Television Review: Lost (Season 5, 2009)
The fifth season of Lost represents the most radical structural departure in the series' history, a necessary evolution born from the creators' decision to establish a definitive end date. This season marks a decisive shift from the character-centric exposition that defined the programme's early years toward what can only be described as narrative accelerationism. During the initial three seasons, a persistent complaint amongst the dedicated fanbase concerned the creators' tendency to allow the plot to advance at a glacial pace, with episodes frequently consumed by character exposition bordering on repetition. However, beginning with Season 4 and carrying into Season 5, with that definitive end date established, the series shifted its focus; the writers, now working within a shorter timeframe to resolve their narrative arcs, prioritised plot momentum and high-stakes action.
This pivot, whilst necessary for the series' conclusion, was not without its casualties. The episode The Little Prince (S5X04) exemplifies this tension, opening with a sense of déjà vu that suggests the series had not entirely escaped the gravitational pull of its earlier, more familiar formats. At times, particularly during the Los Angeles sequences, the episode feels indistinguishable from "filler" material designed to pad the runtime. Worse still, a specific segment recycles footage and narrative beats so thoroughly that it resembles a clip show episode disguised as canonical narrative—a technique beneath the reputation of a television programme so eager to prove its innovation.
The primary narrative engine of Season 5 is time travel, a concept subtly hinted at in previous episodes—most notably in The Constant (S4X05), arguably the finest episode of the fourth season—and now harvested to drive the plot forward. The premiere, Because You Left (S5X01), establishes the rules through Daniel Faraday's exposition: time travellers cannot change the past, time paradoxes must be avoided, and there will be no parallel timelines or alternative universes. Crucially, the episode posits Desmond as an exception to these rules, allowing him to conveniently remember encounters with time-travelling Faraday—a narrative convenience that highlights the specific, perhaps mystical nature of the Island's power.
The increasing narrative complexity of Lost in its latter seasons, coupled with a more rigid focus on the plot's predetermined finality, necessitated a structural shift where individual episodes were forced to specialise in specific storylines and character groups at the expense of the broader ensemble. Episodes like Jughead (S5X03) serve as quintessential examples of this phenomenon, abandoning the Oceanic Six and their misadventures in Los Angeles in favour of delving deeper into the fate of those who remained on the Island. This narrative pruning allowed for a more concentrated exploration of the island's mythology, specifically the historical layers involving the Others, the DHARMA Initiative, and the time travel mechanics that were becoming increasingly central to the plot.
The time travel device also enabled the series to explore different temporal settings, most notably the 1970s, romanticised by the creators as the best time to live. The episode LaFleur (S5X08) puts regular characters exactly in that time period where they seem happiest and most fulfilled, resulting in one of the rare episodes of Lost that can serve as something of a nostalgic period piece. The Island in the 1970s, at least the Barracks, is shown as a much happier, gentler, and kinder place than in other periods, with Horace Goodspeed portrayed as a relaxed and laid-back leader. This temporal setting provides a temporary respite from the show's typical density, offering viewers a break from the usual mythology-heavy storytelling.
Season 5 operates on a dual-track structure that splits the screen between two distinct time periods and character sets. The first track follows the Oceanic Six in Los Angeles during 2007, where Ben Linus attempts to orchestrate a grand mission to return them to the Island—a task complicated by fractured allegiances. Jack Shephard agrees to help but with visible reluctance; Sayid Jarrah assists yet remains fundamentally distrustful of Ben's motives; Sun Kwon harbours lethal intent to kill Ben due to her belief that he was ultimately responsible for Jin's death; Hurley enjoys the relative safety of the LA County jail; and Kate Austen becomes obsessed with a mysterious maternity lawsuit.
The second track follows the survivors remaining on the Island, who experience violent time shifts that induce physical ailments such as nosebleeds and dizziness—symptoms that ultimately claim Charlotte's life. This bifurcation creates an inherent inequality in narrative interest. The Island segments are more engaging than the Oceanic Six drama, which is too formulaic, relying on recycles and predictable twists. The Los Angeles sequences in The Little Prince suffer from weak and predictable plotting, with several twists, such as Ben's manipulation of the lawyers, being obvious to the attentive viewer.
