It’s the eve of the sixth and final year of Lost, and I’ve never been more excited for an individual television season. It’s an understatement for me to call this ABC phenomenon the best show of my lifetime. In fact, I believe Lost is the single most extraordinary piece of visual media I’ve ever exposed myself to.
What makes Lost so unique is it’s ability to function on two different platforms. For the mere casual viewer, Lost can appeal on a purely plot-driven level. The characters are so interesting and well-developed that the show engages you even if you’re watching solely for pure joy and escapism. Still, it’s the second kind of Lost consumption that makes it a different animal. Those who treat this modern epic as something more than a great television program (myself included), can build upon the first level of appeal by embracing the intellectual, mythological, philosophical and emotional challenges and frustrations associated with this unrivaled cultural experience.
Lost has always thrived in providing viewers with a sense of puzzling satisfaction by only supplying answers along with the strategic introduction of new questions. I’ve grown to trust the writers’ sense of control over their masterpiece, never doubting that every plot advancement (or regression) has had a purpose. While it saddens me to be moving closer to the show’s completion, every great ride must eventually come to an end. When the final credits roll, I fully expect to feel some strange combination of happy, angry, excited, bewildered, and surprised (despite it’s complexities, the show has never left me feeling deprived or disappointed). The only way to describe how I’ll likely feel is, quite appropriately, Lost.