LOST: The Rewatch

I recently picked up the absolutely enormous and completely stunning 'Complete Collection' of the television show 'Lost', and since I haven't done so yet, I've decided to watch the entire series from start to finish. I love Lost. It's my favorite show of all time, and yes, even the finale. Could've done with a few more answers to some lingering questions, but... whatever. Let's get this show on the road. I've got plenty of time to babble.

DAY 1: September 15, 9:34 AM. Starting off with the beginning, which certainly makes the most sense, even with a show like this. 'Pilot: Parts 1 and 2', to be specific. Cue Jack's eye opening, and... we're off.

I think this show has spurned more visually iconic television moments than any other in recent memory. Even the long pull-out from Jack's face and body as he lies on the jungle floor in the first few seconds of the show could be made into a poster tomorrow and sell a million copies. Shannon standing on the beach screaming, Claire going into faux-labor amidst the chaos, Jack standing at the plane wreckage and crying for the first time (heh), Locke sitting on the sand staring out at the ocean... all incredibly memorable.

Jack and Kate had the bloodiest, drunkenest meet-cute moment ever. That I know of, anyway. It also featured television's first coupling of the phrases 'dural sac' and 'angel hair pasta' in a single monologue. That I know of, anyway. 'Laugh In' was a pretty weird show.

As much as I love him, JJ Abrams has got to be the most wicked hyperbolist working in entertainment today. There needs to be a drinking game based upon how many times he says the word 'incredible' in the commentary. Speaking of the commentary, it's remarkably muted compared to that of the commentaries included in the later episodes of the show. Listen to a commentary of an episode in Seasons 4 or 5, for example, and it's wildly different. Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse are some of the best commentary givers out there, if you ask me.

Smokezilla rearing his ugly head for the first time. Man, I love that eerie howling sound, no matter how canned and manufactured it may be. If you were hundreds of years old and didn't have a name, you'd be pissed off and howling, too.

Not sure what's creepier - Vincent just sitting there or Locke just sitting there. Remember in the old days when the common theory was 'Dude, Locke is totally evil!'? Good times.

It's interesting to note that the scenes in this initial episode seemed a lot slower and patient than they did in later seasons. It's a bit dull to watch now that I've seen it multiple times and can practically quote it all by heart, but it's nice to see a show with actors and dialogue that aren't afraid to take their time. A point to further my long-standing opinion that the show should've gone for seven seasons, not six. I liked the last season and thought it did what it needed to do while keeping the creators' initial visions for the show intact, but I will readily admit that it felt a little rushed. They could've at least kicked it out to a full 23 or 24 episodes like the first two seasons were. It would've kept that whole 'Season 1/Season 6' mirror angle going until the very end, as well.

Count us out, Kate! 1... 2... 3... 4... 5. Atta girl.

So there's the first episode. Moving on to Part 2 now.

Multi-character flashbacks here in the second half of the pilot. One of the only times this occurred in the early days.

So Walt could summon birds, but not dogs? Interesting. I think.

Lot of first appearances here: Sayid as Mr. Fix-It, Jin The Fisherman, and Sawyer The Sensitive Racist all in the same episode. Oh, and a sped-up version of Giacchino's 'Hollywood And Vines'! Awesome.

After all these years, Locke and Walt's backgammon scene still gives me the chills. Two players, two sides. One is light, one is dark... So many interesting character vignettes in this episode. Quite the achievement to outline such a wide-ranging library of characters in an 80-minute premiere, and yet still manage to keep the pace of things moving as quickly as it does.

Enter The Conquering Icee Bear!

Absolutely spectacular ending. The whole scene of Shannon translating Rousseau's message, Sayid deducing that it had been playing for 16 years, Charlie's 'Guys, where are we?' Fantastic. My only qualm with that last scene is that they should have cut to black directly from Charlie's face right after that line and not from a fairly pointless cut-in of Kate looking worried. Oh well. I guess the editors thought she had nicer eyelashes, which she does. I distinctly remember watching this 2-hour premiere on September 22, 2004, and it was with that ridiculously inviting cliffhanger that the show truly sucked me in and made me the super-fan that I am today. Either that or 'Walkabout', but we'll get to that soon enough.

