Everybody may love Hugo, but sweet fucking Christ did I hate 75% of this episode. What happened in this episode? Set-up. More set-up. Has anything happened in this season yet? Sure, like, some stuff. But we’re a ridiculous amount of episodes in, and everything is tied around the same dull shit. Really awkward conversations about love and destiny, sitting on tree stumps while trying to figure out what to do, the Devil trying to trick people, and my sitting on my futon trying so hard to love a show that’s really letting me down half the time.

And then there’s these little moments of awesomeness sprinkled throughout the episode that keep me interested. Just enough. It’s like season one all over again. I still have faith that the ending of the show is going to rock my socks off. I promise. But at this point, the terrible fucking turbulence I’m enduring to get there is fatiguing me.

I’m tired of all this speculation, of even dissecting everything, when every episode just comes at us with more set-up. More set-up. Over and again.

Let’s do something different this week, to make recapping what I found to be an abysmal episode more bearable. Bullet points!

Yeah, just smash down the bag of dynamite. Idiot! Savage!
So, if Jacob has a plan for everyone, he planned for Ilana to gather up all the Candidates, and then kill herself by accident? Dude is sort of a dick. I like his swagger. Either that, or Ilana is one of thirty-nine thousand characters the writers have introduced under a certain amount of gravitas and then been like “Uh, never mind.”

The Devil’s Advocate in me tells me she served her purpose, and that her death will ultimately result in them having to govern themselves. Which Jacob probably sort of knew, which makes him a dickbag like I said. With immaculate swagga.

Desmond Drives The Fuck over John Locke!
Alright, this part is awesome, I’ll give the writers that. And yeah, I can’t help but speculate why he would crush Mr. Bentham with his sweet ride. My first thought was the idle hope that running over Locke in LAX would push the departed Locke back into his body on the Island. Then I quickly dismissed this.

There’s also the obvious notion that running Locke over will reunite him with Jack, and they’ll form some sort of tag-team and begin uh…crushing heads…no…no, uh…You know what, I don’t really know what Desmond’s end-game is on LAX. He obviously wants to make everyone aware of their existence outside of The Matrix, but what then? This show isn’t beyond something ludicrous(ly awesome) as some sort of Collective Conscious willing them out of the day-dream.

The Power of Love!
Oh sweet Jesus. The power of love is bringing back memories of the Island. Are you barfing, or do you dig it? My brother Pepsibones really likes it, but he’s also been sick with the Flu, sweating through his clothes every evening. I’m happy he digs it, since he’s a secret romantic, and I feared he had become fully ensconced in his Jaded Shell.

Me? I dig the concept, but probably not the execution. Half of my problem with a lot of this season has been how the writers have handled their themes. Everything seems so heavy handed, and they’ve relied on disgusting, nauseating expository dialogue to get there.

Furthermore, what do you make of it it being dead people from the Island who have had these premonitions of the Island first? Charlie, Libby, and Faraday all seem to have a tighter connection the Island, via love, and they’re all fucking rigor mortis?

Read the rest of this entry »

I have to briefly apologize for the oddity of this week’s LOST recap. I’m boarding a bus Wednesday for the New City of York, and I have to pound this out tonight. That’s what she said. I generally write this at the apex of a caffeine rocket, filled up with an energy drink and three or four Diet Mountain Dews. As well, I take screen caps as I go along flipping through the episode to gather my thoughts. So I’m without the episode at hand, I’m tired and generally content, and I feel rather blase.

Like LAX, this is the LOST recap you’ve come to know and love. Just a little different. Next week will be back to the usual.

I dug the fuck out of this week’s episode. I really did. By the end of it, I wasn’t really certain what was going on, but it seems like the veil of LAX is beginning to crumble down around the alternate reality, courtesy of some gorgeous Scottish hands. Shit is getting more and more complicated, and I’m going to get a priapism from all the romantic ideals and science-fiction bonery. I’m sold man, sold man like woah.

I knew shit was poppin’ off when Charles “I’ve Got a Powerful Chin” Widmore stuck Desmond into that hut with all the crazy fucking coils and shit. The whole scene smacked of Dr. Manhattan and Watchmen, and I couldn’t help but think homage as Desmond stood in the middle of the room and began to glow like a motherfucker.

You have to admire such a pack of nerds and their ability to stuff their television show with a zillion references.

We find Desmond in LAX, and we all know that it’s merely a matter of time before he begins to ask himself what the fuck is going on. Note the first shot of Desmond in LAX is courtesy of a reflective surface. If you took a shot of whiskey every time the show uses a mirror or a puddle of water or something equally reflective to transition between the real Island and LAX, you’d be drinking at least once an episode. That drinking game wasn’t the best thing I’ve ever thought of, okay?

