Lost: A Study of Pre-Heaven

My wife, Karen, and I just finished watching the TV series Lost. (Yes, we are on top of things in pop culture, clearly.) We watched it on Netflix, so that means we got to watch the episodes in close proximity to one another. This means that our experience was different than anyone who might have watched it during the original seasons -- which, at one point, were even interrupted by the writers' strike in Hollywood.

I have heard three reactions to the series: 1) "It was stupid and I stopped watching it;" 2) "It was good but the ending was stupid" and 3) "Meh, it was just entertaining." I also get the sense from friends on Facebook, who were being kind enough to avoid spoiling the end, that there may have been some annoyance with the spiritual aspect of the show.

Before I tell you what I thought, I want to point out two things. First, I wholly subscribe to what we lit. majors call "the intentional fallacy," which essentially says that it doesn't matter what the author intended to get across in terms of message; all that matters is that we interpret logically because there are many differing -- but valid -- interpretations of one particular work and what the writer says about it is not necessarily "right." Second, what we bring with us into a reading (or viewing) of a story is going to affect out interpretation -- and that is okay. These two things contribute to the magic of story and to the idea that I referred to, on Friday, of "intimation."

In short, the flower of story blooms in the soil in which it is planted: the mind of the reader (or viewer). No one can be "right" and that is cool -- as long as the reader is not completely illogical and baseless in his or her interpretation.

Playing It By Ear

My wife and I, cutting-edge people that we are, are watching this hot new show called Lost. (I know, I know -- no cable, plus Netflix...) It's pretty cool, I guess. I have never finished an episode and thought, "Wow, that's brilliant." But I have also never been bored. The show is what a former Romanticism professor of mine used to call "chewing gum for the brain;" chewing gum with good, long-lasting flavor, but no real nutrients in it.

But that's not the point. Here's the point: Dominic Monaghan's character is a former rock star; a guy who was in a really low-intellect, poppy-punk kind of band called "Driveshaft." Or, as the character Hurley's friend puts it: "Driveshaft? More like 'Suckshaft'."

Charlie playing in a less than ideal acoustic environment. 

In an episode we recently watched, Monaghan's character, Charlie, is at the piano writing a song. And you know what he is doing? He is writing down notes. Do writers and people in general really think rock musicians and pop musicians write their music down like classical composers? Let me illuminate through summaralysis. (Yeah, I made that up.)

Classical and orchestral composers write their music down. This is so that a hundred or more musicians all play things that sound good together. Big band arrangers do this too, when you can find a big band.