Shared Darkness

I first reviewed this set back upon its original release in September of last year, for a magazine who shall remain nameless until legal proceedings against them are settled. But I have thoughts about Lost, the hit ABC show about airplane crash survivor
castaways stranded on a mysterious island. Oh, do I have thoughts. And they are
not necessarily kind ones, I’m afraid.

Mad props first go out to ABC for carefully cultivating
a hit that’s in substantive ways a more difficult sell than the glossy Desperate Housewives,
with its sugary twists and bitchy rejoinders. Though the pilot for the show
(great looking, by the way) was one of the most expensive in recent small
screen history, it was the subsequent sales job that really helped build
word-of-mouth. Lost
next must be praised for the considerable amount that it does quite well,
including the juggling of a vast stable of characters, many of whom are certainly
not network wishlist material. (Seriously, that co-creators Damon Lindelhoff
and J.J. Abrams were somehow able to limit the number of hot chicks to a measly
two out of 16 primary cast members is its own special feat in casting
achievement.)

Still, Lost
nags. I watched the series’ complete first season regularly if not religiously
(TiVo allows one to pace oneself and step back from the water cooler-ledge a
bit, where mechanical praise seems to grow like a fungus), and became
increasingly frustrated with what I felt was a certain masturbatory coyness
that slowly took over the show. Sixteen is an admittedly big ensemble, but
within the context of the number of purported survivors it’s a relative drop in
the bucket. As the series wore on, the number of deep focus master shots with
dronelike, fuzzy extras in the background completing menial labor while our
leads bicker about briefcases, toy airplanes and the like drove me to batty
distraction.

More and more — certainly as the show wore on in
the first season, and extending all the way now to the end of its sophomore run — Lost feels like a really deft
parlor trick, its glossy inscrutabilities serving as their own indulgent
narrative combines. I don’t have a problem with this elongation of mood per se,
but the show is being sold and positioned as something else — a colossal
mystery. What happens when viewers decide the revelations stop adding up? It
reminds me a bit of Twin Peaks
— admittedly a far more avant garde show — which tried to play hard to get more
than 15 years ago in some of the same ways that Lost is now. We’ll see how it ends, especially now that
ABC has a cross-promotional cash cow that they’ll want to keep around for six
seasons at a minimum in order to bleed its ancillary value.

If it seems I’m being hard on Lost it’s because the show
comes across to me as a smug honor student coasting on its laurels. (And if I
have to ever listen to Claire bleat about the “baaay-be” anymore, I may go
Vincent Van Gogh on myself.) While the broad strokes of the writing often
grate, the strong points of Lost
come certainly courtesy of a few of its characterizations, most notably Terry
O’Quinn’s Locke, but also to a lesser extent Naveen Andrews’ Sayid. O’Quinn has
mesmerized me ever since The
Stepfather, and his less-is-more approach elevates every scene,
if only because he seems to succumb to the ridiculousness of the survivors’
predicament in a fashion I find fresh and appealing.

Despite what one thinks of the show, one really has to admire the work put into, and quick turnaround on, this seven-disc set, attractively housed in gatefold packaging with a cool slipcover. The episodes
themselves are spread out over the first six discs, along with five audio
commentary tracks from cast and crew. (And speaking of five, Abrams tips off listeners
that Jack’s tattoo of the number 5 will become a defining character point this
year, something that I understand has only sort of come to pass.) A series of small-ish behind-the-scenes featurettes give a comprehensive
look at the production, design and location shooting of the show, and tally
about an hour in total. If you need to know how to chop up an airliner, this is
the supplemental material for you. Deleted scenes and a couple Easter eggs also
offer up their own fun; viewers can no doubt parse these looking for extra
clues about the castaway’s backstories. C (Series) A (Disc)

Watching the surreal, seriocomic, low-budget curio The Ape, James Franco’s directorial debut, one can’t help but be reminded tangentially of James Dean, and not merely because Franco memorably portrayed the legendarily brooding, cut-down-too-soon actor in a justly well-regarded made-for-television biopic. No, it’s rather that Franco’s turn as Harry Walker, a would-be novelist struggling with young married life and impending fatherhood, seems to capture everything about the collision of adolescence and adulthood — and its inherent apprehensiveness — that Dean poured into every one of his few screen roles.

Revolutionary Road), its original staging and production cycle. C+ (Movie) B- (Disc)

Co-directed by Meema Spadola and Thom Powers, 1994’s Breasts: A Documentary and its companion piece Private Dicks: Men Exposed examine in sometimes humorous but always humanizing fashion what women and men think about their own sexual running gear. Chatty and straightforward, both films feature abundant nudity of the titular items, and insights into both what their owners think about them and how they frequently impact not only one’s self-esteem but even the general sense of interaction with members of the opposite and/or preferred sex.

Betty Boop and Jessica Rabbit being her ideal role models, while a disconsolate teacher in her early 20s performs the dreaded “pencil test,” stowing a sharpened No. 2 under her sagging mammaries. Adolescent recollections both traumatic and wistful are trotted out, and a mother and daughter — the latter having had breast reduction surgery — together provide interesting familial observations. Other quick, shorthand impressions? Silicone = blech!

Men spend a lot of time thinking about their penises and even, as the saying goes, with their penises, so Private Dicks: Men Exposed was a logical follow-up for Spadola and Powers, though one that they admit in bonus interview material they tackled somewhat hesitantly. It turns out that their fears of masculine bravado and lack of candor were unfounded, as Private Dicks is actually the more revelatory and interesting of the two movies, perhaps because of its lack of competition, per se. The winking difference in titles is telling — and on the one hand even somewhat irksome — but its defusing impact is undeniable. In wide-ranging interviews with everyone from high school and college students to a paraplegic to well-endowed but equally articulate porn star Lexington Steele (who casually argues that size does matter, because what women purchases the four-inch dildo?), Private Dicks touches on every conceivable topic related to the penis, from sexually transmitted disease and alteration (“There’s something untrustworthy about the uncircumcised penis,” offers one subject, only half-jokingly) to masturbation and the loss of virginity. Loquacious and overly pedantic explications with slang dictionary expert Jesse Sheidlower become tiresome, but the men here generally open up in illuminating fashion about how their penis affects and informs their relationships.

Each running under an hour in length, both films are presented in full screen, and suffer somewhat from poor video quality and haphazardly produced or inserted stock footage. As sociological documents, however, they triumph over their limited production means and unimaginative presentation. Private Dicks: Men Exposed includes an interview with the filmmakers, a photo gallery and another interview with professional hoax perpetrator Alan Abel, who appears in the movie under an assumed name, claiming to have an erect member under two inches in length. (Though topless, he’s one of the few subjects who keep their pants on.) Breasts: A Documentary, meanwhile, includes more bonus footage, with filmmaker interviews, biographies and trailers and a full half hour of additional interview material. B (Movies) B- (Discs)