Television Review: The Greater Good (Lost, S1X21, 2005)

The Greater Good (S01E21)

Airdate: May 4th 2005

Written by: Leonard Dick Directed by: David Grossman

Running Time: 42 minutes

Following the earth-shattering, primal scream of an event that concluded Do No Harm—the death of Boone Carlyle—it was all but certain that the next episode, dealing directly with its aftermath, would adopt a more subdued, sombre tempo. The Greater Good, the twenty-first episode of Lost’s first season, fulfils this expectation of a calmer narrative pace, but it becomes notable for a far more significant, and at this juncture surprising, stylistic choice: simplicity. At a point where the series had firmly established its modus operandi of red herrings, deepening mysteries, and Byzantine character entanglements, this episode opts for a startlingly direct approach. This simplicity manifests both in the way certain long-gestating answers are dispensed and, more fundamentally, in the straightforward, almost classical motivations that drive its characters. It is an episode that, perhaps intentionally, clears the narrative deck with uncharacteristic neatness before the coming storm of the season finale.

This newfound simplicity is most apparent in the main plot on the Island, which deals with the immediate aftermath of Boone’s death. The survivors gather for a funeral, a scene of raw, communal grief. The ceremony is violently interrupted by John Locke, who arrives to explain the truth. His attempt at transparency backfires spectacularly, provoking Jack—who holds Locke directly responsible—into a blind rage that requires others to physically restrain him. Here, the complexity lies in primal emotion: Jack’s fury is a product of traumatic failure, physical exhaustion, and a leader’s guilt. Kate, perceiving this breakdown as a medical as much as an emotional crisis, secretly drugs him with sleeping pills, an act of pragmatic mercy that underscores the episode’s focus on basic human needs and reactions.

Locke, however, remains in peril. Shannon, consumed by a potent cocktail of grief and guilt over not being with her brother at the end, transmutes her pain into a desire for vengeance. She demands that Sayid act as her instrument of retribution. Sayid, the show’s most instinctively tactical thinker, takes a more rational route: he interrogates Locke. In a moment that defies the series’ prior penchant for obfuscation, Locke is remarkably candid. He leads Sayid to the Beechcraft crash site, admits his role in Boone’s death, and even confesses to sabotaging Sayid’s radio triangulation efforts. His motive, he claims, was to protect the survivors from an unknown, potentially harmful signal. This is not the Locke of cryptic smiles and knife-sharpening; this is a man attempting, however clumsily, to manage a crisis through blunt honesty.

Yet, simplicity of motive does not guarantee peace. Unconvinced by Sayid’s report, Shannon takes matters into her own hands, stealing a gun and confronting Locke. The ensuing standoff is a direct, unadorned clash of raw human impulses—vengeance versus survival. It is resolved by physical intervention: Sayid tackles Shannon, a gunshot grazes Locke, and the immediate threat is neutralised. In the aftermath, Locke thanks his rescuer. Sayid’s response perfectly encapsulates the episode’s pragmatic, unsentimental core: he saved Locke because he believes Locke’s unique skills are essential for the group’s survival. His reward for this act is a simple, direct demand: “Take me to the hatch.” A mystery is acknowledged, and a path to its resolution is straightforwardly requested.

The flashback, focusing on Sayid, mirrors this structural simplicity, albeit to its detriment. It efficiently fills in his immediate backstory: after leaving Iraq, he spent seven years searching for his lost love, Nadia. Arrested at Heathrow, he is coerced by CIA agent Alyssa Cole (Jenny Gago) into an undercover operation targeting a Sydney-based jihadist cell. The target is his old friend, Essam (Donnie Kershawaz). The plot mechanics are ruthlessly efficient—Sayid infiltrates, wins trust, and faces a moral crisis when ordered to manipulate his friend into carrying out a suicide bombing to ensure a prosecutable arrest. In a desperate bid to save him, Sayid reveals his betrayal, leading to Essam’s suicide. As a reward, Sayid receives Nadia’s location and a ticket to Los Angeles. He delays his journey to bury his friend, thus taking a later flight—Oceanic 815.

The Greater Good is, by this point in Lost’s run, an episode with perhaps the least amount of surprise for the viewer. The characters react not with hidden agendas or shocking reveals, but with simple, understandable motivations. Jack is overwhelmed by the cumulative weight of leadership and failure. Shannon’s grief curdles into a single-minded thirst for revenge. Locke and Sayid engage in a cold, pragmatic dance of disclosed truths and calculated alliances, each acting for what they perceive as the greater good of the community. This makes for coherent, logical television, but it lacks the addictive, twist-driven tension the series had expertly cultivated.

The flashback subplot, while functional, takes the easiest route, associating Sayid’s backstory with the then-ubiquitous Global War on Terror narrative. It sets the stage for his internal conflict but squanders the opportunity to delve into deeper ethical quagmires. The parallels between the CIA’s manipulative tactics and Sayid’s past actions for Saddam Hussein’s regime are gestured at but never probed. The moral ambiguity of state-sanctioned coercion and the devastating personal cost of such ‘greater good’ calculus remain largely unexplored in favour of advancing the plot toward the fateful flight.

In the end, The Greater Good stands as a functional, middle-of-the-road episode. Its primary strength is in its narrative housekeeping: it connects dots (Locke’s sabotage, Sayid’s path to the plane), resolves immediate tensions (the Shannon-Locke conflict), and sets the stage for the impending finale by aligning key players (Sayid and Locke) toward a common, mysterious goal—the hatch. It achieves this through a welcome, if somewhat sterile, clarity. However, in opting for simplicity over complexity, and direct motivation over hidden depth, it sacrifices some of the enigmatic spark that made Lost compulsively watchable.

RATING: 5/10 (++)

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