And that's it for the pilot. On to the first layer of meat in the sandwich, 'Tabula Rasa'.

Fairly flat episode for the most part. It sets up the fairly gruesome and excruciating storyline of Kate's U.S. Marshal dying a painful death after suffering through an airplane crash AND a gunshot wound, but besides that... hmm. Not entirely sure.

Alright, so it sets up Kate's criminal background, as well. Love how the Australian farmer only has one arm, and that Kate's alias at his ranch is 'Annie'.

Large amount of character development in 'Tabula Rasa'. I'm not complaining, but for all of you that complained about the supposed slowness of the first 6 episodes of Season 3, I invite you to make the slog through the first third of Season 1 again. It's a nice dip into character-based nostalgia, but as for right now, all I really want to do is turn the donkey wheel and flash-forward on over to the hatch.

Oh, but wait - here's Sun taking a sponge bath. Perhaps this isn't a bad episode after all.

'Tabula Rasa' marks the third time in as many episodes that we've actually seen Flight 815 split in half from the inside. Not sure if that's a coincidence, or an example of lucking into a future method of storytelling that was advantageously and wisefully taken on. I think this theme of showing things over and over again underlines the repeating aspects of history on 'Lost'. Nothing ever only happens once, but when it does, it's just progress.

Way to botch an execution, Sawyer. Jesus. Nice job of making the one guy who doesn't seem to want to hate anyone hate you.

Remember when episodes ended with a nice song over a montage? Vincent and Creepy Locke sure do.

With 'Tabula Rasa' out of the way, let's move on to a flat-out 'Lost' classic - 'Walkabout'.

Another instance of the show repeating itself visually to mark a moment - here we are back on the beach again, with 815 broiling in the background and John Locke waking up to find that his legs move.

I love how Sawyer's flashlight is so much bigger than Jack's. Boy, a subtle dick joke. Don't see those very often.

The boar scene is boring. Ha. I didn't know boars ate human flesh. Sexy. However, that scene did make a nice callback (callforward?) to the boars running amok and picking corpses clean in the hull of the Black Rock in 'Ab Aeterno'.

Locke's monologue about the boars and resulting grand entrance into the fabric of the show is the most awesome thing ever.

I want to catch Maggie Grace a fish. With my bare hands. With her watching.

Just noticed that Locke's wheelchair was conveniently and quickly re-purposed as a firewood carrier thingy.

People call Ben Linus a villain, but I'd say Locke's boss Randy is far worse. Jesus, the scenes at the office of the box company are depressing. Nice first mention of John's 'don't tell me what I can't do' mantra, as well.

Seeing the picture of Sayid's girl Nadia reminds me to mention that I think I know why he didn't end up with her at the tail end of Season 6, but we're a ways off from that. More later.

Know what's sadder than the scenes at Locke's office? The scene of him talking to the fake Helen on the sex line.

Aaaaaand there's Christian Shepherd. Quite a lot of long-term storylines being planted here. Extensive furthering of Sayid's ability to fix absolutely goddamn anything, to boot. Nice.

Discovering that Locke was in a wheelchair was a massive move forward for the series, a weighty and veritable stomp on the terra of television. One of the creative high peaks of the entire show, and one in a long series of many. Positively sublime.

I think if I had to think up a different title for this episode, it would be 'Bore-n Under A Bad Sign'.

That does it for Disc 1 of Season 1, and my first day on the job as well. This might take a little longer to get through than I expected, but I wouldn't really want it any other way. See you next time.

Staring Down Big Brother - Part IV

So as the grand and glorious Chenbot fussed about in the dark back corner of the room with her phalanx of make-up assistants, hairstylists and god knows what else swarming all around her like flies buzzing around too much hairspray, myself and the rest of the studio audience were being given a run-through of how the show was going to play out by the stage manager. I didn't catch his name, but he was a guy about my age with a bald head and an impressive amount of crap hanging from his belt. I saw at least three cell phones, a walkie, various security badges and passes, a whistle (WTF?), and all kind of other random assorted stuff. He was a walking junk drawer, and it was his job to tell us how the show we were about to be very much a part of was going to take place. Funny guy, too. I have to say that his job fit him just about perfectly.

