-
…then the finale preview would look a little something like this:
EXT. BEACH – MORNING
CLOSE ON: Closed eye. Eye opens. Pull back.
It is the eye of EUGENE SPOBBINS, an accountant with an ill-fitting suit. His shoes are tattered. His face is scruffy.
A man-shaped SHADOW falls over him.
EUGENE
(recognition flickers)
You.
We never see this man again.
TEXT ON BLACK:
“THIS SUNDAY, THE BATTLE FOR GOOD AND EVIL BEGINS”
CUT TO:
EXT. JUNGLE – DAY
NOT LOCKE creeps through the jungle, whetting his knife on a piece of SUBMARINE PROPELLER.
BEN clings to his back. Like an evil YODA.
INT. THE TEMPLE – DAY
MILES and HURLEY bound through the ruined temple, the SMOKE MONSTER trailing them, the dark smoke coruscating with light.
INT. THE LOOKING GLASS STATION – DAY
JACK stands next to a hospital gurney. On the gurney lies the half-decomposed body of JOHN LOCKE.
Behind JACK: porthole windows, where the fish swim in the ocean beyond.
TEXT ON BLACK:
“ALLIANCES WILL BE TESTED”
CUT TO:
EXT. BEACH – EVENING
SAWYER and KATE stand in the crashing surf.
KATE has a revolver pointed at SAWYER. SAWYER holds a baby.
SAWYER
Listen to me, Frecklechest –
KATE
(sobbing)
Don’t make me do this!
SAWYER
Kate! The baby must be destroyed!
INT. SANTA ROSA MENTAL HEALTH INSTITUTE – NIGHT
HURLEY and DAVE circle one another in an otherwise empty rec room. On a table nearby, someone has constructed a FOUR-TOED STATUE out of, I dunno, macrame or some crap.
HURLEY
Dude.
DAVE
You’re never gonna steal that zeppelin, fat-ass. Forget it.
HURLEY
Dude!
EXT. JUNGLE – MORNING
DESMOND emerges from the fern fronds, beaten and abused. He’s smiling, and holding a rusted machete.
DESMOND
Brutha. It’s time we talk.
We see now he’s talking to SECOND DESMOND, in a suit, his hair slicked back, his skin bronzed with fake tanner.
SECOND DESMOND
(pulling a .38 snubnose)
Oh, I think I said enough already. Brutha.
CRACK, SHUDDER: The jungle foliage snaps and breaks as THIRD DESMOND, this one wearing a WWII private’s uniform, emerges.
THIRD DESMOND
(out of breath)
Hold up, brutha and brutha! Penny sends us a message from 1945!
He withdraws a small purple satchel. It’s moving.
TEXT ON BLACK:
“SECRETS WILL BE REVEALED”
CUT TO:
EXT. JUNGLE – DAY
CLOSE ON GROUND: We see golden paws padding along through the bamboo and spongy jungle floor.
Pan up: it’s VINCENT the YELLOW LAB. He wears an eyepatch.
A 2-YEAR-OLD VERSION OF WALT rides his back. WALT holds a small spear, it’s tip moistened with fresh blood.
INT. THE LOOKING GLASS STATION – NIGHT
JACK and SAWYER stand nose to nose, sneering.
SAWYER
(angry)
You went and did a hell of a thing, Doc. I oughta kill you right here.
JACK
It had to be done, James.
SAWYER growls. The two men KISS. Open mouth. Lots of tongue.
Behind them, ZOMBIE JOHN LOCKE lurches forward on the operating table.
INT. CONCERT HALL – NIGHT
Big audience gathers for a concert. Pan over crowd to see familiar faces: JACK and CLAIRE; SAWYER with his arm around MILES; HURLEY standing off to the side as an usher.
On the stage walks MR EKO and his brother YEMI, both in suits. Each holds his own Jesus Stick. EKO steps to the mic.
TEXT ON BLACK:
“AND THE FIT WILL HIT THE SHAN”
CUT TO:
INT. MR. CLUCK’S CHICKEN SHACK – AFTERNOON
ELOISE HAWKING works behind the counter of the Chicken Shack franchise. She looks up from counting quarters to see DESMOND standing at the counter with HURLEY.
DESMOND
I can help you with that, brutha.
DESMOND punches ELOISE HAWKING out. POW!
EXT. JUNGLE – NIGHT
BEN runs through the jungle, a bloody cut crusting across his forehead. He’s terrified, like this could be it for him.
He hits a dead end: the outer wall of the temple.
He spins around and confronts his pursuers:
TWO DOZEN WHITE RABBITS. Each with different numbers painted red onto their white fur. Their eyes glow in the darkness.
We HEAR, but do not see, BEN SCREAM.
INT. CONCERT HALL – NIGHT
MR EKO, still standing on stage, rips open his tuxedo and reveals a massive thermonuclear bomb.
He begins to sing: “AVE MARIA.”
EXT. BEACH – EVENING
HURLEY, dressed in orange Buddhist robes, swings a huge BANYON tree like a baseball bat. Fire erupts from his mouth.
EXT. JUNGLE – DAY
KATE’s body dances like a jerking puppet as gunshots perforate her body. A TOY AIRPLANE drops from her hand.
EXT. BEACH – MORNING
As the sun rises, MILES steps out of the churning surf. He smirks. Then, behind him rise the GHOSTS of all those who have ever died on the island. Finally, ZOMBIE JOHN LOCKE emerges from the water next to MILES and stands with him.
