Lost: Confusing television is bank.

After the season premier of Lost the other night, I am not entirely convinced they (the producers) are going in the right direction. Considering the whole concept of this bizarre story is precipitated by the fact that it never seems to go in the right direction, thus its massive, cult-like following, that observation by yours truly is a bit ambiguous at best. Like the grandfather character in Moonstruck, through streaming tears he confides, "I'm so confused!". For one thing, I really hated the voice-over narration from that Ben character (at least it sounded like Ben...before I dozed off). They should all take turns beating him to a pulp.

Truthfully, Lost is, in the most general terms, a hybrid of several TV programs from the past and present...Fantasy Island, The Twilight Zone, and Survivor...with heaping teaspoons of The Prisoner and Scooby-Doo thrown in for good measure. I have no doubt that the writers and producers draw from their experiences with psychotropic substances ingested during the 70's. Lost is one big, continuous LSD-trip-bad dream in HD.

Despite my tearful confusion with this addictive program, I will continue to watch the new season with interest. I've yet to grow tired of watching Evangeline Lily cavort through that Oahu jungle in various forms of tank-topped sweatiness. Jack's grubby, bearded craziness and substance abuse back home is getting a bit tedious. Shit, man...you're back home with soap, showers, a medical degree, iPods, and Kate...get your act together!

When the ratings begin to dip, here is my suggestion for closing out the saga of Lost. If Ricardo Mantalban is still alive, bring him and Herve Villachaise on for a cameo in the last episode. Make the ending rival the disappointing lameness of The Sopranos "don't stop" ending. "Boss...the plane, the plane!" Snap to black...roll credits over music, "Strawberry Fields".