Despite my frustration and disappointment with how Lost ended, I stand by my view that for almost its entire run, it was a fantastic show. There’s no excuse for it not having answered certain gaping questions, and it should have ended very differently than it did. But the thing is, after musing over both the finale and the show as a whole on Sunday night and Monday morning—and discussing it fairly extensively with Jen late into the night on Sunday–I think that the majority of the big questions probably could have been given satisfying and dramatic answers, and that the plot lines and big themes could have been resolved in a really satisfying, profound, and moving way, without necessarily even changing too terribly much about any of the episodes prior to the final two–with the exception of some of the “sideways” stuff throughout the final season. (Actually, the main drawback of the resolution that I have in mind is probably the fact that it’s flat-out incompatible with what I found to be some of the most compelling of the sideways stories—mainly those of “Dr. Linus” and Locke.) So many pieces were in place; so much good stuff was set up so well over the course of the show. I really think that the end could have been great. I can’t take credit for all of the ideas in the resolution-that-could-have-been that I’m going to outline; at least as many of them were Jen’s ideas as mine, and some were more or less jointly conceived. Also, my thoughts on some points have definitely been influenced (even if no concrete ideas have actually been lifted) by stuff I’ve read online over the past several months. But in any case, and without further ado…
How Lost Should Have Ended
Everything could and should have been made to revolve around the show’s classic thematic mantra of “live together or die alone.” In a nutshell—the still-alive castaways/candidates (and maybe a few more who perhaps should never have died?) should have decided to reject the idea that one of them, alone, had to become the “new Jacob” and protector of the island; they should have all decided to take on that burden/responsibility together.
(Besides all the thematic ideas that I’m about to discuss, this just would have worked better for me from a purely plot-resolution perspective; I always felt that the show would have to end with either everyone getting off the island, or it finally becoming clear in some way that they were all there to stay—i.e., either everyone leaving or no one leaving (or possibly, as a third and very depressing option, everyone simply getting killed off). Nothing else really feels like a “resolution” of the plot to quite the same extent as these options. But anyway…)
We’ve seen that there’s been a recurring cycle for millennia on this island where people come to it, get involved in conflicts with each other or with others already there, and suffering and betrayals and death ensue: ”They come, they fight, they destroy, they corrupt, and it always ends the same.” This context, and the Jacob/MIB disagreement about human nature (wholly bad, or redeemable?), encouraged us to look for the show to end either with the protagonists finally finding a way to break out of the cycle and end it—or with them attempting this and failing, and a new iteration of the age-old cycle beginning. To some extent, I think we’re intended to see the on-island events of the finale as constituting the former—the successful breaking of the cycle. But from a thematic perspective, killing the MIB is not an especially satisfactory means of accomplishing that; it really just amounts to more fallout of the cycle itself (conflict and killing and etc.). And what of the pervasive themes of personal redemption that have always been so integral to the show? Was MIB just categorically beyond all hope of redemption, even though the show recently went to great lengths to make him seem (at least in his beginnings) sympathetic and human despite his bastardliness?
If you look at the Jacob/MIB story on a sort of mythic, or symbolic, level—twins born when only one child was expected, opposite dispositions, millennia of rivalry ensuing between them—you might say it was as if they were in some way “supposed” to be one being, but for some reason this being was split into two halves at birth. Neither was whole without the other; one was naive, the other cynical; one saw a world infused with cosmic meaning and destiny and whatnot (even if these only existed, sometimes, because he invented them himself) and accepted it without question; the other saw everything as devoid of meaning and was bitter and angry. Etc. And in their rivalry lay the root of all the mayhem on the island over the centuries. Jacob expected too much of the people he brought there, to the point of refusing to help them because they “shouldn’t need to be told what to do”; the MIB regarded them so poorly that he routinely killed them (often, seemingly, not even for any particular reason). Between the two of them, they made life on the island hell for people like the Oceanic 815 castaways.
