For six seasons I was convinced that Lost was just like Seinfeld: a very entertaining series about nothing (or everything depending on how much you’re into surreal ideations about life, death and all things in between).
And last night’s finale only confirmed this. No doubt much to the chagrin of the suckers who were expecting nirvana-like revelations. Instead, all they got was the kind of sappy hookups between the characters (all in heaven one presumes) that one would expect of a typical daytime soap opera – complete with this bit of banal sophistry:
Everyone dies… There is no now … here.
No shit…! And so the search for signs of intelligence, or something coherent, in this show continues….
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