Paradise: Lost
Jan. 31st, 2008 08:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfield"When the waves are round me breaking,
As I pace the deck alone,
And my eye in vain is seeking
Some green leaf to rest upon;
What would not I give to wander
Where my old companions dwell?
Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!"
- Thomas Haynes Bayley (English poet, songwriter and dramatist)
You might not have noticed, unless you are a rabid Lost fan like I am -- or if you haven't seen a TV commercial in the past month, or if you haven't glanced at a newspaper, leafed through a magazine or noticed the electric flashes of your own precognitive dreams -- but the new season begins tonight, eight dull months after the explosive Season 3 finale.
Loyal readers may recall that my beloved J., back in September, in what must have seemed to her like a good idea at the time, offered to study up on an existing television show of my choosing. I admit that I would be hard-pressed to reciprocate with such authentic generosity; I fear that more than five consecutive minutes of watching "Project Runway" would psychologically castrate me.
My choice (and the choice of the people) was Lost, which gave us four months to get through 71 episodes. That's approximately 2 episodes every three days, plus time for discussion, theorizing and brainstorming. I'm sure there are professional athletes who practice with less commitment.
The joy of this whole process -- more than the opportunity to re-watch these episodes with broader perspective -- has been seeing J.'s face light up or tear up or scrunch up at Lost's patented where-did-that-come-from plot twists. It was like watching her open 71 different Christmas presents.
I became so invested in preserving the freshness of the Season 3 finale that I asked her not to read any entertainment magazines for three months; when she accidentally read a thoughtless blurb in Glamour Magazine that inadvertently tipped her off to the fate of a particular castmember, I was practically inconsolable.
Because Season 3 didn't even come out until mid-December, and because the holiday season was frequently interrupted by various parties, vacations and other distractions, the final 20 episodes became a sprint to the finish. The situation became particularly urgent around the second week of January, when ABC started showing commercials that threatened to telegraph a number of key late-Season 3 developments.
Luckily, by that time, she was thoroughly engrossed in the story. By the end we were watching six episodes a week, wrapping up by the second week in January. And now we've come to a screeching halt.
Tonight's episode is the first of eight that were produced before this interminable writers strike. I don't know anything about the current disposition of the negotiations, but I am steeling myself for the possibility that these eight episodes might be Lost's full fourth season.
Going from six episodes a week to eight episodes in two months is going to be difficult. J., who is not generally known for her austere patience, will probably liken it to peeing only once a week.
But at least we're both on the same page together, and eagerly awaiting the next chapter.
As I pace the deck alone,
And my eye in vain is seeking
Some green leaf to rest upon;
What would not I give to wander
Where my old companions dwell?
Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!"
- Thomas Haynes Bayley (English poet, songwriter and dramatist)
You might not have noticed, unless you are a rabid Lost fan like I am -- or if you haven't seen a TV commercial in the past month, or if you haven't glanced at a newspaper, leafed through a magazine or noticed the electric flashes of your own precognitive dreams -- but the new season begins tonight, eight dull months after the explosive Season 3 finale.
Loyal readers may recall that my beloved J., back in September, in what must have seemed to her like a good idea at the time, offered to study up on an existing television show of my choosing. I admit that I would be hard-pressed to reciprocate with such authentic generosity; I fear that more than five consecutive minutes of watching "Project Runway" would psychologically castrate me.
My choice (and the choice of the people) was Lost, which gave us four months to get through 71 episodes. That's approximately 2 episodes every three days, plus time for discussion, theorizing and brainstorming. I'm sure there are professional athletes who practice with less commitment.
The joy of this whole process -- more than the opportunity to re-watch these episodes with broader perspective -- has been seeing J.'s face light up or tear up or scrunch up at Lost's patented where-did-that-come-from plot twists. It was like watching her open 71 different Christmas presents.
I became so invested in preserving the freshness of the Season 3 finale that I asked her not to read any entertainment magazines for three months; when she accidentally read a thoughtless blurb in Glamour Magazine that inadvertently tipped her off to the fate of a particular castmember, I was practically inconsolable.
Because Season 3 didn't even come out until mid-December, and because the holiday season was frequently interrupted by various parties, vacations and other distractions, the final 20 episodes became a sprint to the finish. The situation became particularly urgent around the second week of January, when ABC started showing commercials that threatened to telegraph a number of key late-Season 3 developments.
Luckily, by that time, she was thoroughly engrossed in the story. By the end we were watching six episodes a week, wrapping up by the second week in January. And now we've come to a screeching halt.
Tonight's episode is the first of eight that were produced before this interminable writers strike. I don't know anything about the current disposition of the negotiations, but I am steeling myself for the possibility that these eight episodes might be Lost's full fourth season.
Going from six episodes a week to eight episodes in two months is going to be difficult. J., who is not generally known for her austere patience, will probably liken it to peeing only once a week.
But at least we're both on the same page together, and eagerly awaiting the next chapter.
