AA Gill on Lost, that TV drama that every has seems to have forgotten:
Lost is Marmite television. You love it or loathe it. Personally, I spread it so thinly over my retina that I don’t understand it. It’s the commitment these big, open-ended series demand that I baulk at. It’s not just Marmite, it’s having to eat Marmite for ever. I think twice before giving it to Wagner, so why should I to Jack Thingy from 24? But I know a lot of you arrange your lives around the slalom of TV moments. The only series I’ve religiously kept on the Sky+ is The West Wing. It’s as much an old habit as joyous anticipation. Secretly, I’m rather relieved it’s reached its last incarnation. It started as a smart, soft-Swiftian satire on politics but it has subsided into being Norman Rockwell television, warm and wistful, wishful thinking for liberals. Which might well be how administrations end up: moving round the phantom health- service reforms and imagining armies of teachers, while outside the opposition gathers.