White Paradise
by DICK CHENEY
Lost
Season Six
Kaltxì. Ngaru lu fpom srak. Fì-skxawng-ìri tsap’alute sengi oe. Tsun oe nga-hu nì-Na’vi pängkxo a fì-’u oe-ru prrte’ lu.
What's that? You haven't taken the Introduction to Na'vi course I've been offering at the Learning Annex since Jesus's birthday came and went? No matter, as soon children will be communicating entirely in Na'vi, a language that has no word for pedophile, champion, and, strangely, sandwich.
With Lost back on the airwaves, I am back on This Recording with a contract that permits me to make fun of Lambert for being a ginger as often as I like. Since my thoughts about how revolting I find Evangeline Lilly haven't graced these pages in awhile, much has changed. My Obama jokes are no longer as amusing since our country Chinua Achebed all over my pantaloons. This is a time for all Americans to live together or die alone like Shepard Smith or Jennifer Garner in Valentine's Day.
In response to the revolutionary debut of Avatar, two serious changes have come about in my post-vice-presidential life. First, my dietician now knows exactly what I'm talking about when I tell him I want Sam Worthington's body. Second, the white majority that produces Lost is finally realizing that it's OK to be racist. Racism is the only thing that can save us from four more years of BO apologizing for the billions he gave to banks during his State of the Union.
Outward racism is all the rage these days. Vanity Fair highlighted the most promising eating disorders in Hollywood and they didn't even tab the girl from Precious. On a scale of one-to-ten how surprised would you be if you found out Graydon Carter owned slaves?
Lost has taken up the James Cameron-related charge to make fools of people of color with the most naïve aplomb since Joss Whedon told Fox execs that everyone would enjoy Dollhouse. Last night's two hour long Lost premiere began with Jack on a plane, condescendingly observing the show's only interracial couple, regaling them with smiles and plaudits alike. He was about five seconds away from handing Rose and Bernard a nickel - Everything That Rises Must Converge-style.
From there we went back to the island. Somehow detonating a hydrogen bomb didn't fix everyone's problems, although it did work wonders as a time travel device, taking the cast from 1977 to 2010 with everyone alive and Kate somehow in a tree. In the ensuing fracas, Sawyer blood-kissed Juliet and it was astonishingly only the third most awkward kiss of 2010 after Margene and Benny Hendrickson's Big Love smooch and Jenna Elfman kissing anyone.
Hugo Reyes, the show's only surviving Latino character, is continually depicted as a slow-witted consumer of chicken who despite great verbal faculty in some areas, reverts to "dudes" and "come on" faster than B.J. Novak tricks girls. Don't get me started on the show's Asian characters. I'm not exactly well-educated enough to completely explain why depicting a Korean man as a glorified thug and an Asian-American as a medium is more objectionable than giving the native population on Pandora dreads for hair, but it just feels wrong.
Now that we know the man in black is in fact the smoke monster, his battle with Jacob is starting to more closely resemble a race war than a feud between two gods. AWB (Acting While Black) on Lost is considered a faux pas at best. When I was in Cali for the Chargers game a few weeks ago I saw the character formerly known as Walt at a tumblr meet up. It was so depressing I wanted to fly him to Waikiki and play chess with him for hours.
This wasn't the only thing that felt a little awry last night. The dramatic opening pan through miles of underwater CGI looked awful, and the rest of the two hour episode was shot on about three sets. Lost is starting to resemble the output of a very serious improv troupe with the director calling from offstage, "OK, Evangeline, in this scene Kate wants to run. Do you copy? She is going to run from her problems instead of dealing with them. Do you need a second with that?"
In many ways, this interminable premiere was a just a tying up of loose ends. Now that Elizabeth Mitchell has a new acting job staring at CGI spaceships (ABC tried to Avatar-up V with little success), she doesn't need to make vague and unhelpful suggestions about LeFleur harboring long lost feelings for Kate. She was a broken record with that stuff. If television has taught us anything, it's that the timely death of a lover opens up a multitude of romantic possibilities. At the very least, John Edwards has this to look forward to.
Josh Holloway looks like he's been chasing ass in L.A. since last season ended, and his obsession with Jack was never the show's most successful storyline. Jack isn't all that sympathetic, and Sawyer is about as appealing as a widower with blood all over his face can be. Jack's arrogant dismissal of Locke's paralysis was typical for doctors. They always think they're the best at everything. It's so predictable. Now that Sawyer is about as compelling as a Cabbage patch kid, this show needs a protagonist, stat.
Of course the most annoying moment of the premiere was when every d-bag in the world whispered to his friends, "That guy was on Deadwood!" when John Hawkes showed up to interpret the vague directions of the Asian warlord Other who controls the fountain of the youth. Jesus guys, even Ponce de Leon thinks that's a bunch of racist crap. James Cameron is cringing, and he invented racism.
Also put out to pasture for most of the episode was Sayid. Despite the weird moment where he told everyone to get out of the way as he kicked down the bathroom door of Oceanic Flight 815 to save Driveshaft and Jack and the crew looked at him like he had a box-cutter, Sayid is the only minority with a slightly positive portrayal. Actually they've been portraying him as a vicious murderer and torturer for the last five seasons, so I take that back.
Reinventing yourself is a subject near and dear to my heart. Y'all knew me as a boisterous, controlling, megalomaniacal vice president who loved e-mail, gchat, and Lost spoilers. In my new life, I spend most of the day pounding Buffalo Trace and snacking on chimichangas. Lost may be insane and contradictory, but above all it is familiar. You always know where you stand with respect to Lost, which is more than I can say for my wife Lynne.
OK see you next week. I will spend every day between now and next Tuesday trying to believably photoshop myself onto Greg Oden's body.
Dick Cheney is the former vice president of the United States and the senior contributor to This Recording.