With a theme song that would be just as apt for a medieval theme park, Lost in Space is back for its second season of close calls and moral judgments, only now the Robinsons are out to prove they’re the smartest, bravest team on land, air, and sea.
Fresh off a resilient tale of crash-landing, surviving, and escaping an inhospitable planet, season two starts with the exciting new premise of the Robinsons, well, crash-landing (presumably), surviving, and needing to escape an inhospitable planet. As it turns out, the wormhole that swallowed the Robinsons’ Jupiter in last season’s cliffhanger essentially acts as a reset button for the series, with the long-term objective of reaching the oasis that is Alpha Centauri still in play. Only this time, we join the core cast seven months’ in to their survival tale, with the Jupiter 2 grounded on the only strip of land on a water planet; and with no looming threat of black hole annihilation, the family has begun to put down roots, both literally and figuratively (though I hear potatoes do very well in space). Oh, and no robot. That comes up a few times.
And so begins the writers’ task of continually churning up planetary predicaments—and family drama—for the Robinsons. At first glance, this is a case of familiar roles in an unfamiliar setting: Penny has sass for days, Will misses his robot, Smith is up to something, Maureen has all the answers, and Don’s a little too close with his chicken. But like the first season, it doesn’t take long for things to go from bad to worse...to worse...to still somehow worse.
It’s actually too bad the cast isn’t marooned on waterworld for a bit longer, because the Robinsons really are at their best when left to their own devices—which is fully on display once they inevitably do launch and rejoin the Resolute’s remaining passengers, who tend to cause far more problems than they solve. Except, of course, no one is left aboard the Resolute because a) as we see in the premiere, it was once again boarded by killer robots, forcing everyone to flee, and b) like the Jupiter 2, its engine has been powerless for seven months. But no matter, the fact that the Robinsons are the best and brightest quickly shines through no matter their surroundings, ranks, or a certain ungrateful stowaway’s slander.
In that way, not much has changed from season one. (Not that I would want it to, seeing as the Robinsons’ moral centers are the foundation for this space opera.) Even structurally speaking, there are significant similarities between the seasons. In not too broad of strokes, both seasons begin with three of ten episodes in which the Robinsons are stranded alone on an unknown planet, only to meet up with remaining survivors and temporarily be put in their place, until the Powers That Be threaten to abandon planet-bound passengers for the good of the mission and the Robinsons have to take control to save everyone, ending with a race off a hostile planet and back to the Resolute, plus a last-minute space portal jump. We even see some of the very same scenes play out: we have a Robinson family member leave the safety of the ship in order to manually close a bay door (to be caught by John when this member inevitably fails to make it back inside); we have the earth giving way beneath Will, who slides down a narrow tunnel only to emerge and find his robot; and we have numerous counts of this series’ tried-and-true “characters getting trapped together in order to work out an underlying interpersonal issue” trope. To the show’s credit, though, it recognizes its repetitive predicaments, serving up meta-commentary through the cheeky lens of Don: “Can we just get where we’re going once without crashing?!,” “Is something wrong? Of course there is. I don’t even know why I ask anymore.,” and “Anyone else remember when we had enough time to do anything?” Even straight-laced Victor gets in on the fun, when saying that though the electrical storms on the desert planet are infrequent, “…in typical Robinson fashion, you find yourself right in the middle of one.”
This season was even able to use our well-established expectations against us, creating some entertaining, if not genuinely surprising, reversals. Prime among these are 1) the evil robot impersonating Will’s robot (though what that robot actually wanted from Will is still beyond me), 2) Smith not betraying, but rather working in league with John to find out the source of the mysterious ticking alien ship noise, and 3) the final navigational mishap on the Jupiter 2, wherein not only do the children not make it to Alpha Centauri, but Judy finds her real father’s ship, the Fortuna, Lost in Space as well. Please note that I’m not counting Smith being alive at the end as a surprise, since given her cockroachian history and her transformation into Houdini this season, everyone and their mother saw that coming. I mean, I have no idea how she could have survived, but no body in the spacesuit + blue ball on the J2 = alive. My math is flawless.