EXT. LIGHTHOUSE – EVENING
RAIN pours. The SMOKE MONSTER whirls about in ever tightening coils, trying to crush JACK in the middle.
VOICE (O.S.)
(booming)
Forget about somebody?
SMOKEY’s “face” turns to look:
It’s FRANK LAPIDUS. He’s half-man, half-helicopter. The chopper blades emerge from his back. His feet are copter rails. One of his arms is a GATLING GUN.
He and the SMOKE MONSTER clash. Everything explodes.
TEXT ON BLACK:
“LOST SEASON FINALE. MAY 23, 2010, 9:00 PM. ABC.”
CUT TO:
EXT. BEACH – DAY
CLOSE ON VINCENT’s face. With one paw he lifts up his eyepatch to show a ROBOTIC EYE telescoping, BZZT, BZZT.
Closer, closer, closer –
VINCENT
Guys. Where are we?
FADE TO BLACK
About The Author
ChuckWendig
Chuck Wendig is equal parts novelist, screenwriter, and game designer. He is the author of the novels DOUBLE DEAD, BLACKBIRDS, and MOCKINGBIRD. In addition, he's got a metric boatload of writing-related e-books available, including the popular 500 WAYS TO BE A BETTER WRITER. He currently lives in the wilds of Pennsyltucky with wife, dog, and newborn progeny.
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16 Responses and Counting...
Oh, and I may go ahead and live-blog the finale tonight. And it may involve alcohol.
Anybody up for me doing that?
Or is that just plain silly, because, y’know, you’ll all be fixed rapt to the television?
– c.
You really don’t like Kate, do you?
This would all work -except- you didn’t devote half the episode to Richard. And an episode without 38 minutes of Richard being an indecisive whiny douche is not an episode I would care to see.
It’s good that we’ll finally see the Vincent storyline come full circle.
@Rick:
No joke, I did that for you. I left Richard out *just* for you. That’s how much my beard loves you.
I was going to have a scene where Richard was like, laser-inscribing his eyeliner. Under the “secrets” banner.
But then I was like, “No. For Rick, Richard can just suck it. He’s already dead. Ol’ Smokey kilt his ass.”
Also: I like Kate just fine, for the most part. As a character, she’s great, but it often feels like the writers don’t have a handle on her.
– c.
You almost moved me to tears with that. What is love?
I really liked Kate the first couple of seasons, and then exactly as you said, they seemed to have no clue what to do with her. Maggie actively wishes her imminent doom.
I dunno, I still want to see Lapidus emerge from the ocean like the mighty Nodens, complete with a trident.
But Transformer Lapidus is great too!
You should write more for Hollyweird.
You should write more for Hollyweird.
From your lips to the Spaghetti Monster’s ears.
… does the Spaghetti Monster have ears?
– c.
Of course. How else will He know to touch me with His Noodley Appendage?
Also, goddamn do I wish you’d written this show. Your version is so much better. Gonzo-Lost screams to be made.
Noah
My first thought was, “Jesus, how much 50-year-old Scotch did he consume before writing this teaser script?” But given the hour of the morning, I decided scotch was very unlikely.
So I contemplated crack, cocaine and psychedelic mushrooms. I ruminated on all the possible explanations for this post. Insanity, a gun to your head, a sudden and irrational violent loathing for your readers…
Then I realized that my mind birthed EL POLLO DEMONICO, and I should really shut up before I made myself a hypocrite.
I’m game. Howzabout you figure out how to port your Twitter feed into blog form and go about it that way?
That’s my plan, at least. But then I’ve driven for 3 hours up 95 today, consumer two tall daddy’s of Dogfish Head 90, so I’m well on my way.
I figure on keeping it out of Twitter, as I don’t want to pump a spoiler pollution into people’s Twitterstreams (or, Lost noise into the ears of people who don’t give a rat’s right nut about the show in the first place).
But yeah. I got booze. I’ma live-blog this motherfucker. I don’t care who reads it. Screw it! Drunkenness! Geek TV! Two and a half hours! Eeeee!
*vomits*
– c.
Fair enough. I’ll be the annoying commentator.
Also, dig this… our web filtering software at work has now classified you as “Adult Topics.”
Congrats!
Yes, do live-blog. You can also use the @ to aim Tweets at us finale-watchers, and it won’t generally pollute the whole Twitterstream… which means I could get more snarky up-to-the-minute joy, potentially. That really enriches my Lost experience, honestly. Your wife’s “Jacob and the cup” comment was fan-goddamned-tastic and needed at that moment.
Also, I’m really proud of Jeff Fahey. The fantastic following of Lapidus must make him happy. He’s come a long way since “Lawnmower Man”.
@Amy:
Could aim tweets that way — but ‘twould also be redundant given that I’d have to retype info back and forth. (Blog, then Twitter.)
But I’ll still try to keep the blog up to the minute.
That is, if my Internet connection holds out. It’s been yo-yoing all day.
See also: my sobriety.
– c.
“Kate! The baby must be destroyed!” – You really got me with that one, Wendig
I’ll be too rapt to participate tonight (and watching it slightly time-shifted), but I’ll check back on Monday.
–Dan
I gotta say, most of that came to me at around 5:30 this morning. Woke up, and there it was in my head. Hurting my brain and trying to get out.
– c.
Oh, and thanks, of course.