I concur – mainly because Damon Lindelof said at the outset that they figured they could come up with enough material to make the story arc they had in mind last three (or possibly four) years, and that he thought it would be a mistake to try to stretch it out beyond that. (Of course, one of the other producers has since said he saw no reason it couldn’t go on for “years,” but I think that the principal creators will have the good sense to nail his tongue to the floor if he makes such a suggestion ever again.)
Yeah, I felt the same way until I was maybe twenty or twenty-one. The idea that David Lynch had something on the cover of TV Guide sickened me. Doughnut-eating plebes were gushing about some stupid night-time soap that he’d made, obviously indicating that he had sold out and started pandering to the unwashed masses. Ugh! Every time you turned around, “Twin Peaks this,” and “Twin Peaks that.” Everyone liked it, therefore it was common and worthless. Q.E.D. Blue Velvet or Eraserhead – only special people could appreciate those.
And then, after the series had ended, a good friend put the entire run in my hands in VHS form. I still turned up my nose – until I watched it and everything I thought I knew about television as a medium changed forever, and I was somehow able to get my fat head out of my ass.
Now, my favourite type of entertainment is the sort that appeals to two different types of people at the same time – and cleverly manages to be different things to different people. My favourite example is Pulp Fiction, which is either a straight-forward orgy of mindless violence, or an incredibly densely-packed meditation on cinema as a form, covering everything from film noir and the French New Wave to the most superficial of pop movies, and containing a rich symbolic vocabulary and fairly subtle philosophical themes. Or both, depending on who’s butt is in the seat.
If Lost appeals to a substantial number of people who aren’t interested in much beyond “Sawer is teh haaaaaaaaaaawt! hes gonna marry KATE jack is a lamer,” it’s no skin off my balls – in fact, I’m grateful for that, because it probably got us to Season Three, so there’ll be plenty more subtext about esoteric buddhism, 18th century political philosophy, and surrealist literature for me and my squinty friends to obsess over. Is one way of relating to the show objectively better than other? No, because it’s entertainment, and I have every confidence that there are plenty of people who are equally entertained by the high-school-level sexual tension in the show as I am by speculating about what a conspicuous glimpse of a copy of Ambrose Bierce’s An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge might mean, or by the sly references to ultra-hip sources like William S. Burroughs or Douglas Adams creeping into the mainstream. If we’re both entertained, that’s all to the good.