I'm So Over YouThis is me being so sick of
Lost. Just when you think they're about to reveal a meaningful hint of WTF is going on, they throw another ten pounds of red herring at you.
Look, people, I remember what happened with the X Files. Just when it seemed like things couldn't get any better, they didn't. In the interstice between seasons (punctuated by a feature film), the producers lost all semblance of control of the plot, and one of the best shows on television jumped the shark. After slapping us around like a Craigslist hooker for the past three seasons, last year's finale brought me back. I thought, "this time, things are going to be different."
How many times did Tina go home to Ike saying the same thing?
I'm halfway through the second episode of season 4, and I'm done. I don't know if the producers of
Lost have a grand plan to tie all the wild tangents together. What I do know is they have two more years of episodes under contract to shoot, and they're not going to keep
les bon temps rouler by answering questions. Don't get me wrong: I could watch Evangeline Lilly brush her teeth for hours at a time, and, like
100 Years of Solitude, I can always look forward to the possibility of a major character finally croaking once every eight or ten episodes. Frankly, I'm sick of them all, at this point.