “Lost” (“Surface,” “Threshold,” “Supernatural,” “Night Stalker,” “Invasion,” I’m looking in your direction) but none of them have the tangy blend of extreme weirdness (4 8 15 16 23 42) and emotional weight (Jack’s plea to “guuuuuuide you home” aka “fix you”). So, “Lost” came back and was all like “step off it, bitch.”

Stepping now.

D.