The reunion and return of the Oceanic Six to the Island is handled across two episodes that were written simultaneously by showrunners Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, yet conceived with conflicting priorities regarding narrative placement. Originally, The Life and Death of Jeremy Bentham was slated to air first to conclude a major character arc, but the decision was reversed to broadcast 316 first—a strategic shift that fundamentally altered the tone of the season. 316 is functional but generally uninspired, telling the audience nothing they have not already deduced, with many scenes feeling repetitive and unnecessary, serving as filler. The exposition scene at the Lamp Post exemplifies this flatness; when Eloise Hawking explains the mechanics of arriving at the Island, the sequence feels like a routine exposition dump that removes much of the mystique associated with the character and the facility.
In contrast, The Life and Death of Jeremy Bentham (S5X07) is described as a far superior episode that explores the catalyst for the Oceanic Six's decision to return. The character focus works in its favour, revealing the personal tragedy of John Locke as he attempts to reunite the Oceanic Six under the alias Jeremy Bentham. The episode traces his trajectory after moving the donkey wheel on the Island and being transported to the Tunisian desert, plagued by a broken leg and deprived of the Island's miraculous healing powers. His mission is fraught with failure and tragedy as he finds Sayid content in Santo Domingo, Hurley satisfied in Santa Rosa Mental Institution, and Kate too dedicated to Aaron to leave. The episode culminates in Ben strangling Locke and staging the scene to look like suicide—a shocking moment that provides significant plot reveals and compelling action sequences.
Despite the season's emphasis on plot mechanics, several episodes successfully balance narrative complexity with character development. The Lie (S5X02) shifts focus squarely onto Hurley, the series' most beloved character, exploring the negative consequences when he acts with unwavering integrity. The episode suggests that the right thing, in Hurley's estimation, was to confess the truth regarding the events of Oceanic Flight 815 once back in civilisation, yet this moral clarity leads him directly to the Santa Rosa Mental Institution. The character acts realistically; he listens to suggestions but also ignores them. His brief recap of events while talking to his mother is described as one of the funniest scenes in the entire series, representing one of the best displays of Jorge Garcia's acting skills.
The season also provides significant development for Sawyer, whose transformation from James to "LaFleur" is described as one of the best twists the show ever deployed. In LaFleur, Sawyer enthusiastically embraces his new identity, finding his new life as something akin to "sheriff"—a long way from his lifetime as a criminal. He successfully convinces Juliet to stay on the Island, pointing out that the outside world in 1974 is more alien to her than the world on the Island. This evolution is crucial for the show's third act, as Josh Holloway delivers a strong performance as the de facto leader of the Losties, his character matured through actual responsibility and mellowed after domestic bliss with Juliet.
However, the season's darkest character exploration comes in He's Our You (S5X10), which signals a definitive turn away from the lighter, more optimistic phases of Season 5. The episode focuses on Sayid, utilising flashbacks that are technically flashforwards relative to the main plot's 1977 setting, yet for Sayid, they function as a journey into his own past. The narrative travels further back than ever before, to Sayid's childhood in Tikrit, witnessing a young Sayid displaying a capacity for decisive violence. The episode culminates in Sayid shooting young Ben Linus in the chest—a shocking cliffhanger that represents Sayid crossing ethical lines previously unimaginable. The act of shooting a minor in cold blood is shocking, marking the show's descent into darker territory and representing a moment where the protagonist effectively gives up on redemption and accepts his nature.
A central philosophical tension throughout Season 5 is the debate between predetermination and free will, with the series ultimately taking a definitive stance. Whatever Happened, Happened (S5X11) serves as a crucial stabiliser following the chaotic temporal displacement of the previous instalment. The producers were confronted with a choice regarding the fundamental rules of the Island's magic: they could adhere to the established canon that history is immutable and set in stone, or they could opt for a more cinematic approach often seen in Hollywood time travel fiction, effectively creating an alternate universe where actions in the past rewrite the future. By adopting the title phrase that would later become an unofficial motto for the series, this episode clearly opted for the former.
