Lost in Space certainly left a lot to wrap up in its third and final season: Judy is on the cusp of rescuing and meeting her biological father (in that order), the adults of the 24th colony are stranded in space and surrounded by angry robots, the entire robot backstory needs to be explained, and then there’s that small matter of getting everyone to the Alpha Centauri promised land while bringing each individual character’s series-long growth to fruition.
In true Lost in Space fashion, we get about 2 ½ minutes to adjust to our characters’ surroundings before danger strikes, placing them in immediate peril. On the children’s end, it’s a stalled engine that forces a landing protocol, meaning Judy has to take an Iron Man leap of faith to get back to the jupiter and Smith gets to put another notch in her “catch a flying Robinson in zero gravity” belt; meanwhile, the adults are carrying out supply reclamation missions back on planet red dust, trying not to get caught by electronics-sensing killer robots before returning to their spaceships, which are also being hunted by killer robots. And so begins this final chapter of everyone trying to make their way to Alpha Centauri—and each other.
Truth be told, as much of a kick as I usually get from this show’s unrelenting “Danger!” proclamations and ensuing problem-solving, this season finally layered on that formula too thick. The kids once again spend the first three episodes stuck on an unfamiliar planet (arguably the most hospitable so far, if you don’t count the frequent meteor scares), trading the gathering of titanium amidst cliff crabs for season one’s gathering of poop-fuel amidst cave pterodactyls; Maureen and John are back to not speaking (who would’ve thought communication was important in maintaining strong relationships?); Smith is contributing her absolute minimum effort while meddling in Will’s secrets; and ultimately everyone is forced to band together on a risky mission when a surprise deadline threatens their survival, whether that means escaping a planet with an asteroid-filled orbit or preparing for an alien robot attack. “We’ve been in some hard spots before, but we’ve always made it through,” Judy reminds her siblings as they scale a cliff. The problem is, these “hard spots” aren’t holding the same tension as the first (and second) times we saw the Robinsons get in, and then work their way out, of them. Malfunctioning spaceships, killer robots, inhospitable planets—you’d think that with all of space to work with, they wouldn’t need to retread the same storytelling ground.
The biggest change at the start of this season is, of course, the separation anxiety between the children and their parents. The “not knowing” about the safety and wellbeing of their family counterparts has taken its toll after a year apart (a time jump that was definitely plot-based and had nothing to do with the producers’ attempt to explain away a certain aging child actor). The kids, to be fair, are working as fast as they can to get back on track (hampered by the resource-wasting acts of an over-protective robot), while the parents’ biggest action piece is... shredding documents. Sure, they attempt to copy Will’s success at befriending a robot who could get them an alien engine, but that whole plan really amounts to nothing except to expose their spaceship's location and put them in even more imminent danger. All in all, this season began as entertaining but not necessarily engaging; the panicky high this show typically sustains had become the new normal. It didn’t seem as though the stakes could be raised, or that the Robinsons would ever be in any real danger. Could it be, through all the trials and tribulations that the Robinsons have been put through already, they really have seen the worst that can be thrown at them?
Then the second half of the season arrived to answer that question with a definitive “no,” bringing the characters—and the audience—home.
Will, unsurprisingly, was paramount in providing that narrative momentum. Though his plans waver and take new shape as he learns about the robots’ creators and reconnects with his family, viewers know from the start that he’s planning some sort of self-sacrifice/self-exile to lead the robots away from everyone he loves. The real momentum-creating shift, though, was in moving up the Will/SAR showdown to episode 6. With that (first) meeting out of the way, not to mention my genuine fear for Will’s life, the events of the final two episodes widened with possibility. As the Robinsons rush to the hospital and brace for SAR’s arrival, all victory is sapped from them finally making it to Alpha Centauri—meaning the real finale would have to build tension and significance anew.