He told us repeatedly that he was also a super fan of the show, and that he had been on the crew of 'Big Brother' since its inception 12 seasons ago. A lifer, as it were. He'd seen it all, everything from the chicken coop cam in the ungodly horrific and boring first season to Nakomis' ingenious six-finger veto plan to evict the ungodly horrific and boring Jase to the enormous egos of the All-Stars and back again. 'Who is everyone's favorite houseguest ever?' he asked us. 'Evel Dick?' Dick got a few shouts and rounds of applause, but when I yelled out 'Dr. Will!', well, that got even more. I doubt anyone can dispute the claim that the evil doctor is undoubtedly one of the greatest Big Brother players ever, and it was nice to see that I wasn't alone in my opinion. Stage manager guy ranked Dick and Dr. Will among the top two for sure (in that order, to which I say bullshit - Dick was good, but Will was and always will be the master), and it was right about then that I started to feel at home amongst the hundred-or-so people all around me. We were all there to achieve a common goal. We knew our material, we knew our history, and we were ready to see some truly craptastic yet deeply satisfying summertime television get made. My people.

So Stage Manager is babbling along, and all of a sudden, every head in the place turns slightly to the left. Julie Chen is walking up right behind him and taking her place in front of the couches for the first run-through of her opening monologue. When I say 'every head', people, I mean EVERY HEAD. No one gave shit one about Stage Manager anymore. Not in the slightest. We had wanted our Chenbot since the get-go, and there she was, resplendent in all her robotic glory. No pomp, no circumstance, no flock of doves, nothing. My girl just walks onstage with entourage in tow and takes her mark at center stage. Fantastic. It was like she was moving on a track hidden in the floor, and for all I know, she was. Clad in all black like a biomechanical stealth geisha. Stage Manager noticed every head in the place had turned slightly askew away from him, and a small smile played across his face. Without even having to look behind him, he dipped his head slightly to one side and says 'Yeah... I know.' We all laughed. Our fearless, emotionless android leader had arrived.

Now let's get something perfectly clear - Julie Chen the woman is not anything near my type. Not really at all. Don't get me wrong, she's an impossibly beautiful and near-flawless specimen of womanhood and femininity, but she's just so... perfect. Not a hair is out of place, and I've seen less make-up at the counter at Nordstrom. I know it's for the show and I totally understand that, but like I said, she's just too... perfect. I like a flaw or three in the women I choose to interpret and associate with in that manner, but really, that's neither here or there. Julie Chen the television host, on the other hand, is probably one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. She's perfect. Perfect face, perfect body, perfect poise and grace under the pressure of performing on live national television week after week, everything. It's no wonder her die-hard fans refer to her as 'Chenbot', because as perfectly human and emotionally present as Julie Chen the woman clearly is, Julie Chen the television host has taken it upon herself to remove virtually every human flaw from her character you could possibly imagine. She barely moved throughout the course of the hour-long show (yes, it really is taped live, and not edited together piecemeal afterward) except to transport herself between stage marks, and she stood statue-still while her army of assistants manipulated literally every piece of her manufactured facade. I saw single hairs being lifted and moved from one place to another on her head. A tiny battery-powered airbrush was used to apply make-up to her sculpted face. The woman, no, the HOST is literally a living canvas, and to me, it's merely a bonus that she is able to walk and talk on top of it all.

So with Chenbot firmly affixed in place, Stage Manager left us with our instructions and called for the first dry run through the opening spiel. There were teleprompters for Chenbot to follow virtually everywhere (another piece of beautiful behind the scenes filth for me to admire), and truly, there was no question as to who was in charge once the cameras started rolling. She was our captain, and we were her grimy crew. We were told to keep our gaze at her eyeline during her spiel, and we obeyed. Chenbot glided through her rehearsal without a hitch, and the clock on the far wall told us we had less than ten minutes before showtime. Stage Manager returned for a few minutes while Chenbot's handlers rebooted her for maximum performance, and as we fixed our hair and adjusted our postures, the clock continued to tick down towards 5:00 PST. Cameras were adjusted, stage lights were intensified (those things are HOT), and with that, it was go time.

