Posts Tagged ‘john fowles

21
Jun
10

The Last Episode Of Lost

Mention to people that you enjoy watching Lost and you get one of two reactions. The first is a totally dismissive “Oh, yeah, I watched a bit of the first season but then sort of went off it…” and the second is an explosive “HOLYSHITIFUCKINGLOVETHATSHOW!”

 

 

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the mark of a cult show. In fact that is the mark of anything that is cult, an audience that is fiercely polarised between people that love whatever it may be to the point of manic obsession and a much larger contingency that are either completely indifferent towards it or think it’s the biggest load of shit they’ve ever seen.

I’ve long since accepted the fact that most of the music, movies and art I enjoy is basically inaccessible to ‘normal’ people. If I had a buck for every conversation I’ve had about a band or a movie I fucking love that has been met with a polite, but completely vacant stare, I’d be kicking back in Honolulu sipping Pina Coladas and being fanned with palm leaves while I lay on my ass and did sweet fuck all for the rest of my life.

So forgive me if I get in a little over my head here as I jump into the reasons why I think Lost is one of the greatest TV shows that has ever been broadcast. The beauty of the internet is you don’t have to smile and nod politely, you can just click close and I’ll be none the wiser, choice is yours 😉

First, a few facts and figures that prove how few people actually gave a damn about this series by the time it ended.

According to Lostpedia, the final episode was viewed by 13.5 million people, which is a pretty dismal figure when you consider that the M*A*S*H  finale was viewed by 105.9 million people, the Cheers finale by 80.4 million and the Friends finale by 52.5 million. Hell, even the season finale to the last American Idol, which was the least popular since the first season still had Lost beat at 24 million viewers.

 

 

On average, the first season of Lost had around 19 million viewers per episode, which proves beyond all reasoning that for the most part, people gave up on Lost.

They did this because what people want from TV shows and movies is closure. They want to be able to experience something that entices and enthrals them at first, then draws them in on a deeper, emotional level, during which time they’ll tolerate a certain level of manipulation as they are lead down the garden path toward the inevitable outcome, and then they want satisfaction in the form of clear cut answers at the conclusion so that they can get on with their lives.

Lost broke that formula by very seldom ever giving people answers and when it did, the answers only lead to more questions. It worked in the beginning, but somewhere during Season 2 / Season 3 people simply got tired of being lost and slunk off to watch Grey’s Anatomy instead.

Even after the series finale, there are hundreds of questions left unanswered, as the following video infuriatingly demonstrates: http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1936291

 

 

Still confused as to why the season finale tanked? The way this video puts it, it’s a miracle people even hung in there to watch it at all.

But they did, all 13.5 million of them, and while a great deal of that 13.5 million hated the season finale and felt it was a total cop out, I didn’t and I’ll tell you why.

For one thing, the last thing I ever expected at the end of Lost was to be given one final, conclusive answer, or even a series of conclusive answers that tied everything together, in fact I really hoped they wouldn’t do that because to do so would be to kill the driving force behind the entire show.

JJ Abrams, the co-creator of Lost gave a somewhat schizophrenic talk at TED (http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/j_j_abrams_mystery_box.html) where he discusses the idea of mystery being more important than knowledge. He uses the analogy of a “mystery box” that his grandfather bought for him when he was a kid that he, to this day, has never opened.

The reason why, he explains, is that to him, the box has come to represent the infinite possibility that is inherent in mystery. It’s something my favourite writer, John Fowles, was also acutely aware of when he wrote about the energy in mystery and how, for as long as you wonder about something, as long as your imagination is actively engaged in trying to figure something out, that thing is ALIVE inside you.

 

 

Answers, Fowles famously said, are a form of death because the minute you are given an answer, the question and the mystery that drives it both cease to live in your mind.

You couldn’t imagine, even if you tried, what the night sky would have looked like thousands of years ago, before man invented telescopes and before the notion of other planets and other suns existed.

Back then, the stars and the consolations were some of the biggest mysteries imaginable. Since the dawn of man, until science stepped in and explained it all, we stared at the stars at night and wondered, “What the fuck are those?!”

The information age has been hugely beneficial to the technological advancement of our species, but at the same time, it is killing all the mystery to life. You want to know the answer to something? Type it into Google and in 0.8 seconds there it is.

I loved Lost, because it defied explanation and forced the people watching it to use their imagination in order to fill in the many blanks and loose ends the show’s creators left entirely up to us to figure out.

And finally, possibly the single thing I loved the most about Lost (*HUGE SPOILER ALERT*) is the way all of the main characters met up in the afterlife in that church one last time before they moved on to wherever it was they were going.

