What kind of a TV columnist would I be if I didn’t dedicate a column to the return of “Lost”? Actually, I’m hoping with this article I’ll have filled my “Lost” quota and won’t have to bring up this dumb-ass show again, but hey, we won’t talk about that.
For those of you who somehow avoided being sucked into the “Lost” black hole, the only thing you probably know is that a plane full of people with serious issues crashed on an Island of Crazy and all hell broke loose. While, yes, that basically is the whole premise of the show, the beginning of season six finds our beloved islanders in a mess of love triangles, bombs and too many people called “Other” spanning three points in time: the ’70s, the future and present day. I’d love to go into the details of all these different realities, but I honestly don’t understand them well enough. No one really knows what’s going on, but we all fake it. Wait. Did I just describe sex?

What I can say is Juliet (whose name I was unsure of for a season and a half) has tragically fallen down a Shaft of Unquestionable Doom only to survive said fall long enough to set off her hydrogen bomb bunkmate and send everyone back so none of this ever h
happened. Yes, I am serious.

Warning: spoilers ahead. If you don’t want to know what happened in the season-six opener, STOP READING NOW!

When I watch “Lost,” the sheer “WHAT THE HELL” moments usually win me over. But for the life of me, I cannot stand the way they play out the deaths for so fucking long. Instead of spending more time, oh, I don’t know, explaining some mysteries and letting everyone assume, as we already did, that Juliet was dead from the bomb explosion, we are privy to Juliet’s dying words, which she doesn’t even really get to say. I wish I was surprised, but the “Lost” crew has been pissing me off for years now.

At least the bomb worked… sort of. But as I’m watching Kate be a criminal, Charlie be a druggie and Locke be a cripple, I can’t help but think how much crappier this is than happy times on hippie island. Maybe Locke was right after all. What am I saying? Of course he was right. The most bad-ass person on a show is always right. And anyone who dies is possessed by an evil deity and returns to life as a motherfucking smoke monster is definitely bad-ass.

I think “Lost” could have been a really great show, but I only ever feel frustrated and confused when the big “LOST” letters appear at the end of an episode. We all love to solve mysteries, and that’s precisely my point — we like solving them. After five seasons of 10 questions introduced for every one answer, watching just isn’t fun anymore. “Lost”makes me feel unintelligent and bored. If I can’t connect with the show, I can’t care about the show.

So if your awesome new valentine happens to be into “Lost,” you are now somewhat armed with relevant conversation when they won’t shut up about it. Really, though, you’re better off just finding a different lover who won’t be browsing Lostpedia in their spare time. Trust me.