The episode deals with the aftermath of Sayid shooting teenage Ben Linus, a situation that threatened to erase not only a major future character but effectively dismantle the entire plot trajectory of the series. The script signals its commitment to the immutable timeline right from the opening sequence. When Jack Shephard is asked to intervene as the qualified surgeon, he categorically refuses, believing he did not return to the Island simply to save the person responsible for the immense pain and misery inflicted upon his friends. This refusal introduces a strong element of character agency against the pressure of fate. Ultimately, it is Sawyer who takes the drastic option of asking the Others for aid, leading to Richard Alpert's grim bargain: he can save the boy's life, but as a result, Ben will lose his innocence and become one of them.
The writers deal with the complexities of time travel intelligently by utilising Hurley as a surrogate for a discerning audience. In discussions with Miles, he asks the obvious questions that many viewers would be pondering, specifically doubting the inability of the timeline to alter. He points out that 2004 Ben apparently didn't remember Sayid, the very person who had him shot as a boy. This is resolved efficiently by Richard, who states that Ben "won't remember anything" after he goes through what appears to be a ritualistic transformation in the Temple.
This philosophical commitment to predetermination reaches its apex in The Variable (S5X14), which appears to resolve the series' most contentious philosophical debate. The episode serves as a character-centric focus for Daniel Faraday, echoing the structure of The Constant. Faraday arrives from Dharma Headquarters in Ann Arbor and issues a dire warning that the Island must be evacuated, claiming that the Swan Station was built specifically to contain the catastrophic electromagnetic energy that would be released by accident six hours later during construction. Unlike the popular myth of the button-pushing mission maintaining balance, the station is a containment unit for a disaster already inevitable. Faraday remains convinced that the past can be altered and that the disaster can be prevented if they secure the hydrogen bomb, "Jughead", from the Others. However, he is shot by a woman who, in a twist of cruel irony, is revealed to be his own mother, Eloise Hawking—an act that fulfills rather than disrupts the predetermined timeline.
Season 5 repeatedly emphasises that Lost was, from its inception, a tragedy disguised as an adventure. This Place Is Death (S5X05) serves as a grim reminder of this fundamental truth. The episode is anchored by the death of Charlotte, a character who had already been established as the temporary Island inhabitant most likely to suffer because of the time shifts. Her mind regresses to childhood, yet this regression provides vital information: she reveals that she actually grew up on the Island, only to leave and be convinced that her childhood was a dream. Before dying, Charlotte vividly remembers a man who told her, during her childhood, that she should not return. That man was apparently none other than Daniel Faraday—a revelation that adds a layer of tragic irony to their relationship.
The theme of death is deeply explored in relation to John Locke, whose fate appears predetermined. He reaches the Orchid Station, which, due to the time shifts, has not been built yet. Unfazed, he ventures into the well and gets separated from his friends when another shift occurs. Locke ends up in the same tunnel Ben had been in, being greeted by the apparently ghostly presence of Christian Shephard. This apparition explains that Locke, rather than Ben, had to move the Island, implying that the time-shifting chaos is directly connected to this duty. Locke is given much clearer instruction: he must bring the Oceanic Six back and die in the process. Locke seems unfazed and calmly accepts his fate, seeing himself as a sacrifice that has to be made.
The horror of the island is further witnessed by Jin, who follows the French research team as they advance towards a mysterious radio tower. In the jungle, they are attacked by the Smoke Monster, who kills one member and takes an arm from Montand, leading him into the mysterious Temple. Jin sees a member of the expedition being shot by Danielle Rousseau, including Robert, her boyfriend, and her father, amidst the confusion of the aftermath. Jin is horrified by the events, particularly as it is revealed that Robert actually tried to deceive and kill Rousseau, being apparently "infected" by whatever was in the Temple. When reunited with Locke's expedition, Jin tells Locke to say to Sun that he died and offers his wedding ring as proof of his death—a gesture that shows Jin's ultimate desire to protect his wife, even at the cost of his own reputation and life.
