Television Review: Born to Run (Lost, S1X22, 2005)

Born to Rum (S01E22)

Airdate: May 11th 2005

Written by: Edward Kitsis & Adam Horrowitz
Directed by: Tucker Gaines

Running Time: 42 minutes

By the closing stretch of its first season, Lost had firmly established its narrative rhythm: a present-day island mystery interlaced with a character-revealing flashback. This structure risked predictability, a formula where the only variables were which castaway’s past would be illuminated and which island secret would be nudged. Yet, the series often compensated for this inherent procedural nature with a potent sense of cinematic style and psychological acuity, allowing individual episodes to resonate beyond their plot-function. A prime example is Born to Run, the penultimate chapter before the momentous Season 1 two-part finale. Written by the experienced duo Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and directed with palpable flair by Tucker Gates, this episode leverages its stylish execution to elevate what is essentially an elaborate piece of narrative table-setting. It is a compelling demonstration of how Lost could mask its mechanistic plot advancements with compelling character drama and atmospheric tension.

The central thrust of the island plot is the imminent launch of the raft, Michael’s dogged project meant to ferry himself, Walt, Jin, and Sawyer to potential rescue. The episode introduces a practical, if conveniently timed, obstacle in Dr. Leslie Artz (Daniel Roebuck), high school teacher who warns that monsoon winds would likely blow the craft south towards Antarctica. Michael’s dismissal of this warning is less critical than the human conflict it precipitates. The real engine of the episode is Kate’s increasingly desperate campaign to secure Sawyer’s spot on the raft. Her motivation—to flee the island, assume a new identity, and escape her fugitive past—is laid brutally bare when Michael collapses from poisoning. As Jack deduces the cause, the camp’s suspicion falls naturally on the newcomer with the most to gain from a reduced passenger list. Kate’s criminal status, revealed publicly, transforms her from fellow survivor into a palpable threat. This crucible of accusation is brilliantly handled, showcasing the show’s strength in portraying group dynamics under stress. The ultimate resolution, however, delivers a far more nuanced character beat: Sun, in a desperate bid to prevent Jin from leaving her, poisoned his water bottle. Michael drank from it by mistake. Jack’s decision to conceal Sun’s guilt—protecting her from wrath and preserving the fragile camp unity—is a quiet, powerful moment that deepens his leadership role and underscores the theme of secrets as both corrosive and necessary. Meanwhile, Walt’s confession that he burned the first raft, followed by his eerily delivered line that he and his father have to leave, imbues the entire raft venture with a foreboding, almost supernatural destiny, far removed from simple escape.

Parallel to this runs the season’s other major arc: the discovery of the hatch. Sayid and Locke take Jack to witness the mysterious, impenetrable metal door buried in the jungle. The scene crackles with ideological tension. Locke, the man of faith, sees a purpose to be unlocked; Sayid, the man of reason and traumatic experience, argues it was sealed for a cause. Jack, the pragmatic man of science, surprisingly sides with Locke, a significant moment of alignment that signals the hatch’s overarching importance to the coming mythology. This debate is punctuated by one of the episode’s most chilling moments: Walt, after a tense encounter, touches Locke’s hand and, with unsettling certainty, warns him not open the hatch. It’s a brief, potent injection of the inexplicable, hinting at Walt’s latent psychic abilities and framing the hatch not just as a mystery, but as an active danger.

The flashback, employing a distinctly Hitchcockian aesthetic, delves into Kate’s past with elegant economy. Set in 2002, it finds Kate returning to her dying mother in Iowa under an alias. The reunion with childhood sweetheart Tom Brennan (Mackenzie Astin) is thick with nostalgic tragedy. Their excavation of a 1989 time capsule—containing a tape of youthful vows and a small toy aeroplane figurine—serves as a poignant symbol of the innocent life Kate forfeited. The intended clandestine visit to her mother, Diane (Beth Broderick), disintegrates into heartbreak; Diane, terrified, is triggering a police chase. In the ensuing chaos, Tom is killed by a stray police bullet, and Kate is forced to flee once more, leaving the aeroplane figurine behind. This sequence is masterful in its concise storytelling. It explains Kate’s relentless drive to run, her deep-seated guilt (now compounded by Tom’s death), and the origin of her symbolic connection to aircraft. It frames her not as a tragic figure perpetually caught between a desire for connection and the catastrophic consequences her presence brings.

Kitsis and Horowitz’s script excels in this balancing act. Born to Run is fundamentally an exercise in orchestration, moving all the pieces into position for the finale. There are no earth-shattering twists regarding the island’s nature; instead, the drama derives from carefully calibrated character motivations. Kate’s manipulation, Sun’s desperate act, Jack’s protective lie, and Locke’s fervent curiosity all feel authentic extensions of established personalities. The one genuine anomaly—Walt’s psychic premonition—is integrated smoothly enough to feel like an escalation of the island’s weirdness rather than a contrivance. The episode accepts that its primary role is set-up, but executes that duty with a keen eye for human behaviour and the moral ambiguities of survival.

Where the episode truly transcends its functional role, however, is in its directorial style. Tucker Gates crafts the Iowa flashbacks as a direct homage to the classic thrillers of Alfred Hitchcock, particularly echoing the pastoral suspense of Psycho and the fraught psychology of Marnie. The sweeping shots of the Iowa farmland, the anxious focus on Kate’s observant eyes, and the tense, silent approach to are all pure cinematic language. This stylistic choice is profoundly intelligent; it elevates Kate’s backstory from simple exposition to a thematic echo of her entire identity—the fugitive trapped in a nightmarish, suspenseful narrative of her own making. Complementing this is Michael Giacchino’s exceptional score, which here explicitly channels the brooding motifs of Bernard Herrmann, Hitchcock’s legendary composer. The music shapes the emotional landscape, turning a trip to rural Iowa into a scene of profound existential dread.

Born to Run is a great example of Lost’s ability to elevate procedural storytelling through artistic ambition. While its plot mechanics are transparently geared towards launching the raft and escalating the hatch mystery for the finale, it invests these movements with genuine human conflict and moral complexity. The episode’s crowning achievement is its stylistic confidence, using the language of film noir and Hitchcockian suspense to deepen Kate’s tragedy and elevate the entire narrative.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

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