The 'Lost' of its Kind

After six long years full of mind-bending, and often times torturous, twists and turns, Lost finally reaches its swan song on May 23rd, 2010. A show that took the world by storm in 2004 and then completely reinvented the way people looked at prime time television with its prolific concept and unparalleled character development. Lost didn’t just defy the methodology behind a successful network show, it grabbed it, chewed it up, spit it out and dropped a giant smoke monster on it in an effort to bring an imaginative and thought-provoking show built around a cage match between faith and reason.

Of course this unique premise did not come without a price tag: Patience. To intricately weave such rich plot advancing storylines AND deep back stories of pre-Oceanic 815 life required viewers to contemplate their own test of faith. Each week, Lost asked more and more questions while only answering them gradually over a slow burn. In some extreme cases, questions raised in season 1 weren’t finally answered until season 6. It was due to this bold creative decision that Lost inevitably alienated a hefty portion of their once mighty audience. Complaints that the show was “too confusing,” or that the writers “didn’t know where the show was going” became common place and many fans simply turned away in favor of more easily digested programming. Unfazed, the Lost team continued telling the story that they wanted to tell with the blessing of ABC.

Though the show did temporarily lose steam after a couple of seasons, it was rejuvenated after the eventual end date was decided upon and the writers knew exactly how much time was left to craft and complete their opus. Once their momentum had been regained, the pacing stabilized and the story became extremely rewarding for those that decided to stick around and channel their inner-Locke. Better yet, the answers to questions that had been looming over our heads were starting to unfold with hard-hitting satisfaction.

Like most long running shows, Lost was not without its fair share of both ups and downs. For every Jack, there was a Libby and for every “Through the Looking Glass,” there was an “Expose,” but no matter what side of the debate you were on, it was clear that Lost continually provided something worth talking about come Wednesday morning. For me personally, I will always look back at the Desmond and Penny focused “The Constant” as the single greatest moment in the show’s six years, though the gut-wrenching last few minutes of season 5’s finale “The Incident” ranks right up there alongside it.

However, the highly anticipated series finale represents not only the end of Lost, but also the end of an era. The end of epic, five-year plan structured sci-fi storytelling as a successful recipe for broadly watched television. While a handful of high concept programming remains, such as Fringe, V and Caprica, there is no mistaking that it’s becoming a lost art. As apparent by the cancellations of shows such as Flash Forward, Dollhouse, Firefly, Jericho, Journeyman, Heroes and so on, the audience for this type of concept is continually shrinking. Even ABC’s newly added show Happy Town debuted to low ratings and was officially put on the bubble after only two episodes. Two episodes? Is this how impatient our society has become? Is anything short of instant explanation just too much to ask of today’s TV watching audience? And more interestingly, is Lost actually to blame? Did Lost tax the patience of viewers so much that they’ve decided to never invest in a high concept program again? Whatever the reason, these types of shows are too expensive to produce without the high ratings to back it up, so instead studios feverishly look to cheaper programming options, such as reality and game shows, as a quick replacement to fill a time slot. I don’t know about you, but I fear of a world full of television programming hosted by Heidi Montag and Kate Gosselin. I can already see Kate’s “Plus 8” turning the lit up squares on Wheel of Fortune in my nightmares.

I have no doubts that no matter how Lost wraps up its grandiose tale, there will be debate on both sides as to what the show runners decided to do. Some will be happy and fulfilled, while others will be extremely upset and lash out in public forums. Quite honestly, unless it ends with the screen fading to black in mid-sentence, or the castaways winding up in jail after video taping an assault, I probably won’t have too much to complain about. I’ve come this far and am very happy that I have chosen to do so. I don’t anticipate the finale being a giant cluster that skews my opinion.

Like most dedicated viewers, I want so badly to have my questions answered, but wish the show didn’t have to end for that to happen. My Tuesday night dance card certainly becomes a lot more open going forward. Whatever the outcome, Lost has changed what it means to be compelling programming and has certainly set the bar for me personally when it comes to quality production and writing. So I say goodbye to you, Lost, and hello to the rebuilt walls that you helped to knock down. Cheers… and thank you.

Chapter Four: "The Article"

Ashley Falls Post

Body of Local Teen Found

By Clancy Scott
Ashley Falls Post Staff Writer
Thursday, February 1st

The body of a teenage girl was discovered by police late Wednesday night near the base of Sunset Hill along the outskirts of town. The body was later identified as local student Jessie Fryman, 17, whom according to police, had a history of running away from home.