Much like on the Island, Desmond spends his time in this episode trying to save Charlie’s drug-addled ass. And once Charlie plunges The Constant’s sexy car into the ocean, it triggers the OMFG Moment you knew was coming but were secretly excited for anyways.

Desmond flashes back to the Island, and then snaps back into LAX, after witnessing the superimposition of Charlie’s hand on the glass underwater with his death on the actual Island. This coincides with Charlie’s earlier commentary on having witnessed the “truth” after nearly dying.

So wait, LAX is a construction? An intentional fabrication? Awesome.

Read the rest of this entry »

Read the rest of this entry »

Spring has sprung! Or something. It’s always weird when the days are nice, but life hasn’t returned to the barren shitland of New England. There’s something odd about walking around and loving the blue skies and warm weather and seeing no leaf or greenery within my purview. Whatever, I’ll take the sunlight, man. Nothing perks up my spirits (and all of humanity’s) like a nice beautiful day outside. It’s almost enough to make me forget the ashen butthole that is winter time.

Can you notice I’m falling less and less in love with snow and frost? It never used to bother me when I was young. Now I hate it with a ferocity usually reserved for dying on boss fights, or the prequels.

Monday Morning Commute. Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me the arts that you’re indulging in, to stave off suicide.

Read the rest of this entry »

After last week’s episode, anything was going to be The Great Comedown. That’s scientific fact. Half the people I’ve come across have considered the Dicky Alpert as Spanish Jesus episode one of the best episodes ever, and I’m in agreement. So yeah, I was expecting this week’s to be a bit of a drag.

Man, was I right.

Let me pose a question to you: What is the only thing more boring than Jin and Sun? Jin and Sun in LAX. Jin and Sun eating up an episode of LOST during its final season. This episode aggravated me to the point where I said “Fuck this” in the middle of some weepy, strained LAX moment and went upstairs to grab a Diet Dew and a string cheese. I was beginning to go insane with anger. I went upstairs from my nerd cave, grabbed the caffeinated bliss, and returned downstairs. Do you know what I missed? Absolutely nothing.

I can’t be the only one who is utterly apathetic towards Jin and Sun’s storyline, can I? I’ve never gave a fuck about them. I wrote about LOST for an entire month, and I never touched on them. And while my disregard for them may be more than most peoples’, I can’t imagine why I should care about them. As my friend Tommy Rock pointed out at the beginning of the season, Sun’s main purpose is to ask questions. Pay attention next time she’s on screen. The writers have used her as a mechanism for shitty exposition since I he dropped this knowledge on me.

How? Why? Blah blah blah.

And Jin? Jin’s a hot Asian dude in a tight white t-shirt.

So no, I don’t care about them on the Island, or in LAX. Sorry! They’re both candidates, but they’ve barely spent time on screen together. I mean, I’m a sucker for a good romance, but even I can’t rouse any emotions over whether or not they’ll wind up together.

But let’s get down into it.

On LAX, Jin and Sun ain’t married. But the dudebro is still working for her father. Sun’s gone from an annoying plot device on the Island to an annoying prissy chick in LAX. The two of them land in LAX under the notion that Jin has to deliver some money to Keamy (who is still awesome) in some sort of deal. Right. This is totally cool. Snore.

Across shitty LAX, Jin and Sun pine for one another. They roll around in bed and say sweet nothings and I resist the desire to barf and scream. Maybe scream while I’m projectile barfing.

At one point hunky Jin rolls out of bed after it is implied that he just got done making the sex. Let me ask you a question? Who puts their boxers on after sex? Usually I’m half-dead, laying there puffing, grasping at life. I’m a pathetic man. But even if I had the ability to move, I wouldn’t put on my dumb boxers. That’s the best way to get the human equivalent of Elmer’s Glue all over   the inside of the boxers. Not buyin’ it, yo! But it’s ABC, so yeah, I understand why. I’m just complaining.

Read the rest of this entry »

Read the rest of this entry »

There are moments on LOST that are so utterly epic, you want to shit your pants. Or do laps around your room. Or perhaps, jump up off your couch after shitting your pants, and do laps around your room. Tonight’s LOST brought all of that funk into my soul. I’m excited at a cellular level. I am tweaking out on pure undiluted awesomeness, not to mention an entire fucking bag of Starburst jellybeans. Oh sweet Christ, if this isn’t one of the best episodes of all time, I don’t know what will be. Buckle the fuck up, there are going to be fanboy fluids flung everywhere. Open your mouth and say a novena.

Where to start? Where the fuck to start? There’s too much enormity! My god damn skull plate is about to break off, spin around the room, before breaking through my ceiling and flying off into the stratosphere.

