What I love most about Lost is that — cue up the record player — it makes its own kind of music. (And whoever that cat Desmond is who's living in quarantine in the hatch, we at least are kindred spirits when it comes to Mama Cass.)
The playfully surreal opening sequence of Lost's season premiere blew my mind, and the rest of the suspenseful, emotionally compelling episode put my mind at ease. Not that I was listening to the naysayers over the summer who, peeved at all the cliff-hangers from May's finale, were drooling that this fabulous fable was all tease and no payoff.
So much for that theory. I haven't a clue why this mystery man is living under the island, surrounded by retro gizmos, computers and guns as he works out, guzzles health shakes, and injects himself with some drug that seems to share Hurley's lottery numbers (other fans have to tell me such things, because I simply can't retain that m
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