The police are still combing the area for evidence, but Fryman’s death is being treated as an accident and not a homicide, said Ashley Falls Sheriff Douglas Coleman.

“It would be impossible to rule anything out at this point, but based on the evidence at the scene, it does not appear to be a homicide,” said Coleman. “Sunset Hill is a popular hangout for teenagers, but it can also be quite dangerous under the right set of circumstances. It’s very possible that she tripped and fell all the way down, which would be consistent with the injuries we have observed.”

Coleman also noted that an autopsy would not be necessary, however a thorough external examination of the body would still be conducted this weekend.

Fryman’s parents could not be reached for comment.

Chapter Three: "The Plea"

January 26th

Dear Mr. Brinkman,

I know that you asked me to go directly to the police, but I’m getting nowhere with them and I just don’t know what else to do. They look at me like I’m crazy. I followed your advice and did exactly what you suggested, but something just didn’t feel right when I visited my friend’s house. Her parents don’t seem to me like they’re all that concerned about the whole thing. Why? I know that they didn’t always get along and that she caused her parents a lot of grief over the past few years, but how do you just one day stop loving your kid?

Mr. Brinkman, I am begging you for your help. I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary in my friend’s bedroom, but I did find a journal hidden in her mattress. I didn’t even know she kept one to be quite honest. I started to flip through it and most of the entries were pretty standard stuff. I might even go so far as to say boring, especially for someone who lived the way she did. What’s strange though is that within the past couple of months worth of entries, it sounds like the fights with her Mom were starting to escalate. On one occasion, she even noted that the fight got physical. I can’t believe she never told me that. She must have been so scared.

There is one more entry that seemed to stand out, but I’d love for you to take a look at it and give me a second opinion. It was from about a month ago and she wrote that she was awoken by someone at the front door early on a Saturday morning. She said that she saw her Mom talking to a man in a black suit and he flashed some type of badge, but she couldn’t make out what it was. She went on to write that when she asked about it later, her Mom said that it was an officer going door-to-door searching for a person of interest who reportedly fled a scene in the area. Mr. Brinkman, I read the papers every day and I don’t remember hearing about anything like this. Do you? I mean, what kind of crime can go unreported in a town this size? When I sneeze I feel like even everyone down at the diner knows about it.

Something doesn’t add up, Mr. Brinkman, and I’d really appreciate it if you would reconsider your decision to help me. I can’t just let my friend disappear off the face of the earth. She’s out there somewhere and she needs help, I know it. I don’t know how, I just do. I just have to find her!


Sincerely,

Jessie Fryman

Chapter Two: "Miller Brinkman"

From the Desk of Miller Brinkman, P.I.

January 13th

Dear Ms. Fryman,

Thank you for your letter. Allow me to extend my deepest sympathies to you during this time of sadness. Though I appreciate it and am flattered that you would seek me for help with your crisis, I’m afraid it may just be a little above my pay grade. You see, Ms. Fryman, I typically get calls for simple things like cheating spouses or blackmail attempts. Things that the average person can’t, or won’t, go to the cops for. It’s true that I have been involved with the occasional missing person case during my career, but from the sounds of your letter, your friend may have been involved in a situation she didn’t want anyone to know about. Of course that’s just speculation. For all we know, she just got bored of this town and ran off with the boy that Mommy and Daddy didn’t like. It wouldn’t be unheard of for someone her age, but even as I write this, I know it’s probably not likely.

I don’t know, Ms. Fryman, I just think you should go to the proper authorities on this one. I know you said in your letter that you’d already tried that and they were less than helpful, but I think your grief may be clouding your vision a bit here. Sometimes people do just seemingly vanish without foul play being involved. Are you certain she wasn’t hiding anything? Have you tried contacting her parents to see if they’d allow you to take a look through her things? If you two were as close as you say, then you would have the best chance of recognizing anything out of place or finding any clues hidden within her room. The first thing I’d do in your situation is see if she kept a diary or journal of some kind. I know it can feel intrusive, but it may contain some idea of where she is. Just some free advice for you.

Keep your chin up, Ms. Fryman. It may not feel like it right now, but I’m sure everything is going to turn out just fine. Please consider what I’ve said and perhaps conduct your own mini-investigation. If you do uncover something of interest, try the authorities again. They won’t be able to ignore you if you’ve got a lead. I wish you the best of luck and I hope your friend shows back up soon.


Yours truly,

Miller Brinkman, P.I.

