Dude, Who Needs a Teddy Bear When You've Got Hurley?

The other day, I finally caved and bought myself the McFarlane Toys talking figure of Hurley, completing my threesome of favorite characters from LOST's first season. Of course, the introduction of Desmond - particularly as a regular in season three - turned my trio into a quartet, but I doubt they'll be casting him in plastic any time soon, what with so many other characters in line ahead of him. I'm crossing my fingers that they'll get around to it eventually. Or just do the sound chip thing, only stick it in something smaller than that black box that comes with the figures, something that I could string on a necklace so I could listen to those rugged Scottish tones whenever I want. Too bad two of the three sound clips are bound to be dreadfully depressing, along the lines of "You've killed us all!" and "You're gonna die, Charlie!" At least I can count on "See you in another life, brother..."

But to Hurley, who won my heart quickly and has never given me cause to shake my fist at him in frustration, as my beloved Charlie, Locke and Desmond have. Hurley is as steady and dependable as they come. He may be cursed, doomed to stand in the eye of the hurricane while atrocities happen to most of the people he cares about, but that doesn't stop him from being a comforting presence. I occasionally compare him to Sam Gamgee, my all-time favorite literary hero, but mostly to Hagrid, the enormous, bumbling, expansively compassionate Hogwarts gamekeeper.

Like Hagrid, he possesses a rustic decency that makes him generally well-liked. He encourages everyone to treat each other with respect, and while he's eager to do as much as he can to be helpful, he usually stands in awe of Jack, who may not be much like Dumbledore but who is the closest thing this group of castaways has to a leader. He's emotional, more deeply affected by events on the island than most, in part because he goes to lengths to get to know everyone. He's usually the one who eulogizes at the all-too-frequent makeshift funerals, and while his words may not be very eloquent, they spring from a profound sense of sympathy. I can just imagine Hagrid blowing a great big handkerchief whenever Hurley lays a castaway to rest. He even uses the word "duffer", which is one of those words I associate almost exclusively with Hagrid.

So yeah, I love Hurley. I love his pacifism, his mellow "dude"-riddled proclamations, his consideration, his common sense, his fantastic sense of humor. He's a great big teddy bear with a habit of squeezing the stuffing out of people. If I were on that island, he could give me as many bear hugs as he wanted. Hurley is one groovy guy.

And so is mini-Hurley, though preserved in plastic, he's not nearly so huggable. The six-inch replica captures one of his shining season one moments, when the discovery of some golf clubs inspires him to build a course and give the castaways a way to relieve all their mounting tension. "I've stayed up all night trying to figure out how to make people feel safe," Jack complains. "Hurley builds a golf course, suddenly everyone feels safe." In the grand scheme of things, it's a small contribution, but for this one day, everyone can forget about all those pesky problems plaguing them.

The figure includes a cardboard backdrop showing the verdant hills where Hurley has placed his golf course. He's mounted on a grassy expanse consisting of green and brown tones, with little patches of grass and earth turned up all around him. On his feet are black sneakers, which are reluctant to fit into the allotted holes. His pants are black and have several pockets, though none of them are actually capable of accommodating any small objects. His green shirt flaps in the same breeze that causes his makeshift flag - a red coconut-print Hawaiian shirt in a former life - to fly proudly atop its bamboo pole, which Hurley clasps with one hand. Though the flagpole rests in a small hole, it doesn't seem that it would have much chance of standing if Hurley weren't there to help prop it up.

Hurley's other hand is on his hip, giving him an air of pride, while his face wears an expression of satisfaction. His head, marked by sideburns, the faint beginnings of a beard and shoulder-length hair pulled back with a black hair tie, is one of the only parts of him with any articulation, and even that's not much, since he is only able to shake his head slightly. His waist and right elbow are also articulated, though I didn't notice that at first. The craftsmanship isn't as detailed or the likeness as remarkable as with Charlie and Locke, but it's still a very nice figure. What's not so nice is the assembly required in order to incorporate the backdrop and the voice box into the figure stand. You'd think after two of these figures, we could figure out how to put them together, but it's rather complicated, especially without any sort of instructions. I'm afraid there was a bit of angry muttering flowing through our kitchen before the assembly was complete, and that's most inappropriate considering Hurley's pacifying nature. Shame on those LOST folks for refusing to make anything simple...

As with the other figures, Hurley speaks three lines from the series, or rather the black box attached to him does when the button on it is pressed. For some reason, the volume seems turned up just a tad higher on Hurley than on Charlie and Locke, but that might not be an across-the-board thing. He's just a little louder than he needs to be, at least on the first two: "Welcome to the first... and, hopefully, last... Island Open!" (very appropriate, given the moment they decided to capture with this figure) and the requisite "dude"- and food-involved "Dude, I'm starving... I'm nowhere near that hungry." The extra volume makes more sense on his final proclamation, the panicked season-finale "Stop! Wait! The number are bad!!" And speaking of numbers, my figure came with two full-size replicas of his cursed lottery ticket, bearing the ominous numbers "4 8 15 16 23 42". I think I was only supposed to get one, but I'm not complaining.

For $17, I nabbed myself the compassionate, hilarious, unlucky island teddy bear, and I find myself wishing more than ever that I could get my hands on a magical box like the one in The Indian in the Cupboard capable of bringing plastic figurines to life. Hurley and I could have some very nice chats together... Here's hoping Hurley remains a voice of reason in the often chaotic workings of the island. Three cheers for Hugo Reyes!