But none of this is to say that season two doesn’t have its own momentum, emotions, and arcs, or that it places its characters in stasis. On the contrary, this season’s through-line, at least for the three Robinson children, is maturity. Judy, the eldest, continues to improve in her weak spot: taking risks and breaking rules. First, she leaves the protected perimeter in order to take a shortcut to save her dying father, then she orchestrates the shell game to help the robot escape. Though her responsible and reliable nature is called into question by the lead physician early on, by the end, she’s tasked with the safety of all the children and the last hope in getting any of the 24th colony to Alpha Centauri.
Meanwhile, it is the youngest, Will, who makes the most evident headway in this regard, suddenly in the position not to be saved by his giant swiss army knife of a robot, but to do the saving (or at least, the finding). Dead-set on reuniting with his indestructible pal, Will leads the charge and confronts malevolent humans and robots alike; then, after noticing his robot has also matured in their time spent apart, he remarks “I'm not the same as when we met up in that tree... We're growing up.” Of course, pivotal in that transformation is Will’s long-coming realization that friends and slaves are not one and the same; as Penny echoes in regards to her constant favors asked of Vijay, “friendship isn’t a one-way street.” This season was Will’s turn to do the robot’s bidding, though their relationship is sure to continue evolving in the seasons ahead. In fact, between Will and his robot, Maureen and Hastings, and even John and Smith, this season calls the Robinsons to pay back favors in a big way.
But back to the children. In the way of new yet plausible family drama, Penny has finally caught on to the fact that she’s “the black sheep of the Robinson family,” not nearly as MacGyver-y as her parents or siblings, and thus always given the simplest, most mundane tasks. (And I’m not going to lie, Penny questioning the merits of an English major in space hit a little close to home.) Though her average intelligence and legitimate fears—not to mention sarcastic wit—have always made her the most relatable Robinson in my eyes, Penny had the least satisfying arc this season. Through the publishing of her book and her interactions with Smith, the writers seemed to be arguing that Penny’s strength lies in observing and analyzing behaviors, and then taking the anti-Smith approach to use those skills to motivate instead of manipulate. I, however, was not convinced, either by the resolution of Penny and her mom being swept over the waterfall in episode two (since Penny spends the whole time complaining and waiting to be saved), or through the events of episode six—in which Penny persuades Smith to coax Mr. Jackson past his claustrophobia—that Penny has found her way. Sure, as Vijay councils her, she inspires others to do good, “and what’s more Robinson than that?” But it still feels to me like she’s being relegated to the role of sidekick and scribe (not that that’s the worst thing), even as the show tries to make each Robinson a hero in his or her own right. Then again, it is Penny who makes the crucial observation in the finale, simultaneously assuaging Will’s doubts, by deducing that his using kindness to flip two robots to the humans’ side is not a coincidence, but “the start of something big.”
And ultimately, my criticism is fruitless, because Vijay is right. We don’t love the Robinsons because they are smart or brave. Smith is smart, after all, and the little girl left behind on the Resolute is brave. In reality, every scientist aboard the Resolute is likely at the height of their field, braving the dangers of space travel. What makes the Robinsons special—what makes us admire each and every one of them—is how they choose to employ their skills: to bring out the good in themselves and others. For indeed, toxic kelp and metal-dissipating microbes aren’t the only things going viral aboard the spacecraft—once again, the Robinson’s unshakable compassion has taken root. This season, we see them continue to inspire one another (when Judy 10-Things-I-Hate-About-You’d her dad, I almost cried), their superiors (the captain trusted in Maureen’s math and good intentions enough to risk the health of the Resolute), alien robots (the robot’s Robinson-taught custom of laying a stone for Gypsy could give Judy a run for her tear-jerking money), newcomers (Will’s innocence restored Adler’s kind and curious heart, leading him to atone and sacrifice himself for his frenemy Scarecrow), and old-timers (Don and Smith, who continue to act as one another’s foil).
