Land Locked

Judge a tree by its fruit, not by its leaves – Euripides

One of the things I like about Lost is the depth of characterization. Just when you think you have someone figured out, a weed from the past sprouts up and strangles their belief system. Some characters, like Jack, have obvious merit and self-worth, but their heroic acts screen hidden stores of conflict. Others, like Kate, are light on details but heavy with admirable traits so that any zingers revealed don’t knock us completely off the love train.

No one, however, took quite as long to evolve as John Locke. He doesn’t speak a word of dialogue until the second hour of the pilot, giving new meaning to the phrase, “strong, silent type.” Despite the lack of verbal discourse, Locke still makes an impact. Let’s take another look at the pilot and shine the spotlight in John Locke’s direction.

Pandemonium prevails after the crash. Jack’s unflinching emergency services take center stage, so we barely register when Locke walks on. He’s one of two men assisting Jack in the rescue of a trapped man. Locke is eager to help, but wastes no energy on idle conversation. Once Jack works his way through the primary wave of injuries, an uneasy cadence settles over the crash site. Alone, Locke sits by the water’s edge, contemplating the vast, empty sea. Dusk trickles ashore. The jungle monster makes its cacophonous debut, trampling palm trees inside the green felt valley adjacent to the beach. Locke is one of many who turn in bewilderment.

Our first preview of Locke comes day two when Kate commandeers a pair of hiking boots from a dead passenger. Regret looms large as she searches for a pair her size. Successful, she catches Locke peering at her. His expression is pinched into a tight-lipped grimace. She stills. Does he know the person whose shoes she’s just pilfered? Guilt inflames remorse. Locke suddenly smiles. His lips strain around an orange slice, obscuring teeth and context. He chomps the wedge like Magilla Gorilla then looks away.

Huh? The moment leaves a strange taste in our mouths. While most main characters are drawn together in communal comfort, Locke isolates himself. An abrupt downpour scatters survivors like ants. Everyone scurries for cover - everyone but Locke. He’s seated amidst a circle of plane debris, drenched to the bone. Glancing skyward, he lifts his arms, a sinner rinsed clean by liquid redemption. A queer duck, to be sure.

His first words do little to dismantle the myth. He unearths a backgammon game and assembles the board. Michael’s ten-year-old son, Walt, wanders by. Is it like Checkers? Locke finally replies, Not really. It’s a better game than Checkers. Locke likes games. We know this is symbolic. Dialogue is never throwaway on this show. Every word counts, especially with a man stingy with them.

Locke asks if Walt plays Checkers with his pop - not father or dad. Pop. Informal, unstuffy. Walt discloses he’s been living with his mom, but she died a couple weeks ago. Locke ponders that. You’re having a bad month. No artifice, just simple sentiment. Michael’s initial forays into parenting have been ham-handed and somewhat patronizing. Walt laps up Locke’s candor like a thirsty puppy. He kneels down. Locke explains the origins of backgammon. Remnants of the game were found as far back as ancient Mesopotamia. Older than Jesus Christ. Dice made of bones. Just the kind of entertainment that captivates a ten-year old. No doubt Walt is mentally adding it to his Christmas list. Locke elaborates: Two players, two sides. One’s light, one’s dark. More symbolism? Oh, I think so. Dualism is sewn into the fabric of the show.

Here’s where it gets dicey. Locke leans in and asks, Walt, do you want to know a secret?

If this were HBO or Showtime, an Amber Alert would surely follow. Fortunately Locke is family-friendly peculiar not serial-killer cuckoo. But the question underscores the struggle and uncertainty that shroud Locke season long. This tiny nibble is all we get in the two hour premiere. It’s not until the next episode, Tabula Rasa, that we witness the compassion that insulates his ideology.

The revealing act involves his new BFF Walt. Michael struggles with Walt’s fascination with Locke. Jealousy tarnishes his efforts to connect with the son he barely knows. Michael asks what he and Locke spoke about. Walt is non-committal. Some of it’s secret. Michael’s paternal hackles go rigid. He tell you not to tell me? No. Walt relents. Mr. Locke said a miracle happened here. Michael shrugs. It’s a miracle any of them survived. He doesn’t want Walt hanging out with Locke anymore. Walt is furious – Mr. Locke’s his friend. I’m your friend, too, Michael reminds him. Walt begs to differ. If you were my friend, you’d find Vincent. Vincent is Walt’s yellow lab, missing since the plane crash.

Michael doesn’t believe Vincent survived, but he issues the standard platitudes – yes, he cares about the dog; of course he’ll do everything he can to find it once the rain stops.

Guess what? The rain stops. God’s own paternal prod. Make good or eat crow, buddy.

Despite giant reservations about entering the forest, Michael tramps in only to get chased out by something he doesn’t stick around long enough to see. Well, he tried, didn’t he? Meanwhile, Locke is whittling a small block of wood into a whistle. The main plot of the episode - the fate of the marshal – straddles these brisk snippets of Locke, Michael, and Walt. By the time Sawyer makes his fateful decision, forcing Jack to act, we’re ready for an emotional pick-me-up.

By dawn the next day, we get it. Locke parks himself on a spit of sand, facing a wall of dense vegetation. He blows into his whistle. The high-pitched frequency softly resonates. In the distance a dog barks in response. Out trots Vincent; happy, hardy and whole. The camp is just stirring when Locke returns. He wakes Michael to tell him he’s found Walt’s dog. Locke points to where he’s tethered Vincent to a tree. I know that Walt lost his mom. I thought you should be the one to bring his dog back to him.

When Walt wakes to see his dad leading Vincent toward him, we are putty in Locke’s hands. Fresh starts abound among the survivors, but only Locke’s gesture make this Hallmark moment possible for father and son. Before we pronounce Locke Santa Claus, though, he logs in a course correction. As Michael and Walt are enmeshed in a euphoric display of fist-bumping, the camera pans to Locke. He scrutinizes their mawkish spectacle with the unsentimental glower of an alpha male forced to watch High School Musical. Is Locke rethinking his generosity? Judging Michael’s parenting skills? Fantastically constipated?

We don’t have enough info to say either way, but the next episode, Walkabout, exposes a startling secret, adding a fascinating layer to the crazy quilt that is Locke’s character.