Chenbot took her place in the middle of the stairs, and everyone adjusted our gaze to her eyeline, just as we were instructed. I saw the clock turn to 5 sharp from the corner of my eye, and the stage manager signaled us to start applauding. As he faded us out with a hand gesture, Chenbot was activated, and the show began. 'Good evening, I'm Julie Chen,' she began. 'And welcome to Big Brother!'

It was happening. I was here. I sat up a little straighter, smiled a little wider, and watched as television history was made right there in front of me. I'm fairly certain I giggled.

To be continued...

Oh! Would Someone Get This Out Of My Head

All of it. Please. The song, too.



I just feel broken, and I can't stand it for another single second. I've done nothing to deserve it, I've done everything to try and prevent it, and now that it's nearly here, it feels like it's never going to go away.

Staring Down Big Brother - Part III

So I awaken from my Cindy Brady game show nightmare and am led to my seat - last chair on the end of the top row on the left. Eh. Not exactly my first choice, but I had assumed getting as much what with all the schmoozies getting led in ahead of everyone else. Hey, at least I'm here, and with a quick look around, I am not at all disappointed in the sheer volume of behind the scenes filthy goodness all around me. The entire ceiling over the far end of the room is absolutely dripping with equipment. Lights, light supports, microphones, more microphones, lights and microphones criss-crossed over one another, rigging equipment, monitors, power supplies, an endless jungle of cables and wires, and anything and everything more than you could ever possibly imagine. It was beautiful, like H.R. Giger's technophiliac wet dream. It looked like the roof of a bat cave - completely covered and teeming with activity and static movement as confusing and chaotic as life itself, and yet somehow totally organized as a self-sufficient unit, its sole desire and function being to bring enhancement and showmanship to the proceedings below. I stared at it for a full five minutes in sheer romantic awe.

Yet again I am pulled from a semi-state of hypnosis by the voice of a crew member, and this time it was that of an older gentleman who had walked to the center of the stage area in front of us and picked up a microphone. I guessed that it was his job to address us as the studio audience and bring us up to speed on how to act and react as a temporary yet vital part of the evening's show. I'd seen this happen before when I attended a taping or two of the Craig Ferguson show earlier this year; in short, he was our warm-up guy. He introduced himself as John.

John's job was to get us laughing, get us smiling, and above all, remind us how to clap. There is an art to clapping when it comes to being in a studio audience. Clapping faster is far superior to simply attempting to clap louder, for example. Knowing how to effectively fade out a clap is essential, as well. No matter what you try to yell and/or scream over the din of a clapping audience doesn't really matter, as the audio tech in charge of mixing the applause levels into the overall mix of a show will always either rend your exclamations totally incomprehensible or remove it altogether. Believe me on this one, as I am an expert in yelling shit at precisely the right time so that it is heard over the capacity of a large, crowded room. However, each of my attempts at this while taking part in the taping of a television show have been for naught. I've tried it at least a half a dozen times, and it's never been anywhere near audible. Ever.

John had a very familiar voice. I couldn't quite place it, and I assumed this was the general consensus of the crowd as I took a look around the room. Where had we heard him before? It wasn't until he said a few simple words to us that the communal light bulb popped on in each of our heads and we instantly made the connection as to whose voice it was in the context of the show. Those words were 'Houseguests...' Now, I don't know how many of the 3 people reading this are Big Brother fans (Mom, that includes you), but if you are one of that illustrious trio, you know the voice I'm talking about. John was the voice of the Big Brother house, the man that calls people to the Diary Room or tells them to quit singing or just tells them to knock it off when they're being too much of an asshole even for this show. The crowd loved finding out John's secret identity, and there was much applause for him. I tried yelling shit over it, but again, pointless.