So, on a thematic level, if our main protagonists had settled on a “live together or die alone” response to the situation on the island, it would have represented the healing of troubles caused by an “unnatural” rift via its opposite—unity among a bunch of people who were originally strangers. And the show could have made a thematic statement to the effect that human nature is neither as good as Jacob wanted it to be, nor as wholly corrupt as his fake mother and the MIB believed it to be—that we’re flawed beings who often struggle and fall, but that we also have the potential for redemption—and that the key to succeeding in our personal redemption projects is to not attempt them in isolation (like Jacob), but rather in cooperation, as members of a community. In other words, to “live together.”
Of course, even though we do all have this potential (the “little bit of the light in all of us”?), the fact is that some people never do choose to embrace redemption—and I don’t think the show should have ended on a wholly utopian note, either. I would have been fine, for instance, with MIB refusing to change his mind about anything and dying “unredeemed”; I just think the issue should have come up explicitly in the final confrontation. This would have served as a vehicle for exploring unanswered questions about what his motives truly were (i.e. did he not really believe that the world would go to hell if he got what he wanted—or did he believe it, but just not care?). Also, if (for instance) the “live together, die alone” candidates/protagonists had had to kill MIB in the end in spite of their idealism and their wish to put an end to divisions and conflicts, it would have toned down the otherwise-too-perfect-ness of this whole “let’s all live together in peace” ending idea, and introduced a tantalizing hint of moral ambiguity to the resolution that would have sort of “kept it real” (and maybe even left room for debate as to whether or not, in the end, the cycle really was broken).
So then, what of the “sideways” world? Well, obviously, it should absolutely not have been the afterlife. It should have been exactly what it appeared to be at the outset—an alternate timeline created by the detonation of “Jughead.” For some reason, setting off the bomb spawned two distinct realities—two different quantum possibilities were both actualized as a result of it. In one, the bomb caused “the incident,” and our characters setting it off completed the causality loop that began, from their perspectives, when Oceanic 815 crashed. In the other, Jack’s intentions were actualized—the bomb averted “the incident” and rebooted the entire story from its starting point, with Oceanic 815 never crashing and none of the events of the show up to that point ever having happened. What’s really interesting about this scenario is that the bomb detonation and spawning of the “sideways” world becomes a kind of parallel—or a recapitulation of sorts—of the mythic Jacob/MIB origin story as I’ve interpreted it here: an event that “improperly” split something that should have been “whole” (in this case, the timeline—or in other words, all of reality) into two parts. So it plays into the motif of recurring cycles on the island, and of things (and people) that aren’t “whole” and need to be healed by some kind of coming-together.
And here’s what the “sideways” world should have been: it should have been a world in which our characters, not having crash-landed on a wacky island, were not experiencing the strife and trauma that they experienced in the main storyline; they were going about their normal lives, and weren’t suffering any unusual anguish—but they were hollow; empty; their lives devoid of real meaning. Why? The reason exists on multiple levels. In one sense, it’s because the world was created by an attempt to escape from pain and trauma, even if that also meant undoing the positive things that had come about in the course of that pain and trauma (Kate tried to dissuade Jack from detonating the bomb in part because it would cause them never to have met; etc.). The thematic idea would be that pain and trauma are part of the price we pay in life, as feeling beings, in order to also have joy; the only way to avoid the former also requires foregoing the latter. It’s the idea that we can’t disown our “dark side,” in a way—and it thus fits thematically with the Jacob/MIB split (light and dark each not whole without the other). And it’s also (here’s my inevitable Trek reference) sort of the “Tapestry” idea—when (to very loosely paraphrase Picard) Jack pulls at a problematic thread in the storyline, it unravels everything, and everyone ends up passionless and bereft of imagination. But there’s also a whole other level to why everyone’s lives in the alternate timeline are devoid of meaning: because the island blew up, and is therefore (as we saw—and as makes no sense, as far as I can tell, with the resolution that the finale actually gave us) underwater and in ruins in that world. The light in the mystic cave—which was “the source of life and death,” and of which there is a little in everyone—has been snuffed out; and if it goes out on the island, it goes out everywhere. I’m interpreting the light, in other words, not as the literal source of life, but as the source of…let’s say “purpose,” or vitality (“life” in a more figurative sense); without it, everyone is dead inside. So in short, we have two parallel interpretations—one on the mythic/mystical/symbolic level of storytelling, the other on the psychological/thematic level—that completely jibe with each other, and both mean essentially the same thing. By trying to evade his pain, Jack both symbolically and literally destroyed the source of meaning and purpose and joy and love in the world. Pretty cool! And all the pieces of this are right there in the show, perfectly set up; why didn’t they do this??
