The Plunge Blog

Prior to the Lost premiere, I hadn't been so fired up for a tv or movie event since... The Phantom Menace. And we all know how that turned out.

Well, it's here. You've watched it. (If you haven't, stop reading. Spoilers aplenty.) And whatever you think of the premiere, I'm sure we can all agree on this: there was no Jar-Jar Binks.

So in the spirit of All Lost, All the Time, let's look at some relationship-takeaways.

Are these a stretch? You bet. Then again, for a show that embraced time travel, immortality, Hobbits dating models, an entire episode devoted to the enthralling back-story of a tattoo that is never referenced again, ghosts, pirate ships, visions of the future, smoke monsters, drug-running priests, razor-less women who somehow never have unseemly body hair, and disappearing log-cabins, well, what really counts as a stretch, anyways?

5 Things the Lost Premiere Taught Us About Relationships:

1. Those "I Love You" moments need to be earned.

In tv as in life, it's not enough to just say "I love you" and make a teary-ass scene. You need to build it. You need to earn it. Take two different couples: Desmond/Penny and Sawyer/Juliet. With the former, the writers carefully, respectfully worked on their relationship for 3+ seasons. When they finally reunited, we felt it, we bought it.

Sawyer and Juliet? The crux of their courtship happened off-screen. One episode they were traipsing through the jungle, the next episode we're told--without seeing it develop--that they've been cheerfully living together in Dharmaworld for three years. Plausible? Sure. Something we feel in our guts? Not so much.

Back to real life. We can't use the "big scene" as a crutch, a cheat. Yes, the big scenes (think: weddings, anniversaries, Valentine's Day) are critical in any relationship--you can't shirk 'em--but they need to be buttressed by years of smaller scenes, little moments, the day-to-day stuff that makes your partner feel you care. 

2. Love at first sight... usually doesn't happen.

We're getting way ahead of ourselves. At last count there were 16,000 theories on the series' end game. But. One quick observation. On the plane and at LAX, Kate meets Sawyer, Jack sees Kate, but here's what we didn't see. We didn't get swelling music suggesting that, instantaneously, these characters now feel The Greatest Love of All. This feels honest. This feels like real life. Falling for someone is usually a bit-by-bit, gradual process that doesn't happen with one flickering glance. Relationships take work and they take time.  

3. Smothering smothers.

Who else was taken waaaay back by the old-school dynamic of Sun and Jin? With all the sci-fi machinations, sometimes we lose sight of those most basic of lessons--being a dick is a good way to lose a wife. Any controlling husbands should be strapped to a chair and forced to watch scenes of Jim going all "Button the collar of your blouse."

4. Avoid the Awkward "Second Goodbye."

Not to pick on Sawyer and Juliet too much... but this just didn't work. Their tearful goodbye at the end of Season 5 was one thing--"DON'T YOU LET GO OF ME BLONDIE!!!"--but then, just a few minutes (okay, and 30 years) later, they do the same thing all over again. Doesn't work. This is sort of like when you have an epic break-up scene with your girlfriend, you both cry, you kiss, you cry some more, you exhaust every possible emotion, you finally say goodbye... and then you both leave the apartment together and awkwardly take the same subway for 60 minutes.

5. Leave your sister's love life to your sister.

What's up, Boone? Been a while. In fact, it's been so long since we've seen Boone, that I forgot: 1) How man-pretty he is--as a straight dude, it's not often I notice a guy's eyelashes; and 2) The whole subplot about him traveling to Australia to wrench Shannon from a messy relationship. Or something. In any case, the lesson is clear and applies to everyone: let your siblings make their own decisions in love, or you will get crushed by a propeller-plane full of heroin while helping a bald man who used to be in a wheelchair.

Only 109 days to the finale. Not that I'm counting.