John knew he had us with his admission of his role on the show, so it was time to step it up a notch by handing out free shit. Stuck under a few of the chairs in the studio were cards with the words 'T-SHIRT WINNER!' printed on them, and whoever found one of those cards... oh, you get the point. I got one, as you can plainly see in the picture above. However, the cool part about this is that at an earlier point in John's spiel, a crowd handler had moved me from one side of the studio to the other, claiming that my row looked too crowded and would need to be lightened up a bit. I obliged, of course, and took the harrowing walk across the wide-open stage area in front of damn near everyone to find my new seat. I have no idea whose seat I ended up usurping as a result of this switch, but being that I found out from a fellow audience member after the show that my old seat on the other side of the studio also had a 'T-SHIRT WINNER!' card stuck underneath it, I didn't feel too badly about it. Luck was clearly on my side that day. I was out, I was about, and ready to bask in the imminent glory of the vision I then saw ready to make an entrance from the wings - the one and only Julie Chen.

To be continued...

Staring Down Big Brother - Part II

So unsurprisingly, a good portion of the walls inside the Big Brother studio are padded. Mainly for sound issues, but it certainly wasn't my first thought. The strangest thing about walking into the main stage area where they shoot the eviction episodes is realizing that the house is right behind the back wall. Every week an evicted hamster comes out to thunderous applause no matter how much of a douchebag they've been to everyone all summer long, and I was now standing in the very room where they've done that every week for my past 6 summers. For an entertainment junkie like myself, this was big. Yes, I realize it's a TV studio and that it's all make-believe and of COURSE they're going to take us into a room directly adjacent to where the main soundstage of the show is, but still... it's big. Right behind that big padded, reinforced wall is where a large portion of my craptacular summer entertainment has taken place. I geek on shit like that. I simply can't help myself.

So now we're in the main stage area where the eviction episodes take place, and a bunch of us are just kinda standing there, getting in the way of all the production staff and being just about as touristy as we can possibly be. It is, I have to say, pretty cool. There are the couches where the bootee and Chenbot sit for the exit interviews! Wow, they look pretty shabby. Like, REALLY shabby, and all the flowers surrounding them are ludicrously fake-looking. See, this is something I also really enjoy about getting to go behind the scenes on a television or movie production - you get to see all the dirt and grime that the magic of television is somehow able to gloss right over. I told you that glittery stink is what makes my engine go go go, and the back half of that equation is quite simply all over the goddamn place as I stand here and gawk. I'm in heaven.

The couches are not nearly as bright orange or new as they seem. You can practically see the words 'MADE IN CHINA' stamped on each individual flower. Every white surface everywhere has been painted not with the high-gloss enamel you would imagine, but instead with a thin, glue-like wash that clearly appears far better on camera than it does off. There are the roots of in-camera trickery scattered virtually everywhere, and I play Where's Waldo with myself as I try to pick more and more of them out from hiding. Julie Chen's pink duct tape stage mark on the stairs in between the bleachers could not be more visible as I stand there and stare at it, but I dare anyone to pick it out over the course of an episode. I bend my knees a bit and try to get the level of my gaze down to that of the TV camera to my right, and miraculously, all the imperfections seem to vanish. The shabby-looking couches still don't glow quite as bright as they do on the television, but with that exception, I am pulled directly into the illusion. It honestly feels like I've jumped with both feet right into my television.

A production assistant touches me on the shoulder and arouses me from my waking dream. 'Could you follow me to your seat, please?' You bet your ass I will. I can't wait to see what this place looks like from the other side. That's where I'll be able to see all the REALLY filthy stuff.

To be continued...

A Good Question

A brief musical interlude before our next episode. Neil, Eddie, and all associated parties showing us all how it needs to be done.



All I really want is for a few things to fall into place, to feel right, to feel real, to feel like I am somewhere I belong with someone who understands me. Why so many puzzles? It all gets so tiresome and unwieldy. I realize that this is probably what everyone everywhere wants, but truly, I don't think it's all that much to ask for. I really don't. Somehow, though, I know I will find it. Just you wait.