The writers achieve this rebuild by running every character arc and plot point through this season’s two major themes: the question of “Can we change our programming?” and the power of kindness. Because as fun and thrilling as the three seasons’ worth of life-threatening predicaments and last-minute escapes have been, the enduring quality of Lost in Space has always been its heart. Or, as Grant Kelly sums it up, “life’s not just about survival; it’s about making a difference.” And boy do the Robinsons make a difference—for their family, for all of humanity, and even for their enemies. For though the first four episodes left something to be desired, there was something sweet about how none of the Robinsons were at their best when they were apart—that they really are strongest, emotionally and intellectually, when they are together. And perhaps that’s why the second half of the season feels right.
No one embodies the heart of this show more than Will, so it is perhaps fitting that his character leads the thematic charge and exhibits the most growth. Gone is the floppy-haired little boy scared to leave his father’s side; in his place stands a leader and a protector, still chock-full of compassion and curiosity. He’s even able to hold his own with master manipulator Smith, alternately lying to and striking a deal with her to meet his own ends. It is incredible that, considering his epilogue scene exploring with Robot, he was once deemed unqualified to go to space at all. Now he’s a geologist, archeologist, anthropologist, and just about whatever someone in crisis needs him to be (though his robot naming technique is entirely unimaginative). He has certainly changed his own “programming,” not to mention that of Robot and (RIP) Scarecrow, and he did it all through what Judy rightfully calls his “superpower”—his capacity for kindness. His only mistake was in thinking he had to go it alone, for once he remembered that he could lean on his family for strength, he was unstoppable.
Penny learns this same lesson, but in reverse. She has total trust in her family, but little faith in herself. To my chagrin, she once again spends the vast majority of the season bemoaning her parents’ absence and then turning to her siblings for help when the situation turns dire or science-y. To my even greater chagrin, she has to be told by not one but two boys that she’s “much more special than she gives herself credit for” before she starts to believe it herself, despite the fact that she has been heroic plenty of times in the past. Just this season, she salvaged the radar that Judy would use to rescue the Fortuna crew, and she ran toward danger to save Will when their convoy was under attack. Yes, her sub-genius IQ continues to make her suffer from Robinson Inadequacy Syndrome, and yes, her commentary is often relegated to comedic relief (“So, less than 24 hours after the Robinsons get here, the Alpha Centauri’s trashed. I’m not saying there’s a connection, but it doesn’t look good”), but it’s not like her heart hasn’t always been in the right place. And it’s precisely her familiarity with that feeling of helplessness that leads her to reassemble Sally, save the children, and realize that the desire and willingness to help where and when she can is enough to make her a hero.
Judy, meanwhile, has always felt the pressure to be the perfect child, and that stress is taking its toll. Somehow, Judy’s challenge this season is not related to meeting her long-thought-dead father, but rather navigating her abrupt welcome to adulthood, balancing her desire to “fulfill her own potential” (sans parental guidance) with the stress caused by not sharing her burdens, thus underlining the “it’s okay to lean on others” lesson. (But really, who wouldn’t be stressed when 97 parents were a year late to pick up their kids?) Her “arc” was about as quickly dealt with as Maureen’s, whose similar need to be in control gave way to the realization that her dream of traveling to space was only made better by having a family to share it with. Essentially, each Robinson learned that taking on more responsibility or risk didn’t mean they couldn’t still ask for help—trusting others to fulfill those requests is what’s important.
As with the repetition of those lessons, the repetition of plot grew more purposeful in the back half of the season. Some moments were meant as callbacks—Don chasing after Debbie, Will scooting along a tree branch, Robot being impaled, Judy volunteering for an underwater mission, Penny having to clean filters “which are probably clogged with something disgusting,” Don using his smuggler knowledge for good, humans stuffing themselves into the unbreakable storage box, Will and Robot raising their arms in triumphant celebration, everyone expecting the jupiter to fly after a bomb exploded in the cockpit, Penny eating Oreos, and Don always having the perfect thing to say (“let me guess: you found a way to make [the danger of acquiring a robot alien and engine] mountable”), to name but a few. But other plot repetitions had greater meaning: The act of reassembling a robot not just to gain its trust, but as a show of innate compassion. The reversal of the human-robot sacrifice at the alien charging station, as proof of each species’ capacity for love, trust, and forgiveness. Smith holding a syringe of poison, on the brink of cheating her way out of facing judgment, only to step back. Because what better way to show that someone is changed than to present them with a past situation and have them make a different choice?