Chapter One: "Excavation"

The following is a transcript of a previously recorded message that was recovered from a government issued digital recorder at Location 2208-C during an excavation attempt on October 16th. Neither the authenticity nor its origin can not be verified at this time. There were no apparent signs of life within the area.

Property of the United States Special Task Force

[Crackle]

“(Heavy breathing) My name is Jane Petr—“ [Crackle] “and if you’re hearing this… please… I beg you to help us. They brought us… here… but I, I… don’t know where here is. They told us that they were--” [Section missing] “… but they didn’t tell us why. Something about... fuck, I can’t remember! We were chosen or something like that? Why? They didn’t tell us what that meant or what we were chosen for. They rarely told us anything at all, just… had to do what we were told to. But… but it doesn’t make sense. Ph—“ [Crackle] “did exactly what he was told to… but they just… they let him die. It was awful! They didn’t even try to help him. They had to have known what would happen somehow. Those fuckers, they knew! They knew all of this was going to happen!!” [Pause] “Mom… for what its worth to you now… I’m sorry. If I had any idea it would ever come to this, I… I would’ve… I… (Sobbing)… how could you do this to your own child, Mother?”

[Section missing]

“We were brought here in blindfolds and cuffs. They didn’t speak at all until we arrived. I remember getting on an airplane and a bus of some kind before finally arriving… here. It seems like ages ago when I first met Alyssa. She was so strong and refused to break down and cry. She said it would only give them the satisfaction they wanted, but I couldn’t keep myself from falling apart. We were so scared, but not Alyssa.” [Pause] “Alyssa was part of the second group that was sent in to this… this place. I don’t even know how to describe it other than its like left over from some type of anci---“ [Section missing] “—ion. Despite how frightened I am, I can’t help but feel a sense of awe when I look at it. The architecture is like nothing I’ve ever seen. How could something like this exist underg—“ [Crackle] “I told Alyssa that, but she was always so focused on our escape that she didn't care much about our theories. The rest of us never felt like we had a chance. She wouldn't give up though." [Pause] "God, I miss her so much.” [Pause] “When they came for her… I think we all knew what was about to happen... and we simultaneously lost hope. Still… there was a part of me that believed she would come back. I refused to believe that anything could stop Alyssa. She was no soldier, but she was just… I don’t know… she was different than any of us. Phil used to call her Bitch on Earth because he thought she was scarier than hell. (Laughs) And yet… she wound up disappearing too… like the rest.” [Pause] “And those sounds? Oh my God… those awful sounds! And that glow... Please be alright, Alyssa… please be alright…”

[Section missing]

“How can any of this be legal?? I thought there were rights to protect this type of treatment to human beings?? That’s why I took this recorder. They would kill me if they knew I had it… but I don’t care. Maybe that would be better than this. They take new ones every night and they never return. Night? Maybe its day? Fuck, who can tell anymore…?” [Pause] “If they come for me soon, I just hope this is found one day. Someone has to know about this and stop it from happening again! If we can’t be saved, then I hope our story can help to save others like us. I just don’t know much about any of this and I think that’s what is scaring me the most. What is happening to us when they send us into that… that thing? And the screams… (Crying)… are they real? I hear them inside my head all the time now. So much pain in those sounds…”

[Section missing]

“Shit! Shit!! Here they come… they’re outside the door… I need to—“ [Crackle] “Wait... No way!!! Is that really you??” [Crackle] “Aly—“ [Crackle] “(Screaming)”

End of transmission.

Running with the Shadows of the Night

I don’t mean to come off sounding like a grumpy old curmudgeon, but you know what really pisses me off? Trends. Don't get me wrong, I can respect a person’s decision to subscribe to a trend that truly compliments their life, but I absolutely can not stand people that hop on the bandwagon strictly for the purpose of peer perception. For example, I have an iPhone and I love it. Yes it’s trendy, but it does genuinely compliment my needs at this stage of my life. It’s handy and convenient, it’s sleek and attractive and even better, it provides all the functionality that I could possibly want from a phone. As much as it pains me personally, I can even respect a person’s decision to deck out their wardrobe with the latest brands and fashions. To them, trends in style compliment their needs and desires. Though I can always detect a hint of vinegar and water in the air when a dude walks by in an Ed Hardy t-shirt and Rockin’ Republic jeans, at least he’s living how he wants to.

