To recap:
Cindy, Jack, and a mixed band of crash survivors and Others take the monorail to the Others' mountaintop planetarium. Clouds fly past over the green countryside. One of the clouds darkens, thins out, and shoots forward faster than the rail car. As the smoke monster careens across the sky, the black smoke peels away, revealing the monster to be a large, clanking railroad train.
At the top of the observatory, Ben is being held hostage by a splinter group of Others. They want access to the files on all the crash survivors. The Others have been studying the survivors to determine which 6 are the physical incarnations of 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, and 42. There are 108 archetypes, and the splinter group has different interpretations of what character represents what number. One of them announces that Jack is 52. (This is significant, because he was not on Jacob's original list of the 108.)
A gunfight ensues. Confused and angry, Jack reacts to this revelation by ditching everyone and walking back to the beach. Along the way, a mist clears on the horizon and reveals the island to be just off the coast of a quaint Irish village filled with roads, houses, and hills where school children play.
Charlie, Hurley, and Sawyer cross the channel and enter the town. Charlie heads to the pub. Along the way, he accidentally stumbles into the town library. The locals become hostile and chase after the three castaways with tranquilizer darts. Sawyer and Charlie seek refuge in the castle ruins, but are eventually shot and shipped back to the beach with fuzzy memories of the village.
Hurley ducks into the library just in time. He locks the door with the glowing orange key as hypodermic needles whiz past him. He hides in the back behind a bookcase. The librarian opens the door and tells the townsfolk to be on their way. From their perspective outside the door, the library is devoid of visitors.
Hurley's friend Johnny sits at a table in the children's section of the library with the librarian. Johnny is convinced that Hurley has joined them to play Dungeons & Dragons. He points out the librarian's miniatures display case, where 108 fantasy miniatures are placed behind glass doors. The librarian explains that several of the miniatures have changed over the last few months, and one disappeared inexplicably.
The librarian invites Hurley to browse any of the books on his shelves. Hurley picks a few titles from the pearl softcover Mage: The Ascension print run, which has supplements and illustrations that mirror the numbers archetypes in the Others' files. Johnny expresses his gratitude at being reunited with Hurley, who he says is a kick-ass Dungeon Master.
Reactions and analysis:
After 2 1/2 years, we finally got some insight into what the numbers represent in the series proper. Those of you who participated in The Lost Experience or looked into Bad Twin (or who have been paying attention to this blog and my links to LOSTCasts), already know about the Valenzetti Equation. The numbers we know are the "core values." We now learn the Others are looking for the characters on the island who embody those values, presumably to reprogram them, thus changing the equation and preventing the apocalypse.
We also finally discovered the location of the island, though it's still possible the island is slipping in and out of time, or perhaps floating freely around the ocean. This seems unlikely, however, as the villagers all carry blowguns packed with Dharma darts. They must be in on the island's--er, islands' secrets. Then again, the library seems to be a gateway to its own pocket universe, and having a pocket universe inside a pocket universe would be pushing it.
Of course, there are always nitpicks. How did Jack get back to the beach unscathed? Why didn't he mention the third island to anyone, not even Sawyer and Charlie after they were dumped back on the main island with their minds wiped? Where were Rose and Bernard during all of this? What happened to Sun's bikini?
I suspect all of these scenes were cut for lack of time. Look for them on the season 3 DVD.
Hidden clues and Easter Eggs:
I'm sure it's no coincidence that one week after I suggested it would be nice to see Tamlyn Tomita in a flashback, Sung Hi Lee showed up in Hurley's past. As LOSTCasts pointed out, it's interesting that Hurley's father is named David, considering his imaginary friend is named Dave. Something they didn't pick up on though, was Hurley's real-time reference in the library to Johnny being dead. (Something to look forward to in a future flashback?) Also, the melted miniature and the librarian's reference a figure gone missing was clearly an inside joke about the abrupt departure of Mr. Eko.
Verdict:
This was the episode everyone was waiting for, though it's a shame we won't be seeing Hurley again until May sweeps.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Friday, March 02, 2007
Bastard Killed Your Game
Narraptor's theory of Cartoon Dungeons and Dragons seems eerily accurate, once you get past the whole "But my characters never got a magic hat!" arguments. Another point of correspondence to Dungeons and Dragons proper is that the show never had an ending, even though one was planned.
Only about half of the games I've ever run or played in have had a true ending. Sometimes, I've been lucky enough to experience the grand reveal, where everybody reveals their secrets. Other times, I'm left with no clear idea why the Aztec werewolves were attacking our building. (Or its sister question: Why Aztec werewolves?)
Every role-player I've known has a path strewn with dead stories. Their tales of adventure end suddenly with, "And then, we never ran another game. I wonder what would have happened to the Drunken Ratman Yakuza..." The causes always seem to fall in the same three categories:
1- Inconvenience: Too many people move too far away to achieve critical mass. Or else scheduling conflicts prevent the gamers from ever meeting each other again, barring a solar eclipse.
2- Natural Causes: The players begin to seek other things to do, and the game withers and dies in their absence. Invasive species of gaming also fall in this category, like when Magic The Gathering temporarily replaced all forms of role-playing in late 1994.
3- The Bastard killed the game.
Far as I can tell, there's no standardized name for the Bastard, even though he's as endemic as a "Rules Lawyer" or "Min-Maxer." Many groups don't even acknowledge they have a problem with their Bastard, until a decade passes and they can no longer understand why they put up with him in the first place.
