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Push The Button

Do what you're supposed to do, then do the next thing.

Seasons four and five of LOST are where the show has all its truest talents brought together in perfect harmony. A wide scope, in terms of time, space, and morality, where a million characters across decades are acting in a way that pushes us to one specific and literally explosive action, like watching a massive Rube Goldberg machine or some kind of intricate clockwork creation play out before your eyes in a satisfying way. Season two, on the other hand, is where the show fully locks into what it initially believes it wants, which is its own kind of fun.

The thing about Recognition is that you have to go through what you think you are first, which means burning through things you think you desperately want. In the context of television, most shows are very messy their first season and then come together into a clear process in their second; that is to say, they’re working out what they want and how their tools will get them there, and then they go after it. Most shows will then repeat this process over and over until they run out of ideas and the goal is unable to sustain itself.

LOST, whatever its reputation for wheel-spinning, did not do this. Season two pulls out something the show wouldn’t do again until season six: a philosophical conceit up there with the Ship of Theseus, Plato’s Cave, or the Trolley Problem. It’s interesting that, for all its larger-than-life expression and bizarre lore grounding, the button is about as simple a concept as you can get: you have to push it every hundred-and-eight minutes, or the world will end.

It’s work on my part to convey what’s so specific about this, and why it didn’t come up again: it’s that it’s incredibly abstract as a problem. The writers go out of their way not to explain why the characters must do this, reducing it to a simple matter of principle. Any real-life example of the Ship of Theseus tends to have contextualizing information; for example, game studios in which every staff member is fired and replaced by someone else, sometimes with staff members recongregating in another studio. If I’m looking for a game much like the one they made, I’ll follow that new studio.

The button, on the other hand, has no context, and the fun is watching people get different emotions about it. Jack will violently reject it on general principle because it strikes him as stupid right up until someone begs him for help. John will waver between extremes depending on how humiliated he’s made to feel. Characters seem to mostly respond depending on how stupid it seems to them.

This strikes me as the show’s desire to hit upon a really abstract, universal concept; to inject something as simple as “push the button!” with intense emotion. Of all things, there’s a Law & Order: SVU episode with a very similar desire and concept, when a character played by Robin Williams keeps trying to demonstrate the absurdity of authority through convincing people to push a button. Note that LOST never really depends upon this kind of thing again; occasionally, it’ll work in some big thing like “turning the wheel”, but this becomes a useful way of pushing the plot forward rather than tooling with a thought for the sake of tooling with a thought.

And we gotta remember it really does hit upon some beautiful, profound truths about the human condition doing this. LOST is a show about faith; about having it, about pretending you don’t have it. When asked how he can find it so easy to believe in something so silly with no evidence, John famously replies, “It’s never been easy! Terry O’Quinn finds a lifetime of humiliation and rage in that line. The button’s abstractness creates a vivid plot about people who want their faith rewarded. Conversely, when asked if he ever questioned whether the button was just some prank played upon him by scientists to drive him mad, Desmond, who has been pushing the button for three years (several months of which alone), replies: “Every. Single. Day.” Sometimes faith is, unfortunately, the more practical option.

This is life, I suppose. If LOST can at best only be regarded a qualified success, what success it did have came from moving from one goal to the next. Season three was weak not because it kept repeating ideas – it never really hit upon another image as brilliant and arresting as the button and had the sense not to try, and the third season suffered not from the quality of ideas but from the lack of them. Unfortunately, we can perceive the past and future, but we live in the present, where we can only work on one problem at a time; past problems are solved and future problems can wait until we get there, and we have to have the good sense to know which problem is where.


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