On ''Lost,'' Hurley heads into the jungle to solve the mystery of his unlucky numbers

By Whitney Pastorek
Updated March 03, 2005 at 05:00 AM EST


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”Lost”: How Hurley got his groove back

Hello, my little Lost bunnies. I’m back for one night only, because how could I miss the Hurley episode? It’s about time we found out what’s up with fun-loving Hugo Reyes, who proved himself to be a true ally to our cause this evening. ”I want some friggin’ answers!” he bellowed to the French chick, and across the country, millions of viewers echoed back: Hell yeah, dude.

So 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42. If your computer just crashed, those numbers may have had something to do with it. Over the course of the evening, we learned that they are responsible for no less than the loss of a woman’s leg, floods, at least two suicides, the institutionalization of a man named Lenny, Grandpa’s heart attack, a breakup, a broken ankle, several fires, a false arrest, tropical storms, a possible sneaker shortage, a change in ownership at a box factory, and one ship full of really jumpy people running aground on an island inhabited by a pissed-off giraffe. Oh, and maybe a certain plane crash. The numbers, in my opinion, are indeed cursed. Easy there, Hurley. No need for hugs. Not until you shower.

It’s understandable that when our portly lottery winner saw the numbers that won him the big jackpot but ruined his life scrawled amidst Bobby Darin lyrics on the French chick’s papers, he went a little loony. Wait. Not loony. I’m sorry. Despite his sojourn to the nuthouse, Hurley is not crazy. Why was he in the nuthouse? Dunno. Should he be on meds? Dunno. Can he and Boone communicate using only their minds? Maybe. But so Hurley sees his evil lotto numbers and sets out with hip-hop playing in his mind (since the batteries in his poor Discman finally died) to find Rousseau and get some answers, or at least get reassurance that he’s not crazy, which she provides by (a) not killing him, which was sweet, and (b) telling him that yes, the numbers are cursed, because they’re what brought her and the rest of her lamentable shipmates to the island in the first place, because a radio tower (by the black rock — black rock!) was broadcasting them before she changed it to start broadcasting her Help Me Obi Wan Kenobi track. And then she gave him a giant battery (not gonna help the Discman, sadly). It was truly an incredible journey for the big man — plus, along the way, we learned that Hurley is pretty spry for a fat white guy, and that since he’s worth $156 million back home, Walt should probably be writing down all of his backgammon gambling debts.

Frankly, tonight’s ep filled in a lot of random, trivial, yet wonderful gaps. Also, I am a geek, but speaking of Walt, I loved it that Sawyer made a ”Short Round” reference in the same episode in which the guys had to cross a very Temple of Doom-esque rope bridge. (”Doctah Jones! Doctah Jones! Booty traps!”) And while we’re on the subject, it should be noted that I’m always up for some good ripping out of still-beating hearts to feed the goddess Kali, and I’m looking at you, Shannon. I stop doing these recaps for three weeks and you steal my man? Not cool.

Could have done without the brief Lifetime original movie segment between Sun and Kate (I mean, it’s the same old story: Woman loves man, man turns cold, woman betrays man by learning English to escape from his emotionally abusive clutches, man stops speaking to woman, woman worries that man is going to get on large bamboo pontoon raft and sail away, leaving her to fend for herself against the pissed-off giraffes), but the little Locke and Claire subplot was cute. It was Claire’s birthday today, everyone, and while I forgot to get her anything, Locke made her a precious crib out of sticks and rendered animal fat (very Extreme Makeover: Jungle Home Edition!), and if that ain’t friendship, I don’t know what is. I do wish the baby would come already, though. After 6 months of filming in all the sand and salty sea air, that fake belly’s gotta smell. Also, if the kid’s gonna be the Antichrist, I say let’s just get it over with. Maybe the baby will pop out with 4, 18, 15, 16, 23, 42 tattooed on his forehead.

And finally, in a very X-Files ending tag, we learned that the evil lotto numbers are carved onto the side of the spaceship thing that Locke and Boone have been digging up. Boom. Lost. Great. I was told there’d be no math on this exam.

Discussion questions

1. Do we really make our own damn luck?

1a. Was Sam Toomey’s widow’s fake Australian accent not the worst fake Australian accent you’ve ever heard?

2. Now that Sayid has retrieved the picture of his lady friend from the wreckage of the French chick’s former bunker home, is Shannon gonna need to find someone else to tie up on the weekends?

3. Did the French chick really say ”hey,” or was it more of like a ”bonjour” thing?

4. What do the numbers mean? Dude, seriously. I hate them already.

5. How come no one has ever checked to see what’s on the water end of that rope that leads into the jungle?

6. Does Hurley know where French chick lives now? Can he go hang out all the time?

7. Who built the bridge? Was it love? And if love builds a bridge, should it really be breaking like that?

8. Are we ever gonna see the stupid black rock for ourselves?

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