The final seasons of Lost represent a distinct shift in the show's DNA, moving away from the introspective character studies that defined its early years towards a frantic drive towards resolution. As the creators approached the series' established end date, the pacing accelerated dramatically, necessitating a delicate balance between character exposition and pure plot advancement. This dynamic becomes starkly apparent in Follow the Leader (S5X15), which serves less as a standalone narrative and more as a calculated chess move, designed to position the remaining cast members on specific squares for the explosive two-part finale.
The season finale, The Incident (S5X16-17), exemplifies the structural compromises imposed by network demands. The increasingly common practice of feature-length season finales being divided into two separate episodes inevitably continued the annoying habit of having mini-cliffhangers at the very halfway point. Rather than allowing the narrative to breathe and build organically towards a singular, cathartic conclusion, the network's scheduling demands meant that viewers were left with an artificial pause—a contrived moment of tension that served neither the story nor the audience particularly well. The Incident, Part I functions as an extended preamble rather than a fully realised episode in its own right.
The introduction of Jacob in the finale—while a welcome addition to the series' mythology—comes too late in the show's run. The vignettes in which he appears in characters' previous lives seem like unnecessary filler and frustratingly prolong the advancement of the general plot. Mark Pellegrino is, however, a good choice to play such a mysterious character, projecting an ethereal calmness that suits the role. The main storyline deals with the "Incident" itself—a catastrophic release of electromagnetic energy that Daniel Faraday had planned to stop with a hydrogen bomb. The Losties' raid on the Dharma site feels overly prolonged and melodramatic, with Juliet's apparent demise and her sudden, capricious change of heart regarding Jack's mission making the show feel incredibly soapish and formulaic.
The emotional weight of the scene is saved almost entirely by Elizabeth Mitchell, who delivers a tour-de-force performance capturing the complex, conflicting emotions of apparent defeat and hopeful sacrifice. Her ability to convey a lifetime of love and regret in a single glance elevates the material significantly. The twist regarding John Locke—revealing that his shape and identity have been overtaken by Jacob's enemy, soon to be known as the Man in Black—is undoubtedly the most interesting development. However, the character of Jacob himself seems to be going to waste, introduced solely to be dispatched, lacking the gravitas required of the guardian of the Island.
Season 5 of Lost is ultimately a season of necessary transition—bridging the mystery-box storytelling of the early years with the apocalyptic conclusion that awaits in the final season. It is a season that takes bold risks with its time travel mechanics, its bifurcated narrative structure, and its willingness to embrace the darkness inherent in its characters' fates. Yet it is also a season that occasionally stumbles under the weight of its own complexity, resorting to exposition dumps, recycled footage, and soap-operatic contrivances that undermine its ambitions.
The season's greatest strength lies in its commitment to tragedy—to the idea that the Island demands sacrifice and that the past cannot be changed, only fulfilled. Through the deaths of Charlotte, the apparent death of Locke, and the moral degradation of characters like Sayid, the season delivers heavy emotional blows that resonate long after the credits roll. Its greatest weakness is the sense of creative exhaustion that permeates its latter episodes, the feeling that the writers are positioning pieces for a conclusion that remains tantalisingly out of sight.
Ultimately, Season 5 succeeds in maintaining the momentum necessary for a final push, even if it occasionally sacrifices the character depth that made Lost compelling in the first place. It is a season that rewards the dedicated viewer with answers to long-standing questions—the nature of the Swan Station, the identity of the Others, the mechanics of time travel—whilst ensuring that the human cost remains the constant variable that drives the story forward. Whether this balance between mystery and emotion, between plot and character, will be maintained in the final season remains the ultimate question—one that Season 5 sets up with equal measures of promise and trepidation.
(NOTE: All reviews can be accesed via this link.)
Blog in Croatian https://draxblog.com
Blog in English https://draxreview.wordpress.com/
InLeo blog https://inleo.io/@drax.leo
BTC donations: 1EWxiMiP6iiG9rger3NuUSd6HByaxQWafG
ETH donations: 0xB305F144323b99e6f8b1d66f5D7DE78B498C32A7