Let’s get down to the essentials. The storyline for Ab Aeterno is framed through the tale of our boyfriend Richard Alpert, and how he came to be on the Island. While there are ridiculously important developments on some sort of macro level, it’s all tied down through the most beautiful of bindings, the heart strings. I thought it was a dope way to intertwine the two.

Did you swoon for Richard before? Yeah, me too. I couldn’t believe how thunderous the clit-boners and butt-crushes were for Dicky. I mean, I know that I love him, but the LOST community seemed centered on this episode tonight with especial fervor. RICHARD, we all screamed, OPEN YOURSELF UP TO US. And he did, oh boy did he did.

Our boy Richard rocks the most touching of archetypes, the lover who wants to be with their deceased wife. Seriously, ladies and gentlemen. If that doesn’t melt your heart, you don’t have one. The episode opens up with Dicky galloping upon his horse to his beloved Isabella. And she’s obviously on her way to rocking the rigor mortis. I don’t know much about the medicines of 1847, but when your wife is barfing blood, she’s probably fucked.

One deep-dicking by the Catholic church later, and Ricardo is on his way to the New World via some serious slave trading bullshit. I mean, how can you imprison this guy? He’s utterly gorgeous! I mean, sequester him in your house and rub him with salves? Try and quiet his disturbed heart? Sure. I can understand that. But slavery?

Before we get overly intellectual and begin to rocket philosophical loads, let’s just be honest. We freaked the fuck out in geek esctascy for a solid five moments. The moment you see the Statue through the Black Rock during the maelstrom, you shit your pants. And then when it’s launched into the air, you begin hyperventilating. And when you realize that the Black Rock is responsible for demolishing said Statue? Geektacular Euphoria.

And before you can clean your pants, Smokey attacks the Black Rock. Dudes getting flung and mashed and mushed into Cream O’ Human. I can’t help it, but every fucking time he attacks, I find it absolutely chilling. Even though his methodology is still the same, even though they’re always the same sounds, it never gets old to me. Richard’s petrified pleadings to God as Smokey hovers near him was amazing.

And then? Then Richard meets himself in the middle of the chess game between the Devil and God. Can we call it that now?

Our boy Richard is freed by the Man in Black, and sent to kill Jacob. The conversation eerily echoes that of the one between Dogen and Sayid earlier in the season; everything from not letting them speak, to the sword given to kill him. If anything, it’s got to be clear that both Smokey and Jacob are master manipulators, and to let either of them talk to you is to allow them to rock out some hardcore guile on your ass.

Smokey’s manipulation of Richard was reminiscent of his manipulation of Ben back at the end of season five. Seriously, this guy has a velvet tongue. What does the Devil do, if not cajole you into biting apples and doing other dumb shit under the guise of some grand reward, or some grand slight you have received?

Read the rest of this entry »

It seems that everyone knows my insane, unquenchable dicklust for Richard Alpert. Make no allusions when I state I’m madly in love with him. I know people are aware of this, because I’ve had several friends ask me

DUDE, ARE YOU STOKED FOR RICHARD TOMORROW?

To which I respond, fuck to the yeah.

Tomorrow night is an episode dedicated to Dicky “The Fucking Immortal” Alpert. We’re not worthy, but let us enjoy it anyways.

A friend of mine asked in the comments for yesterday’s LOST recap if I had seen the book Sawyer had in his room or some shit. And while I had seen the book, I didn’t know what the title was. There was a point in the show when I would have hunted that title down, desirous to know what the inference was they were throwing our way.

Now? Now I just don’t care.

This season there’s been something like nineteen book references per episode. Yes, an exaggeration. But it feels like every episode there’s some totally amazing reference they’re throwing at you through a book on someone’s bookshelf, or whatever. It used to be cool because of the sparsity of these references, but they’re just overdone.

When I was thinking about my apathy towards the reference today, I began to think maybe all the references are tongue-in-cheek. The writers from LOST have always been self-aware of how their episodes are analyzed by the fans. The meticulous nature with which we comb every frame of every single installment.

Maybe they’re fucking with us.

I mean yeah sure, the books could be references to themes and devices, no doubt. But maybe the density of the references this season is a wink. Some sort of meta-joke that they’re playing on us and hoping we will all play along. I hope this is the case with not just the books, but also the overt and sledgehammer subtlety references to destiny and fate, and all that sort of bullshit. Either that, or they’re laying it on thick. Thick and hard. Whatever the case, they’re so abundant and so overwhelming, I can’t help but not care and roll my eyes at them now.

(Until I crack because I have to know, and I’m just another complaining fanboy.)

Thwack and kapow! Smokey this week laid down the meanest of pimp hands I had seen in a long god damn time. It was honed to a perfection that only living for hundreds of years can give you. I mean, I’m sure we’ve all imagined giving a pimp hand at some point in our lives. For some reason, the idea of slapping someone across the face just seems enjoyable. It’s probably all the television and violent cartoons we were raised on.