 

 

I took a lot of comfort in that idea because I’ve always had this sneaking suspicion that we’ve all met before and that we’ll meet again, in this life and in the many after it, and I imagine those moments to be a lot like the one in that church at the end of Lost, where everyone – Jack, Sawyer, Kate, Lock, Sayid, Hurley, Claire, Charlie, Jin, Sun, all of them – finally understood how important their connection to one another was, and were finally able to understand that though their time on the island was difficult and though they had to endure endless unnecessary hardship and cruelty, they were also the best times of their lives because the friendships and relationships they formed were all that really mattered in the end.

We’re all lost in one way or another until we find each other and in doing so, ourselves. This is the meaning I took away from Lost and this is the reason why I think it’s one of the greatest shows I’ve ever had the pleasure and privilege of watching.

-ST

07
Jun
10

The Son Of Swords

A story, if you will, one of my favourites:

 

The Prince And The Magician

Once upon a time there was a young prince who believed in all things but three. He did not believe in princesses, he did not believe in islands, and he did not believe in God. His father, the king, told him that such things did not exist. As there were no princesses or islands in his father’s domains, and no sign of God, the prince believed his father.

But then, one day, the prince ran away from his palace and came to the next land. There, to his astonishment, from every coast he saw islands, and on these islands, strange and troubling creatures whom he dared not name. As he was searching for a boat, a man in full evening dress approached him along the shore.

"Are those real islands?" asked the young prince.
"Of course they are real islands," said the man in evening dress.
"And those strange and troubling creatures?"
"They are all genuine and authentic princesses."
"Then God must also exist!" cried the young prince.
"I am God," replied the man in evening dress, with a bow.

The young prince returned home as quickly as he could.

"So, you are back," said his father, the king.
"I have seen islands, I have seen princesses, I have seen God," said the prince reproachfully.
The king was unmoved.
"Neither real islands, real princesses nor a real God exist."
"I saw them!"
"Tell me how God was dressed."
"God was in full evening dress."
"Were the sleeves of his coat rolled back?"
The prince remembered that they had been. The king smiled.
"That is the uniform of a magician. You have been deceived."

At this, the prince returned to the next land and went to the same shore, where once again he came upon the man in full evening dress.

"My father, the king, has told me who you are," said the prince indignantly. "You deceived me last time, but not again. Now I know that those are not real islands and real princesses, because you are a magician."

The man on the shore smiled.

"It is you who are deceived, my boy. In your father’s kingdom, there are many islands and many princesses. But you are under your father’s spell, so you cannot see them."

The prince pensively returned home. When he saw his father, he looked him in the eye.

"Father, is it true that you are not a real king, but only a magician?"
The king smiled and rolled back his sleeves.
"Yes, my son, I’m only a magician."
"Then the man on the other shore was God."
"The man on the other shore was another magician."
"I must know the truth, the truth beyond magic."
"There is no truth beyond magic," said the king.
The prince was full of sadness. He said "I will kill myself."

The king by magic caused Death to appear. Death stood in the door and beckoned to the prince. The prince shuddered. He remembered the beautiful but unreal islands and the unreal but beautiful princesses.

"Very well," he said, "I can bear it".

"You see, my son," said the king, "you, too, now begin to be a magician."

– John Fowles, The Magus

 

 

It’s been a rough couple of days, and as always, I’ve got the scars to prove it.

I fled to Kommetjie on Saturday morning, I needed time to think things through, and I stayed over at my aunt’s place.

She did a tarot reading for me before I left, not a full one, she just asked me to draw a card.

Thing about her is she’s the real deal. We don’t believe in magic because it’s a childish, vague concept. We kill it at every turn and rely on our rational, logical faculties to see us through life, conveniently forgetting that those logical, rational faculties have been shaped and structured and manufactured since the day we walked into school to make us predictable and easier to manage.

It makes no fucking sense to me. People rely on their intelligence to get them through life and wonder why they feel so trapped and impotent.

Anyway, my aunt is the real deal. She’s read up on almost every religion man ever had the crazy-stoned notion to create and has dedicated her life to the arts of meditation and developing her natural intuition to levels that are unbelievably powerful.

I drew one card from her deck = the Son Of Swords – standing triumphant in his battle regalia, his eyes fixed simultaneously on the prize before him and the sun, a symbol of his next conquest.

In his right hand he held his sword, drawn and ready for battle, but in his left, he held a dead dove by its neck and stood in a scattered mess of broken roses.

In that moment I saw her sitting on my bag, crying. I felt her holding me, the softest she’s ever held me, I heard her whispering to me and I felt myself pull away, dump the bag in the boot and drive, not looking back, not wanting to see the destruction in my wake.

A scattered mess of broken roses.

-ST