Throughout the season, Smith had to contend with her distrustfulness and fear of powerlessness. Though she once again starts this season with an attitude of, “Look, I’m well aware my instincts aren’t ‘the Robinson way,’ but there’s nothing wrong with choosing to save ourselves,” only lends a hand in life-or-death scenarios, and at her lowest point almost kills the man who can condemn her for past crimes, she too turns hero. First, she finally puts her bragged-about pilot skills to the test to help with Will’s robot recruitment mission, and then more meaningfully, she confesses her otherwise-covered-up crimes and makes peace with the jail time she must serve. Much like the blue robots, Smith couldn’t withstand the Robinsons' charm offensive, and was inspired more than anyone else to change her self-centered programming. (Plus, maybe that cell can serve as her “little patch of land” away from other people.) On the flip side, SAR refuses to to change, despite being given another opportunity to choose peace; he once again stabs Will in the heart (because ‘if at first you don’t succeed,’ I guess?) only to have his entire identity erased and his body taken over by his enemy. Let that be a lesson to anyone who believes they can save their species from slavery.
In the spirit of honesty and trust, I must say I’m left with more questions than answers about the robots. First off, the color scheme for the robots is apparently more complex than I thought: Shouldn’t Scarecrow have turned blue since he was helping the humans? What’s the difference between orange and red robots? Does the changing color indicate both the mood and programming status of a robot? Secondly, what kind of technologically advanced species doesn’t have radar? If they did, they would have had a years' time to find the adults’ jupiters orbiting the same planet, or they could have tracked the stolen engine without having to sniff out its trail like trained dogs. Also, why did the robots never attack Earth in the 20 years they apparently knew about it? Was it something to do with Scarecrow’s failed mission? And wouldn’t Scarecrow have been able to scan Adler, who had been to Alpha Centauri, and psychically share that location with his cohorts?
Then on to the humans. How did they not realize that multiple ships could travel through the rift opened by a single alien engine in season 2, but straight up kept the rift open for 20+ jupiters in the fourth episode of this season? Why, with the radar system they did have, were they unable to detect the arrival of the alien robot sleeper agents on Alpha Centauri? How was Maureen able to tell Scarecrow and SAR apart, or recognize either one to begin with (especially considering that SAR’s mind drive was implanted in a new body)? Are there distinguishing features I’m unaware of?
But I digress. What really matters not exactly how things happened, but how the Robinsons handled them. Considering the range of themes this season (change, kindness, family, trust), I suppose what it comes down to is the Robinsons are better when they’re all together, and the show is, too. “A heart isn’t determined by what it’s made of. It’s what you believe in. It’s what you fight for,” Judy councils Penny as Will is wheeled into the OR. The Robinsons have always believed in and fought for their family, and for anyone who needed help. They are incredibly smart, resourceful, resilient, selfless, and perseverant—but none of those qualities would have allowed them to survive so many crash landings. No, their greatest strength is their heart (and not just because that’s what earned them a super-strong robot helper). Their capacity for compassion inspired loyalty from friends and enemies alike, not to mention a “pay it forward” mentality that saw the Resolute hold back for them, Scarecrow (and others) fight fellow robots to allow the humans to escape, and even Smith risk her life to help Will’s cause. Their bond held up over inconceivable distance, like Judy trusting in her mom’s programming of the autopilot, or Maureen trusting Will’s connection to Robot and Scarecrow. Yes, they can be cheesy and out-of-this-world altruistic, but that’s exactly the draw for this family friendly show. It’s good, clean, and yet often thrilling, fun.