Staring Down Big Brother - Part I

One of the many perks of living in Los Angeles while unemployed is that you get the chance to actually get out and do shit during the day. Of course, most of that shit has be to free shit, which might make you think that the value of said shit wouldn't be very high. Well, yesterday I found this theorem of shit to be very untrue, as I finally got the opportunity to go see the taping of a live eviction episode of 'Big Brother'. I had joined a waiting list months ago, only a short while after I relocated to Los Angeles earlier this year. I've been a longtime fan of Big Brother after beginning to watch it during its fifth year on the air, and although the show has had its fair share of stinker seasons, (I'm looking at you, 11 and 12) I have yet to tear myself away from it. Yes, it's trash, but it is top dollar trash, something I cannot help but be a fan of. When you throw enough money at trash, there is always such a higher chance of said trash stinking up the place just that much more. Glittery stink is my bread and butter.

So having gotten my confirmation e-mail a few days prior, I plotted out my course and set sail for Studio City, CA, home to CBS Studios and Big Brother. Every time I take the long drive through town to Los Angeles proper and beyond, I'm reminded of why I really do love living here so much. Beautiful sunshine, palm trees, decades of entertainment history that I could read about and study until I'm blue in the face, the whole bit.

I really don't care what anyone says about LA. I love this town. Every filthy, corrupted, unbelievably gorgeous and shining square inch of it. I take pride in the traffic and the smog and the noise and the stretch limousines made out of bright-yellow Hummers. It is the perfect marriage of success and excess strung together in a high-wire, high dollar, three-ring chaotic circus, and if all I have to do in order to experience the tiniest taste of it is sacrifice an afternoon of battling the Hollywood Freeway, then by all means. I made my up through town and deposited Joan in the ungodly packed parking structure adjacent to the studio. Made my way through the fairly lax security check, checked in with the welcoming crew, and parked my ass on a bench to wait.

And wait. And wait some more. There were easily over a hundred of us there by the time I walked in. One side of the alleyway in which we waited was designated for friends, family, and schmoozing targets of the production crew, and the other was for the rest of the poor regular schmucks. I'm sure I don't have to tell you which side I was on. Around 30 minutes passed before we were summoned by the young and delightfully beautiful blonde production assistant (everyone is young and delightfully blonde and beautiful out here), and off we went. The schmoozies got to go in first. Fuckers.

We trudged through a back alley or three of the studio lot, marching past an uncountable number of sets, prop rooms, shooting streets, offices, living quarters (there is a virtual army of numbered 'bungalows' on the lot that I was dying to run into and hide in for a while) and god knows what else before we finally arrived at Studio 8, the elaborately constructed faux-house of Big Brother. The afternoon sun shone in our faces with merciless abandon, but no one complained. Prying eyes were everywhere, particularly toward the open shed full of Big Brother props across the narrow street. I recognized a few of them from the ongoing season, but no matter. We were being let into the studio, and that's all that really mattered. The hive of glittering, top dollar trash was opening before our very eyes, and my breath was held as I made my way in. Mostly to keep the stink out of my eyes and nose, but you get the idea.

To be continued...

Stupid Questions Stupid Answers

Let me in, let me out, tell me fear, tell me doubt. Why is it I have so much difficulty with doing things for myself, but absolutely no problem at all doing everything I can possibly muster and imagine so that maybe someday you will smile at me again? Why do I respect you more than I do myself? Why can't I bring myself to ask you why? Why am I afraid of you? All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, but now that you tell me that you will be, why does it hurt so much? Why do you make me hurt so much? Why do I let you?

The fact that it isn't me but you instead just isn't good enough. Not anymore. Changing your mind isn't either. It's just not. Not anymore. I don't even want to talk to you, and yet I want to tell you everything you probably don't even want to hear. Why do I bother wanting you back? If I want you back so much and want you to get what you want, why is it I want you to be somewhere that you obviously don't want to be?

I hurt so much right now I can barely see, but in that blindness my vision and viewpoint is better than it has ever been. While I still want what I had, the only thing I want more is what I've never had. What you were never able to give me, and what I've never been able to give myself.

I miss you and need you and want you by my side more than ever, but this time, I'm saying that to myself as well. I will never let us feel like this ever again. As I wave goodbye and touch your face from off in the distance, I hope you are saying the same.