A few answers, please
Tonight the TV series Lost finally comes to an end. But don't you dare swan off, Kate, without winding up these loose ends, says Lucy Mangan
Wednesday January 11, 2006
The Guardian
For all those of us who have, for the past six months (give or take the odd dull stretch which we used to make cups of tea or go on holiday as appropriate), been caught in the sticky web of multiple preposterous storylines, impaled on the jagged rocks of unresolved mysteries and addicted to the heavy scent of island intrigue, tonight's the night. Channel 4 is showing the last two episodes of Lost, a double bill before which we kneel and pray for resolution of the programme's many, many, many remaining questions.
What is the monster?
"It is the island's security system," according to Rousseau, a woman much given to gnomic utterances and partial explanations. Unfortunately, she apparently also has a clause in her contract forbidding other members of the cast to belt her across the face and say "Enough with the enigmatic shit - tell us everything you know and now." So what else do we know? It roars, it clanks, it's big enough to smash down trees when roused, while still being invisible to the naked eye. Some of the island's inhabitants persist in believing that it is "just a boar", a level of denial last achieved by the doctor in The Exorcist who, when faced with a patient whose projectile-vomiting face had turned green and head was spinning round as if on freshly-oiled neck castors, insisted that she was just suffering from epilepsy.
Anyway. My money's on a giant Predator - easily the best monster ever invented - emerging from the jungle. But given the metaphysical possibilities offered by the series, it could, I concede, be a formless psychic manifestation of the castaways' collective survivors' guilt (or a compound of their individual tortured consciences, as there doesn't seem to be a person on the plane who didn't devote several years to royally screwing things up at home). Or it could be Mariah Carey's surplus ego which, it has long been rumoured, was drained off and imprisoned on an unmapped Pacific island some time in the early 90s to ensure the safety of her staff and the rest of the free world.
What about the polar bear?
The polar bear was a red herring. It was an early contender for the monster title but rather than solving that mystery, it raised another. What was an habitual Arctic dweller doing on a tropical island somewhere between Australia and Fiji? That's a hell of a trip, even on the largest ice floe.
What do the numbers mean?
Four, eight, 15, 16, 23, 42. They look like they should be on a Mensa test ("What comes next? Frot gently against a Sinclair C5 if you know"), and indeed they do appear to be a random and accursed string. The flight's number was 815 (eight and 15, geddit?); fatboy Hurley used them as his winning lottery numbers, since when he has had nothing but bad luck up to, and very much including the marooning on an island umpty-thousand miles from the nearest Krispy Kreme; they were on the jerseys of a (now presumably deceased) team of football players who boarded the plane in Sydney; and they were the numbers transmitted from the island which caused Rousseau and her shipmates to investigate, founder and die in short order. So we want to know what they stand for, why they are cursed, who was transmitting them and why. And we want the explanation to unfurl with stately grace and impeccable logic, a stainless pennant fluttering in breeze of a million happy exhalations from satisfied viewers. Thank you.
What happened to Rose?
She was the Spiritual Black Lady from the Big Book of Screen Stereotypes who sat serenely on a rock for a couple of episodes and hasn't been seen since. Maybe she's still sitting there. Maybe they intended to bring her back but are spending all the money meant for extras on getting the giant Predator monster right instead.
The Big Book of Screen Stereotypes, incidentally, may also be responsible for Sun's otherwise inexplicable (as the pampered daughter of a Korean gangster living in Australia) knowledge of medicinal plants. The relevant page reads thus: "She's Korean, which is kinda like Japan, which is kinda like China, which has acupuncture and herbs and all that mysteries-of-the-Orient shit, which means she'll know just which subtropical plant you need to chow down on when you present with an assortment of nondescript symptoms that would preclude God himself from making an accurate differential diagnosis."
Is Rousseau mad, bad or just dangerous to know?
She's certainly mad (forever muttering about "the others" and scrawling song lyrics obsessively on bits of paper, which frankly helps no one) and dangerous to know - she killed her own team, either because they were mortally ill or because she was hallucinating that they were so. And when she's not kidnapping and torturing former members of the Iraqi republican guard, she is fomenting discontent and paranoia among previously stable castaways. But as we only have her word for anything she has been up to, the possibility remains that she is bad and leading them a merry, monster-baiting dance.
Why doesn't Kate choose between Jack and Sawyer?
Is it because she can't decide between lantern jaw and burled torso? Is it because she has practical instincts which tell her that once she has paid over the coin of sexual compliance she will have nothing left to barter for guns and toy planes? Or is it because she's not sure what salt water does to condoms but after delivering Claire's baby she is very sure of what having a baby does to a lady's nether regions and wants no membrane-ripping part of it?
What's in the hatch?
It could be the home of Ethan's tribe. It could be the home of "the others", if they turn out to be different from Ethan. It could be the source of the radio transmission. It could be the command centre from which the Krankies are orchestrating a 2006 comeback. Who can say? Well, JJ Abrams and David Fury can. And they must.
A less pressing but still pertinent question also attaches to the hatch. Would you say that staring at it for a fortnight before getting down to any serious digging was really comparable to Michelangelo studying the block of marble that eventually became David, as Locke suggests, in all apparent seriousness? No, I thought not.
Why is Kate on the run?
There are those for whom the sight of Evangeline Lilley in practical yet alluring beachwear is reason enough for her existence. But to others, intent on completing the backstory jigsaw, the answer to this is of central importance. We know she killed a man. But whether it was just a matter of reducing an ex-boyfriend to a fatally jumbled assortment of fractured bones when she crashed the car after visiting a friend gone tumourous in the hospital, or a proper murder of an unspecified other - this is knowledge to which we are not yet privy.
We do know that she ate bacon in episode three but declared herself a vegetarian in episode four and that therefore not a word from her unfeasibly wide mouth is to be trusted. So any finale revelations need to be delivered not from her lying lips but via flashback, which is the only authority the Lost viewer recognises.
What is the significance of the toy plane?
We know that it was one of the things Kate and her childhood sweetheart buried in a time capsule and then disinterred a whole 10 years later. We don't know why she sets such store by it that she will track down the safety deposit box in which it is kept, integrate herself into a bankrobbing gang, sex up the ropey-looking criminal mastermind and risk the murder of innocent customers during a heist in order to obtain it. If it is simply a memento mori because it belonged to the ex-boyfriend she splintered in the car crash then man, as the great Eric Cartman would say, that is fucking weak.
So we really do need something more. The elixir of life contained in its tiny cargo hold, perhaps? Or the news that it was made from the melted-down remains of the Holy Grail - the second series then fuses with the sequel to the Da Vinci Code, the resulting synergy is harnessed, replaces fossil fuel and nuclear fission as the world's most potent energy source and solves the globe's ecological problems at a stroke. We watch and wait.
The need to tie up all these narrative loose ends should make for a stunning double-episode finale, though dark suspicions abound that the bulk of them will be threaded into the warp and weft of season two rather than satisfactorily tied off tonight. Still, at least there's one question we can all answer for ourselves, with nothing more than a few household oddments, a little ingenuity and a trip to the local aquarium: can you really perform a blood transfusion using nothing more than a plastic bag, some rubber piping and a sea urchin spine?
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· The last episode of Lost can be seen tonight at 10pm on Channel 4