SAR targeting Will’s heart was a mistake not because the organ had been replaced with a super-charged mechanical version, but because Will’s strength never derived from anything tangible. It was indeed the shared beliefs, the shared trust, of the extended Robinson family that brought SAR to his knees. And though the visual of everyone emerging out the darkness and... pressing a button on their wrist device was truly lame, the meaning behind it was anything but. “I know change is scary, but it can also help you become better than you were before,” Will told SAR in their first meeting. Change is scary, whether it means taking on new responsibilities, admitting you were wrong, or allowing yourself to be vulnerable. But when you trust the people around you to help you, and return that same trust when you are able, you will find that you are stronger together. Even if it means crash-landing on seemingly every planet between you and your intergalactic destination, it’s a journey worth taking.
Stray Observations:
The alien robots are so like children: they don’t like it when others steal their stuff, they turn into absolute monsters if they don’t get their way, and they’re super gullible and instantly trust anyone who shows them kindness.
Speaking of which, what kind of programming loophole is “Kill everything you meet unless it shows you a modicum of kindness, in which case cease all loyalty to us and do whatever the heck you want”?
Funniest line goes to Dr. Smith answering “Where did you learn French?” with “France.”
For reasons I can't explain, runner-up goes to Maureen for answering “For what it’s worth, I keep a lot of weird stuff in my safe" with “I don’t doubt that, Sebastian.” Like, who even IS Sebastian?
I did not care one whit about Penny’s love triangle until Vijay brought her Oreos. At that moment I had very strong feelings as to whom she should choose.
Between John erasing “I'm home” because it wasn’t a home without his kids present, the Penny/Maureen robot-facilitated hug, Robot drawing a picture of himself with a heart, and Don’s face when Judy called him “family,” I don’t know which moment melted my heart. I just know it’s in a puddle on the floor.
I’m glad to see that two decades of cryosleep didn’t dull Grant’s piloting reflexes, but how is it that even in a future dominated by space travel, there is an adult astronaut who doesn’t trust technology? Btw, you’re welcome, Grant, for the computer override that forced the kids to land and gave your daughter the opportunity to rescue you!
Will came to that first showdown thinking he was Robert “choose your own programming” Ford from Westworld (which didn’t end well) only to be met with SAR's Daenerys “kill all masters” Targaryen from Game of Thrones (also didn’t end well). Then he ended up in a cryotube like Skye on Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (which, fortunately, did end well).
“Contingencies on Contingencies” should be the title of every Lost in Space episode. That, or “The Robinsons do something foolish and heroic.”
I’m a bit miffed that the Robinsons didn’t arrive on Alpha Centauri screaming, “The aliens are coming! The aliens are coming!” I hope, at the very least, someone in the writer’s room pitched the Robinson kids being greeted with “Welcome to the AC, bitch.”
Debra Abigail West. The chicken has a full name : )
“When we finally get to Alpha Centauri, I promise you: we’re going to do some regular father-son things. No more running for our lives or fighting alien robots.” John to Will, explaining why no one wants to watch season 4.
I thought it was super un-Robinson-like for Maureen to say, “When you think you’re the only one with answers, you’re usually wrong,” and then the show seemed to confirm this one episode later with Victor saying, “Unfortunately, Madam Chancellor, I find the Robinsons to be almost always right in their conclusions.”
I know the colors help viewers distinguish between the robots, but maybe the blue robots should have gone into Doc Oc mode to make it a fair fight with their red counterparts in the finale??
I’m annoyed by yet another series using this “in-world character writing the plot as a book” conceit, but pleased that Penny chose to write “The End... of Chapter One,” to emphasize that their story continues.
So... how long until Maureen takes Sebastian’s job?