Anyway, through some mechanism or other, the sideways characters all—more or less as happened in the show as it is—would eventually become aware that they’re living in a timeline that “wasn’t supposed to be,” and that alternate versions of themselves essentially traded joy and intensity and meaning and love and all that jazz for a life without pain. Realizing the error of their meta-ways, they find (I’m a bit fuzzy on the plot mechanics of this bit) some way of undoing their alternate reality, or merging it with the other timeline, or psychically crossing over and merging with their island-timeline selves, or whatever, and healing the rift in reality that “they” caused. And it’s then partly as a result of gaining the insight/experience of their “alternative selves” from the sideways world, and learning the lessons that the sideways versions of themselves learned and imparted, that the island-world characters ultimately all make the decision (coming full-circle to where I started, here) to stay on the island together and be the new protectors of the light. Of course, the decision can take different forms for each character, and everyone would come to his or her decision in his or her own way. For some, it would be about concluding that, for good or ill, they landed in this island story and are irrevocably part of it now (and attempts to get away—including both the “Oceanic 6” thing and the bomb fiasco—always end badly). Some may think of it as “their destiny” in a pure man-or-woman-of-faith sort of way. Others would simply recognize, partly because of the experience of the sideways world, that protecting the mystic light is critically important, and somebody has to do it—and that it won’t do to have that somebody be one person all alone (hitting, of course, once again the “live together” theme).
I think I would like to have seen Jack be the first one to decide to stay for good—and I think he should have volunteered to become “the new Jacob,” very much as he did in the penultimate episode as it stands. But instead of “I’m just glad it’s not me,” I would like Hurley to have responded by telling Jack “Dude. Wait a minute. I, like, believe in you, and you’re a great guy and all, but you can’t do this alone. No one can. Jacob tried, and look at the outcome.” Basically, I think it would have been really cool for the idea of everyone staying to have come from Hurley: “Remember what you said, Jack? If we can’t live together, we’ll all die alone!” This would have done Hurley’s character such complete justice—and really fit well with the way his relationship with Jack has gone in this last season, too. Then everyone, one by one, makes his or her decision to stay—and then they deal, in one way or another, with the Man in Black problem. Story: resolved. 🙂
Various thoughts:
•One thing that I like about this set of ideas is that it really anchors the season-five time-travel saga, narratively, into the story as a whole in a number of ways—giving it very clear narrative purposes. For one thing, obviously, it would have led to the timeline split, which in turn gives our characters important insights after the timelines somehow merge again, as I described. For another, the experience of living in Dharma days and witnessing the conflict between Dharma and the Others could have been a major component in helping our heroes to see the big picture and become aware of how cycles of conflict and violence have been recurring on the island over time, and their own post-crash experiences were only the most recent iteration of this cycle. Cool.