In fact, in keeping with the theme of maturity, Don escalates his moral upsurge, first by putting his freedom on the line to save Penny, then by putting his life on the line to buy time for his fellow engineers to get to safety. He is, in other words, fully Robinson-ized, impulsively sacrificing himself time and again to do right by others. Smith, on the other hand, continues to be a delightful conundrum. While still spouting out rationalizations like “there’s a little good and bad in all of us; no one’s hands are completely clean” and the more sinister “never worry about what someone knows, only what they can prove,” Smith starts the season by forcibly cleaning her own slate through threats, blackmail, manipulation, exploitation, ingratiation, impersonation, straight-up lies, a fair amount of computer hacking, and even (nonlethal) poison. But then, throughout the season, we also see her offer up her sailing expertise, partner up with John, and risk her life to move some cables about four inches, all in the name of “family”—not to mention her glimpses of compassion (when Will’s robot is being tortured) or intense guilt (coming face-to-face with the family of the man she shot into space in season one). As always, it’s difficult to know which side Smith is on, if not her own. Is she only helping to increase her own odds of survival, or to ingratiate herself with potential saviors later on? Or does she genuinely care about the Robinsons and other beings now? As we learn from the Robinsons, true intentions are key in determining one’s moral character, so Smith’s malleability and uncertain motives should make for an intriguing character analysis in the season(s) to come.
It’s funny, actually, to think that we villainize Smith so swiftly for her selfish choices, but immediately excuse her strongest opponent, Maureen Robinson, when her past misdeeds come to light. In fact, if you’re anything like me, you were cheering Maureen on as she staged a full-scale mutiny, which, as the captain points out, puts not just the current crew in danger, but risks the only chance of transport to a better life that millions of Earthbound humans have. There exists a fascinating moral quandary about whose “greater good” theory actually holds more water, but hey, when immediate lives are at stake, the one thing the Robinsons don’t do well is follow protocol. That’s the core trait that gets them into—and out of—trouble. What I most appreciated about “Unknown,” though, was that Maureen had to contend with a questionable past transaction—namely, trading her security codes for Will’s passage. Because difficult as it is to remember, the Robinsons aren’t perfect. They’re just always striving to be better. So when her otherwise-perfectly calculated plans fail and the lives of two engineers are put in jeopardy, Maureen doesn’t worry about her reputation or posterity (as this season’s real villain, Hastings, does), she immediately re-prioritizes and risks her own life to save them. If only everyone was as good-intentioned as the Robinsons, the failures of the “human element” wouldn’t be so hard to factor in. Don was right to say “Not enough attention is paid in this family to the benefits of a cautious approach,” but most often, that’s a good thing.
Dissecting the selfishness/selflessness theme is so season one, so as my final point here, I would like to pay compliment to this series's plot structure—specifically, recursive problem-solving (or problem-ception, if you will). Many series employ the straightforward “getting from point A to point C by overcoming obstacle B” structure. But frankly, Lost in Space’s plot is far more nuanced—and thus more engaging—by crafting one problem inside of another, instead of (or more likely, in combination with) one problem after another. With recursive problems, characters embark to fix one problem, only to encounter another, which must be solved before returning to the first problem, and so on and so forth, like taking apart a Russian doll of dilemmas. We see this plot structure utilized on the episodic level: in the beginning, with their food source destroyed, the Robinsons must leave waterworld, but to do that, they must sail to the lightning charging station, but while they do that, John the helmsman is injured, the ship takes on damage, and Penny and Maureen end up going over a waterfall. Or take episode six, wherein the infected section of the Resolute needs to be dismantled, only there’s people trapped inside, so Don plots to save them, but only by confessing his crimes and condemning himself, so they enact his plan by climbing in a box, but only 3 of 4 people will fit. All in all, this structure helps to keep the plot from feeling too predictable while adding to the tension. Just think of how much tension this technique ramps up on the season level: "Yay, we’re on the Resolute. But wait, we need to collect water to survive. But wait, we need time to rid the water of the rust virus that will destroy our spaceship. But wait, we have no time because an alien robot army is impending." Kudos to the writers for sustaining this constant stream of problem-solving for two seasons. (For the record, NBC's Good Girls uses this plot structure as well, the main trio constantly digging themselves deeper, committing more crimes to cover up their previous spree, and taking one risk to justify another.)