Maybe you're wondering what has got me so irritated in regards to the topic of trends? Running. Yes, the very same physical motion that we’ve been doing since we were kids, running. It’s something that most everyone can do. The only qualifications are having two legs and a desire to move faster than walking. So at what point did it become so fucking trendy to run? If it were just a matter of trying to stay fit and exercise, I’d completely understand, but with the way people boast about running these days, you’d think they were auditioning for the roles of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader in a cock saber fight.

Look, I myself am an overweight dude and I understand the importance of needing to develop an exercise routine. It’s commendable, quite frankly. What has me so agitated however is that three months ago, I knew of one dude who decided to take up running as a hobby and boy was he proud. It’s all he talked about. Each morning he challenged himself with longer distances than the day before and he would train for marathons then post his best times on the internet for his friends to see. From there, seemingly overnight, I was surrounded by born-again runners as if a casting call for Chariots of Fire 2 extras went out on the wire. Suddenly “this guy” was bragging about running three miles last night, “that girl” was bragging about running five miles this morning and “these people” were all signed up for marathons and subjecting themselves to an intense training regimen. It's worth saying again, if I felt like any of these people were doing this as a measure of simply trying to stay in shape, I’d pat them on the back, but there is something else going on here. It feels more like a group of people that just want an “atta boy” from their peers more than anything else.

Honestly, I can’t say I blame them. We all like a nice pat on the back every once in a while. All I ask is that you go out and find your own niche. Sure, you could argue the point that all of these people who miraculously discovered running at the exact same time are legitimately discovering their niche, but I’m calling bullshit. I’d discuss this whole thing further, but I’ve recently taken up skipping and I have some training to do if I’m going to be ready for the big Skip Off event coming up in April. In summary, just be yourselves, people. That’s hard enough without trying to live like someone else.

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here

So forgive me in advance for a relatively disturbing topic of discussion today, but let’s face it, one of the most unpleasant scenarios you can find yourself in on a daily basis is needing to take a shit a work. Am I wrong? While perfectly acceptable in an intimate environment within your own house, something about this basic human function takes on a completely different level of awkwardness at your place of business. Though it’s a process that every human being must engage in at least once per day, we feel shamed when the call of nature hits us at work.

First comes the untimely and seemingly ear-deafening roar of your stomach. Next is the cold sweats that bead up at the top of your brow and roll down. With every movement you make, it’s as though every eye in the building is suddenly thrust upon you.

“Hey buddy, where you off to?”

“Um… nowhere… I, uh… just need some supplies from the mailroom.”

You can’t grab a magazine from your desk because somehow that boring old generic rag of no significance, when picked up, will glow like bioluminescence in a pitch black cave. No sir, you’re going to have to fight this battle on your own and as soon as you can make it out that door to the main hallway, you’re home free! That is… until you actually enter the bathroom. Welcome to the seedy underbelly of your company. The Red Light district.

Unless you’ve got a great job and work in a more upscale building, chances are that you’ve got approximately three stalls with which to conduct business. There’s generally two generic stalls and then the holy grail of pooping, the handicap stall. That’s the silver tuna, but the competition is fierce. For reasons beyond any comprehension, you’re up against two other co-workers at all times for the rights to the handicap stall. Seriously, it’s like Jamie Lee Curtis personally came to your work and dropped off 100 cartons of Activia to rival departments in your building. If luck is on your side today and you do manage to secure this “executive” stall, then you have little to fear… except for the threat of the dreaded “center staller.”

The “center staller” is the jerk who wanted the “executive” stall and now is going to exact their revenge by skipping over the open stall on the end and proceeding to take the stall directly next to you. You, sir, have just been “center stalled.” Unfortunately you’re in this for the duration. What you’ll typically find in this situation is that while trying to maintain some discretion and relieve yourself in a private and respectful manner, the “center staller” cares not and immediately begins to unload with great force as if years of anger management issues are now being expressed through his asshole. No one would think any less of you if you mused that the “center staller’s” projectile deucing bared an uncanny resemblance to the drum solo from “Wipeout.”

The good news is that while this experience has been utterly traumatic, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. A reward, you might even say. Chances are that the “center staller” won’t be done by the time you are ready to head back to work, so this leaves you with a tiny window to exact some revenge. Once you’re ready to depart, why not go ahead and just give that bathroom light switch an angry flick on the way out to send a message loud and clear to the “center staller.” The message simply reads as this: “You may have struck first in this battle of wits, friend, but you’ll now be pooping in the dark for your efforts.” If you’ve performed this veteran maneuver flawlessly, you’ll now be sporting a bright smile on your face for the rest of the day. Bask in this glory, kid, you’ve earned it.