•Nothing that I’ve said here addresses one of my biggest gripes about unanswered questions: the whole “what the hell were the Others up to in seasons 1-3, and why were they such total bastards” issue. Obviously, that would still need to be addressed somehow for the resolution to be satisfying. I don’t necessarily have a great answer for it, though. In particular—and don’t get me wrong, here, because I really liked the character and would hate to lose him—but Richard poses a big problem for me when trying to answer this question. I mean, if Ben was being manipulated by the Man in Black all along—and given that, on top of this, he is also quite simply an out-and-out bastard—it wouldn’t be too hard to come up with a plausible rationale for the Others’ behavior (we’d have to assume that many of them were being deceived and/or intimidated by Ben in some way, since they weren’t all total jerks—but that’s easy), if not for the fact that Richard was supposedly serving as their liaison to Jacob. Because if they had any lines of communication with Jacob, then it’s hard to imagine why they’d virtually declare war on his “candidates.” It’s a very different case from their conflict with Dharma; the Dharma folk (seemingly) came to the island intentionally and wanted to study and control it, so it’s easy to understand why both the Others and Jacob himself would have seen them as a threat. But our Oceanic 815 heroes came not of their own will—and, as we ultimately learned, Jacob was in some way behind their coming. So only by assuming that the Others had gone wildly astray and were not at all in line with Jacob’s agenda can their behavior ever be explained; yet Jacob was their nominal guru, and even though Ben never, in reality, had any actual contact with him, Richard supposedly did. So I’m not sure how to resolve that.
•A related question that I didn’t really list in my pre-finale “list of questions” concerns why some of the Oceanic passengers, who were abducted early on by the Others, apparently integrated themselves and were content among them (at least, I think this happened; didn’t it?). Again—tough questions.
•Also sort of related is the issue of what fate the finale should have relegated to Ben and Richard. When I talk about “everyone” staying to protect the island, I really mean “all the castaways.” Should Ben and Richard have been included in that? I’m not sure. On the one hand, it would reinforce the idea of healing rifts, breaking the cycle, and living together and all that. But on the other hand, Ben has a terrible track record, is not at all trustworthy, has wanted power and control on the island all his life and can be virtually counted upon to subvert and take advantage of the castaways’ “live together or die alone” idealism, and was never a part of or included in that idealism in the first place. It doesn’t seem like the castaways would be entirely out of line if they simply asked him to leave—and it also doesn’t really seem, given his relationship with the island, like it’s a place where he’s amazingly likely to avoid falling into old bad habits and find lasting redemption. Tough call. Maybe banishing him could be another thing like killing MIB—a bit of a stain on the idealism of the castaways, albeit one that they feel necessary, and something that creates some ambiguity about the future of their undertaking?
•Likewise, I’m not necessarily committed to Miles and Lapidus being a part of the “everyone staying on the island” (maybe Lapidus could fly Ben away in the Ajira plane?)—though certainly not opposed to it, either. It’s kind of like they’re part of another story, in some ways—though I guess Miles, having lived with Sawyer & Jin in Dharma days for three years, arguably became “one of them.”
•There are lots of other dangling unanswered questions, and if I had my druthers, many of them would have been answered—but most of them aren’t as important to me as the stuff that I’ve mentioned here, and most of them also don’t seem like they necessarily needed to be address in the finale (they should have been answered earlier), as they’re not especially tied to ultimate story resolution. The one other matter that I will bring up here, though, is that of the unresolved story thread of Aaron and the supposedly cataclysmic consequences of him being “raised by another.” Since my proposed resolution would have Claire deciding to stay on the island and not go home to find Aaron and be his mother, this would have been a major issue in the finale-that-could-have-been that I’ve conjured up here. Admittedly, even without the whole “he mustn’t be raised by another” backstory, it’s hard to envision Claire making this decision (and even harder to envision everyone else approving of it, and the show presenting it as a good thing). This is a potential flaw that would take some doing to resolve, I think. (On a related note, though, I felt that the Kate/Claire scene convincing Claire to accompany them off the island in the real finale, while well-meaning, was really rushed; I was moved by Claire’s outburst of self-awareness and distress over what she’s become, and whether she could still be a mother or not—but then Kate turned her around in about ten seconds.)
So anyway, those are my ideas. Reactions?