Television Review: Abandoned (Lost, S2X06, 2005)

Abandoned (S0206)

Airdate: 9 November 2005

Written by: Elizabeth Sarnoff
Directed by: Adam Davidson

Running Time: 42 minutes

One of the less-discussed yet pivotal creative decisions in Lost’s second season was the introduction of the Tail Section survivors, the “Tailies.” Beyond the immediate narrative expansion, their arrival served a crucial, almost Darwinian, purpose for the series’ longevity. By Season 2, the producers faced a stark reality: if the Island remained even nominally true to its perilous, survivalist logic, the original cast of forty-plus would inevitably dwindle through accident, illness, or conflict. This attrition would dangerously narrow the dramatic potential for the multi-season arc they envisioned. The Tailies, therefore, represented a narrative reservoir—a new batch of characters designed to replenish the ranks as losses mounted. The timeliness and brutal efficacy of this strategy were never more starkly demonstrated than in Abandoned (S2E06), an episode that delivers the series’ most shockingly abrupt character demise to date, proving the producers were not just expanding their world, but proactively ensuring its dramatic survival.

The episode’s primary narrative drive follows the arduous trek of five Tailies—Ana Lucia, Libby, Bernard, Cindy, and Mr. Eko—alongside the trio from Michael’s raft (Jin, Sawyer, and Michael) towards the fuselage survivors’ camp. The journey masterfully builds a palpable sense of paranoia and fraying nerves. Ana Lucia, the Tailies’ de facto and fiercely pragmatic leader, grows increasingly agitated travelling through unknown, hostile terrain. Her instincts scream at the vulnerability of their position, leading her to coldly contemplate abandoning Michael, Jin, and Eko when they are delayed by Michael’s solo, abortive search for Walt. The physical stakes are equally escalated by Sawyer’s deteriorating condition; his gunshot wound, festering in the tropical humidity, saps his strength, forcing a compassionate but risky halt as Michael insists on constructing a stretcher. The group’s tension reaches a new peak upon encountering an impassable rocky coastline. Against Ana Lucia’s better judgment—preferring the relative visibility of the shore—Mr. Eko advocates for a perilous shortcut through the dense, predator-rich jungle, a domain where the “Others” hold the advantage. This decision proves catastrophically prescient when Cindy vanishes without a trace mid-hike, a moment executed with chilling silence that sends the entire party into a panic, confirming their deepest fears about the Island’s unseen threats.

Intercut with this tense odyssey is the tender, ultimately tragic subplot of Shannon and Sayid’s burgeoning romance. In a rare moment of peace, Sayid has built them a private tent, a symbolic gesture of normalcy and intimacy amidst the chaos. Their relationship physically culminates here, offering a poignant glimpse of happiness. This bliss is violently shattered when Shannon experiences a haunting vision of Walt, dripping wet and uttering cryptic warnings. Where Sayid sees delirium or trauma-induced hallucination, Shannon becomes obsessively convinced of the vision’s reality. Her desperate solo foray into the jungle to find him forces a protective Sayid to follow, leading them both into a rain-drenched clearing where they hear the Island’s signature eerie whispers and share a simultaneous, chilling apparition of Walt. This sequence is critical, as it validates Shannon’s sanity to Sayid (and the audience) while simultaneously sealing her fate, luring her deeper into danger.

The episode’s flashback structure provides the series’ only Shannon-centric window into her past. We see her at eighteen, an aspiring ballet dancer whose life of privilege is obliterated by the car accident that kills her wealthy father, Adam Rutherford, and injures Sarah (Jack’s future wife). These scenes, while intended to foster sympathy, often feel like the narrative “filler” common to many Lost episodes of this era. They sketch a portrait of a woman rendered helpless by circumstance: her stepmother, Sabrina Carlyle (Lindsay Frost), coldly cuts her off financially, and even her devoted stepbrother Boone lacks the means to support her. While this context explains her later perceived indolence and vulnerability on the Island, it does little to elevate her character beyond a victim of fate, arguably reinforcing the producers’ view of her as the least practically useful survivor.

The episode’s devastating finale is a great example of tragic irony and heightened drama. Interpreting Walt’s vision as a summons, Shannon bolts into the jungle despite Sayid’s frantic pleas. Moments later, a gunshot cracks through the foliage. Sayid finds her fatally wounded, gasping for life in his arms. As he cradles her, his gaze lifts to the face of another survivor: Ana Lucia, standing amidst her fellow Tailies, a smoking gun in her hand and terror in her eyes. It is a breathtakingly brutal confluence of mistaken identity and tragic error, weaponising the long-awaited convergence of the two survivor groups into a moment of profound loss and instant, searing conflict.

Lost had already broken network television taboos by killing a main character, Boone, in Season 1’s Do No Harm. Yet Shannon’s death remained a surprise, precisely because it seemed statistically improbable for siblings to die sequentially in such a short narrative span. However, Lost had already established a fondness for improbable connections (Jack operating on Shannon’s father, for instance), making her death a darkly logical extension of the show’s thematic web of fate and consequence. Its placement early in the season, rather than in a climactic finale, was also a bold, unsettling narrative choice, signalling that no character was safe at any time.

Scriptwriter Elizabeth Sarnoff, in one of her early Lost contributions, excels here. She expertly weaves the disparate plot strands—the Tailies’ fraught journey, the Shannon-Sayid romance, the pervasive threat of the Others—into a cliffhanger of immense power. The shock isn’t merely in the death itself, but in the catastrophic conditions under which the two survivor groups finally meet. This instantly manufactures deep-seated tension, distrust, and a compelling thirst for vengeance, fueling drama for episodes to come. The final moments leave multiple fates agonisingly suspended: will Sawyer succumb to infected wound? Will Sayid kill Ana Lucia in a rage? Or will the Tailies kill him to protect their leader? In its brutal efficiency, the conclusion of Abandoned stands as one of the series’ most potent cliffhangers.

The episode is otherwise competently directed by Adam Davidson, who maintains a tight pace and wrings genuine tension from both the jungle trek and the intimate romantic scenes. However, the flashbacks—though performed with commitment by Maggie Grace—ultimately feel like a procedural necessity rather than an integral, enriching component of the hour.

Behind the scenes, Shannon’s demise was a long-contemplated move. Producers saw her character, defined by her aristocratic helplessness and lack of survival skills, as the least “useful” on the Island. Ironically, by Season 2, thanks to Maggie Grace’s nuanced portrayal and her chemistry with Naveen Andrews, Shannon was experiencing genuine growth and audience appreciation. Grace was reportedly devastated by the decision, much like Ian Somerhalder before her, having deeply enjoyed her work in Hawaii. Yet, her departure freed her for a significant film career, including defining roles in the Taken and Twilight franchises.

The fallout from the episode had a drastically different impact on Michelle Rodriguez. Instantly cast as a de facto replacement for Grace, her character Ana Lucia’s tragic mistake spawned an immediate and vicious backlash from fans, who branded her the series’ most hated figure. This vitriol, amplified by nascent online forums, translated into sustained harassment of the production team, with fans actively campaigning for the character’s death—a demand that would fatefully be met before the season’s end. “Abandoned” thus stands not just as a landmark episode of character loss, but as a catalyst for real-world audience reaction that would, in a grim meta-narrative, seal another character’s fate. It was a stark lesson in the island’s—and television’s—cruel, unpredictable ecology.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

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