Every role-playing game at least pays lip service to the idea that the main objective of gaming is to have fun with your friends. And yet just about every beginning group of role-players starts off with a Bastard, or shortly picks one up. The lucky ones get rid of him in five years or so. The unfortunate ones get new Bastards to replace any they lose. And during this time, the Bastard will do his best to monopolize the game. He will be a main character, but more importantly, the game will only revolve around what he considers fun. And unfortunately, his fun does not include anyone else into the equation. People in the group are annoyed by the Bastard, but they're never annoyed enough to directly confront him. Instead, they make jokes when he's away, and try to finesse him when he's present.
A great deal of rationalization goes along with this. The Bastard might be a pain, but he's not as bad as that other guy the group no longer hangs out with. You know, the guy who reveal his pet theories on race relations in the middle of an Underdark campaign. At least now you know why he always played a human. Also, the Bastard is indispensable to the group. He's the one who picks up Tony, he's willing to host the game when Bill's not around, and Sarah will drop out of the group if the Bastard goes, and she's cool. And even if he went, his character has half of the Artifacts of power and is the only one who knows the true name of God, so the plot would be fucked without him.
I don't know if the cartoon show accurately represents that aspect, however. The cowardly character of Eric exhibits some of the symptoms. He constantly berates his teammates, never wants to do what everyone else is doing , and he has a shield of complete invincibility. But on the other side of the ledger, he seldom gets his own way. A true role-playing Bastard has the ability to warp any campaign just by being in it. Along with annoying other players, the Bastard wants to have fun, and his definition doesn't jibe with everyone else's. He'll constantly exert pressure on all the other players, and especially on the Dungeon Master, to change the course of the game into a path he feels more comfortable with. (And one that makes him a primary character, usually.) The more the group secretly plots to stop the Bastard from getting his own way, the more pressure he exerts. Which means that Eric could be the Bastard... but since it's all from an in-character point of view, it could easily be Hank instead.
If only there was a scene of the Barbarian kid snapping, and finally saying "Fuck you, Eric! I'm quitting the game forever!" we'd have definitive proof. We'd also have another five episodes of the cartoon lurching along, with everyone trying to pretend that nothing had gone seriously wrong, and Eric making jokes about how they didn't need a kid running around in a loincloth anyway.
The next week, it would be mysteriously replaced by Soul Train. And as always, I'd be fooled for a few seconds into thinking that some really cool new cartoon about space trains was about to start.
Only about half of the games I've ever run or played in have had a true ending. Sometimes, I've been lucky enough to experience the grand reveal, where everybody reveals their secrets. Other times, I'm left with no clear idea why the Aztec werewolves were attacking our building. (Or its sister question: Why Aztec werewolves?)
Every role-player I've known has a path strewn with dead stories. Their tales of adventure end suddenly with, "And then, we never ran another game. I wonder what would have happened to the Drunken Ratman Yakuza..." The causes always seem to fall in the same three categories:
1- Inconvenience: Too many people move too far away to achieve critical mass. Or else scheduling conflicts prevent the gamers from ever meeting each other again, barring a solar eclipse.
2- Natural Causes: The players begin to seek other things to do, and the game withers and dies in their absence. Invasive species of gaming also fall in this category, like when Magic The Gathering temporarily replaced all forms of role-playing in late 1994.
3- The Bastard killed the game.
Far as I can tell, there's no standardized name for the Bastard, even though he's as endemic as a "Rules Lawyer" or "Min-Maxer." Many groups don't even acknowledge they have a problem with their Bastard, until a decade passes and they can no longer understand why they put up with him in the first place.
Every role-playing game at least pays lip service to the idea that the main objective of gaming is to have fun with your friends. And yet just about every beginning group of role-players starts off with a Bastard, or shortly picks one up. The lucky ones get rid of him in five years or so. The unfortunate ones get new Bastards to replace any they lose. And during this time, the Bastard will do his best to monopolize the game. He will be a main character, but more importantly, the game will only revolve around what he considers fun. And unfortunately, his fun does not include anyone else into the equation. People in the group are annoyed by the Bastard, but they're never annoyed enough to directly confront him. Instead, they make jokes when he's away, and try to finesse him when he's present.
A great deal of rationalization goes along with this. The Bastard might be a pain, but he's not as bad as that other guy the group no longer hangs out with. You know, the guy who reveal his pet theories on race relations in the middle of an Underdark campaign. At least now you know why he always played a human. Also, the Bastard is indispensable to the group. He's the one who picks up Tony, he's willing to host the game when Bill's not around, and Sarah will drop out of the group if the Bastard goes, and she's cool. And even if he went, his character has half of the Artifacts of power and is the only one who knows the true name of God, so the plot would be fucked without him.
I don't know if the cartoon show accurately represents that aspect, however. The cowardly character of Eric exhibits some of the symptoms. He constantly berates his teammates, never wants to do what everyone else is doing , and he has a shield of complete invincibility. But on the other side of the ledger, he seldom gets his own way. A true role-playing Bastard has the ability to warp any campaign just by being in it. Along with annoying other players, the Bastard wants to have fun, and his definition doesn't jibe with everyone else's. He'll constantly exert pressure on all the other players, and especially on the Dungeon Master, to change the course of the game into a path he feels more comfortable with. (And one that makes him a primary character, usually.) The more the group secretly plots to stop the Bastard from getting his own way, the more pressure he exerts. Which means that Eric could be the Bastard... but since it's all from an in-character point of view, it could easily be Hank instead.
If only there was a scene of the Barbarian kid snapping, and finally saying "Fuck you, Eric! I'm quitting the game forever!" we'd have definitive proof. We'd also have another five episodes of the cartoon lurching along, with everyone trying to pretend that nothing had gone seriously wrong, and Eric making jokes about how they didn't need a kid running around in a loincloth anyway.
The next week, it would be mysteriously replaced by Soul Train. And as always, I'd be fooled for a few seconds into thinking that some really cool new cartoon about space trains was about to start.
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