Emily Nussbaum did a great job at deconstructing season 6's character missteps in her series retrospective. Her thesis is that the writers stopped telling a story about characters so they could tell a story about the story they were telling. This self-awareness was not new, but it was dialed up to 11 at the end of the series. Hurley had always been the voice of the audience, and near the end he was joined by Miles and Lapidus. Their function was "to joke about logic problems or clichés instead of addressing them. The snarky chorus stood in contrast to the main ensemble, which, with a few exceptions, devolved from archetypal (but layered) characters into action figures, their aims narrowing, like video-game heroes, to a single goal: Find Sun, find Jin, find Claire, return to the island, get off the island." Regarding Jacob and Frater, Nussbaum writes, "While the pair were not named Cuse and Lindelof, it was hard to ignore the resemblance, since Lost’s characters—like its fans—had been revealed as the pawns of narrative overseers who spoke in riddles, were hard to trust, and continually reassured them to be patient, the end was near." If Lost is a record of Cuse and Lindelof's relationship with their fans, I wonder what that says about the various massacres perpetrated at the behest of Jacob, Widmore, and Smokie?
My two cents, in the 6th season the characters lost their internal compasses and became passengers in a plot that, it turns out, I did not like so much. Total reversals in characterization were explained by offscreen conversations or magic. They slammed the brakes on nearly every character arc, even throwing some of them into reverse. And every now and then a character would turn to the camera and tell me how I was supposed to be watching the show, what I was supposed to feel, what I was supposed to ignore. It felt like nothing more than a metafictional exercise in audience manipulation. The characters I loved had been replaced, if not by smoke monsters, then by something far more insidious. Plot devices and author surrogates.
So it didn't really matter to me whether season six was full of quiet character scenes or slam-bang action. (It had both, in fact.) The quiet character scenes just served to remind me how poorly the characters had been treated, and the slam-bang action was pretty silly stuff.
I look forward to reading the rest of your reviews.
My two cents, in the 6th season the characters lost their internal compasses and became passengers in a plot that, it turns out, I did not like so much. Total reversals in characterization were explained by offscreen conversations or magic. They slammed the brakes on nearly every character arc, even throwing some of them into reverse. And every now and then a character would turn to the camera and tell me how I was supposed to be watching the show, what I was supposed to feel, what I was supposed to ignore. It felt like nothing more than a metafictional exercise in audience manipulation. The characters I loved had been replaced, if not by smoke monsters, then by something far more insidious. Plot devices and author surrogates.
So it didn't really matter to me whether season six was full of quiet character scenes or slam-bang action. (It had both, in fact.) The quiet character scenes just served to remind me how poorly the characters had been treated, and the slam-bang action was pretty silly stuff.
I look forward to reading the rest of your reviews.