As I watched the last moments of Lost, with Jack lying down to die in the bamboo forest where we first meet him, he looks up and sees the Ajira plane fly away safely, and I say “that’s what the tragedy of being a hero is, there is nobody there to save him”. Vincent, the dog, finds him and also lies down with Jack, so that he wouldn’t have to die alone. Awwwww.
Who cares that they didn’t solve half of the mysteries on the Island. As I said aloud at one point when Desmond made it down to the lower level of the glowy-cave, “That is some Tomb Raider shit!” It’s just cool, I guess. Because I’d rather it all still be a mystery, just like in life. It’s impossible to know it all, just stand in awe and be glad you were allowed this blink of existence.
And I’m also OK with it ending in a non-denominational church, with a bright light of rapture encompassing the non-survivors of 815. It was pretty much like a dream I once had. It was beautiful. It was more than a TV show.
