Onorato dalla presenza di cari e stimati compagni di viaggio dentro Lost in occasione della visione, rigorosamente collettiva, della doppia puntata finale, è ben presto scattata in me una domanda, che oltretutto ricalca una delle battute più gettonate dai nostri eroi negli ultimi tempi: "Ha funzionato" question mark (?). Almost inevitably, a victim in these days of fever a few lines of the epidemic but also triggered by six seasons of Lost, I can move on several levels of response!
Yes, it worked!
Even the spectators, like the protagonists in the end, we (re) found in a large hall to experience the final act of a collective hallucination essentially the same time as that of many other global audience, with thrilling riassaporando, almost sucking the marrow of the Serie .
NO, did not work!
Responses promises or simply expectations are certainly not arrived and, in hindsight, the real Losties us viewers, lost in a maze of bewildering and ever other series as it unfolds, that series ended up scraping the bottom of the barrel ... shaft and the island! What novel Fantozzi, we eternity sentenced to reshoot the scenes we destroyed mothers of this ... boiata crazy!
MAYBE ... the finale did not disappoint the sense of journey and on the one hand it embodied a desire, not so hidden, to make sense of fullness and authenticity at the time of our lives, it also tried to dispel that sense of nihilistic death, which - I think I can say - we are a Christian (capital C, or thanks to the intercession of Christian Shepard) returned in Lost as the gift of a higher consciousness: even if the spectators, the attribution of meaning / Meaning there are those who realize ( "But we are real, Dad? ") before, long after those who have little or nothing.
MAYBE ... we have seen the eschatological moment (the final revelation) of this debate (see previous post lively fortunately) EPOS Lostia, one in which comes the long awaited clarification (the light of the Beyond the open door) with the Father (topical meeting told the Bible is a Star Wars parva Licet dial Magnis ).
FINALLY, we measured - and almost squeezed dare I add - with a series of narrative structure particularly impressive (you can read in this sense, the post of Virginia on the potential literature), through which the island is painted ( "Picture a large large box ) as a place (dystopian rather than utopian), where anything can happen, but primarily as a bridge, ferry, Limbo, a place of transition in short, to her death, the rediscovery of its own (antichissime! esoteric?) roots.
There is, in my humble opinion, the necessity or as it were a moral obligation to "deal" with one's true identity, it is monstrous or angelic. Perhaps all of us
We are always scrutinized, as Jack, by Jacob duty, as if he is a member of the Dharma in anticipation of change.
Perhaps the only way the life of the Island off type (regardless of its very weak, mutevolissime and multiple time-space coordinates) can synchronize with all the (primal, innate, fatal?) Arising from Love that dwells only in type posts on Island, to allow everyone to live, and / or dead, its passage, as an overrun of its sea and its horizon, soothing vocals and finally whispers.
The initial opening and final closing, after six long and memorable seasons, the eye of the Shepherd Jack mi ha recapitato dall'Isola questo personalissimo message in a bottle : il GRANDE LOOP ( The Circle , narrativamente e metanarrativamente parlando: battute, ruoli, personaggi, alchimie dharmiche e non, il tutto nel segno dell'intercambiabilità) che sembra caratterizzare questo posto così speciale va PROTETTO in ogni modo e il tappo eventualmente sturato va prontamente riposizionato, altrimenti il cerchio non si chiude e la Morte non porta ad una nuova Nascita, ma solo ad un triste e forse scontato bilancio, che ci rendiconta quanto l'Uomo arrivi, distrugga, combatta per poi congedarsi sempre nello stesso mo(n)do.
Con un po' di gusto per la suggestione, l'Uomo is called, in this tragic modernity, to rediscover its mission as guardian of Life, Pastor ... a Shepard !
SAVE TO BELIEVE is just a good slogan to fill the postscript of my last postcard from the island increasingly delusional and sweeten the bitter taste left by the absence of sympathetic Portuguese ... this time, only wreckage on the beach!
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