Smokey has officially begun to freak me the fuck out. While I’ve never been on the “This Guy is Sweet, Jacob Is Dick” train, if I had been, I would calmly requested that I be let off at the next stop after this week. I mean, I know that Claire is insane, and she has shitty hair, and she builds baby cribs out of animal skeletons and shit, but if you missed the foreshadow that pimp hand wrought, yeah I don’t know what to tell you.

You want to bring that Jacob is a deceiver heat? Get the fuck out of here. Smokey is just as grand a manipulator as Jacob, and how! I mean, seriously. Jacob presents people with choices, offers them destinations. Smokey gives you the illusion of choice. What MiB spits is tantamount to “I’m not here to tell you what to do. But if you don’t come with me, I’m going to smash you into paste as a billowing cloud of crackling smoke.”

Yeah dude, freedom of choice right there.

Smokey spent this entire episode using the oldest trick in the book: divide and conquer. If you wanted insight into how he’s able to manipulate people with impressive effectiveness, just check out what went down. Smokey takes everyone aside and beguiles them with sugary promises and rhetoric. He’s good man, he’s like, real good. In a revealing conversation with Kate, the dude even lays out how he bent Claire to his will. He gave her someone to hate, and by hating them, she really worked out his objective of throwing down those dickheads who lived in the Temple of Doom.

His methods are awesome, and I say that with no sarcasm.

It’s continuing to all be so Locke versus Hobbes that if you’ve missed it by this point, I don’t know what to tell you. The appeal of MiB versus Smokey at this point isn’t really deciphering their motives, but watching them play out. We get it, yo. Free Will and the belief that humanity will do a solid versus the whole Humanity is a Dung Heap and needs to be controlled. Yep, got it. I got it a season ago. But you know what? I don’t give a fuck, I’m a philosophy geek.

There’s something so alluring about Smokey; but there’s always something so alluring about the darkness. The promises of what ever you want. I’ve seen Star Wars though, I know how this fucking shit ends. You fight Mace Windu in some shitty office apartment, and then you sire a son who kills your crippled ass. I mean, do we really think that Smokey wants to get them off the Island? That he really cares about them? I sure don’t. But I also think there’s really some uncomfortable side to Jacob, the God that Failed.

Poor Sawyer. Even in LAX, he’s haunted by the demons of Anthony Cooper. Sawyer’s a tricky cat to peg on LOST. He always seems one step away from either redemption or full blown moral collapse. As the episode unfolded in the main reality, we saw Sawyer once again walk this tight-rope over the precipice. And as usual, there really was no denouement. I really have no idea which way Sawyer is going to go on the Island, other than apparently back with Freckly McHussy. Oh god dammit, Kate.

I dug how Sawyer is a undercover detective, which means that even in LAX he’s a con man who gets to sleep with tons of women. His monologue explaining the thin line between criminal and cop was interesting, even if it smacked of a thousand cliches.

As a brief aside, last night I realized something. Sawyer has to be a genuinely hunky dude. Why? ‘Cause if he wasn’t, we would totally fixate on his hair. I mean, it’s fucking dumb. It’s all like, flinging around and awkward, and I can’t tell if maybe it’s a mullet, or maybe it’s just oddly coiffed. But it ain’t usual. No sir. I was watching him clunk about the detectives’ offices and I was like, what the fuck? How did I not notice that hair before?

But yeah dude, what are you going to do? I need to know. The world holds its breath. Maybe there will never be any resolution for him, maybe he’ll always be torn by those demons. If LAX a reflection of the consequences of one’s behavior on the Island, it would seem fitting that Sawyer is once again pigeonholed between happiness and totally byronic brooding. You go ahead and seethe, Sawyer. It’s what makes us swoon for you.

Let me ask you something. WHERE THE FUCK IS FARADAY!?

Everyone has fucking shown up in LAX save for my boyfriend. I need to see him. We’ve seen fucking Artz, Charlie’s dumb brother, Boone. What the fuck is this dog shit. Last night we got Charlotte. But no mullet-rocking fucking physicist? Who is so adorable in his quirkiness? Kiss my ass, LAX. I want to put up some fucking Scorpions, sit around with Faraday, and have temporal abnormalities affect my perceptions of reality and give me nosebleeds and crap. It’s hogwash.

Also, I can’t help but feel that it’s almost too convenient that everyone is showing up. They’re all concentrated in Los Angeles? It really makes me wonder if this isn’t some bubble reality that all of the people involved on the Island are somehow transported to.

Everyone, save for my boy.

Read the rest of this entry »