Overall, I enjoyed this season very much, though it didn’t feel quite as tight, as focused, as season one. For one thing, sophomore seasons are notoriously difficult to craft, having to balance keeping everything that people loved from the pilot season with building something new and exciting. And I would think that having such unimpeachable protagonists would hinder the creation of compelling drama, but Lost in Space never hesitates to make situations far worse—and thus far more interesting—for everyone than I would expect. Much like season one, it was entertaining as hell, had me alternately chastising and cheering aloud for its characters, and was damn hard not to binge at the end. And with late-season episodes like "Unknown" or "Ninety Seven," this season certainly reached new heights. Even so, this time around, some of the predicaments—like John getting impaled in the mine or Maureen and John getting temporarily stranded in maintenance pods—didn’t hold the same “how ever will they survive?” suspense. Though if I had to point to one element that didn’t deliver as promised, it would be the lack of answers surrounding the robot aliens, given the amount of time spent on that subplot. How or why are they made? What, precisely, do they want with Will? Why do they want that engine back so badly? Are those lightning monuments houses, factories, or hospitals? And what do all the symbols mean?
But all in all, this show continues to deliver on its foundational themes of redemption, forgiveness, family, and the power of kindness. It has certainly positioned itself to have an action-packed third season, now that the entire Resolute is destroyed, the jupiters have scattered, and most frightening of all, the “always stick together” Robinsons are separated (to say nothing of the other families with children). And despite my qualms above, I am confident we will get the answers to all our questions in time. Maybe the humans will find a way to make peace with the robots, maybe Smith will prove herself trustworthy, maybe, someday, they’ll even make it to Alpha Centauri... Every problem has a solution, right? I just hope, with complete un-Robinson-like selfishness, that they don’t solve all of their problems for another few seasons.
Stray observations:
I may not be a rocket scientist, but the fact that their ship works after all this is insane. It’s been flooded with water, encased in ice, and struck by lightning; crashed into trees, glaciers, and rocks; attacked by alien guns, robots, eels, and seaweed; and had every part used and reused for unintended purposes. Just saying, the robot’s not the only thing that’s indestructible. Furthermore, for their resourcefulness and sacrifice, I nominate the Jupiter 2 and the chariot (RIP) as honorary Robinsons.
I’m so happy for Judy and John, but I don’t think I love anyone enough to run 15 miles, much less through a velociraptor-infested desert.
Out of all the things we’ve seen the robot accomplish, it gets taken out of commission by... a dirt pit?
So the horse contracts a virus on the desert planet and dies within minutes, but the metal robot on the planet rife with metal-destroying microbes is fine FOR SEVEN MONTHS?
And on a much more minor—but no less distracting—note, does the robot have pockets I’m not aware of? How is he holding on to Gypsy’s bracelet for so long?
Will may have been kinder to his robot slave, but at least Adler gave his robot a name.
Judy, the adults voted, and they think a not-fully-trained 19-year-old should be the sole caretaker of 100 children and the pilot of the only spaceship equipped to get to Alpha Centauri. Good luck.
I’m trying to decide which is funnier: Maureen’s take on self-destruct buttons (“Why would somebody design a way to blow up their own ship? That’s insane!”) or Smith’s attempt at building Penny’s confidence (“You may not be the best Robinson, but you’re the only Robinson we’ve got!”)
As a whole, the Robinsons trend toward Gryffindor, but Will is a really good finder, so...
I firmly believe workplaces should stop all teamwork exercises and just screen some episodes of Lost in Space instead.