As soon as the eerie Mark Snow music cues the opening theme to The X-Files, diehard fans in local cinemas were probably murmuring to themselves: “I WANT TO BELIEVE.” But only half an hour into Chris Carter’s long-awaited sequel to his last movie outing with FBI Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, the collective murmur had probably changed to: “I WANT TO LEAVE…”
That’s because The X-Files: I Want to Believe feels like warmed-up leftovers from the popular TV series, and does nothing to advance the beloved “alien story arc” that has sustained fans’ interest long after rational people have stopped looking to the skies.
I mean, come on. The last film came out before 9/11, so arguably people have more important conspiracies to delve into these days. Like, how George W. Bush got reelected. Or if Barack Obama is really a Muslim. Or how China pulled off so many gymnast gold medals.
So, even though I happen to know there are people who still refuse to let this shopworn franchise pass away into the curio bin of our ’90s consciousness, it’s really not a very good outing, any way you spin it.
First off, those who presumably care will note that Mulder (David Duchovny) now has a few more age lines and sports a beard through half the film, perhaps to hide telltale facial bloat, while Scully (Gillian Anderson) was coaxed out of semi-retirement in the U.K. to bark out shrewish orders and act totally K.J. around Mulder, which used to be her function on the TV series, but now just seems crotchety. Perhaps it’s the “change of life.”
And yes, the two are shown having an actual physical relationship, lying in bed together (this is the kind of revelation that once would send X-Files fans into fits of squealing), though now they just seem like any other tired domestic couple, trading banal pillow talk. The truth is not so out there, it seems.
Mulder and Scully have left the F.B.I., it turns out, yet they still keep tabs on one another, as well as making the occasional booty call, apparently. Scully works at a children’s hospital, while Mulder lives like a hermit, still hung up on his missing sister, tacking up random newspaper clippings like the wacko professor from A Beautiful Mind. But Mulder and Scully are called back to help locate a missing F.B.I. agent, at the prompting of Agent Dakota Whitney (Amanda Peet). The Feds are on the trail of a presumed serial killer and seek the supernatural advice of defrocked priest/part-time psychic Father Joe Crissman (Billy Connolly) who seems to know the location of many severed limbs buried in ice. Fr. Joe lives in a “self-policing pedophile community” somewhere in the frozen American northwest. Scully, who lured Mulder out of hiding in the first place to help with the case, quickly slips into her old skeptical ways, debunking Joe’s psychic abilities and jeering at his sexual preference for little Catholic boys. You always know when X-Files creator Chris Carter is rummaging through the newspapers or Internet for material, but here the topical touch points— pedophile priests, stem cell research, black market organ rackets — seem about 10 years past their sell-by date. It might have made a decent two-parter episode back in the day, but as big-screen drama, this tale seriously lacks sizzle. The only shot at topicality (or humor, really) is the moment when Mulder and Scully wait outside the F.B.I. director’s office and glance at an official portrait of US President George Bush, looking like a real Texas yahoo. Cue eerie X-Files theme music.
We learn that the serial killer angle actually masks a black market operation run by wacky Russians who deal in stolen body parts. This feels like a desperate attempt by Carter to cash in on the gore-seeking Hostel and Saw market out there, but even that niche will be disappointed, as the whole subplot feels more like Re-Animator than Silence of the Lambs. Which is to say it lacks class, but may generate some laughs.
Also massively disappointing is the absence of a supernatural element in a franchise that built its reputation on paranormal occurrences. I mean, come on: give us a Bigfoot, a werewolf, a giant swamp leech, anything; at least bring in the Smoking Gun guys for some laughs!
The biggest mystery in The X-Files: I Want to Believe is what compelled these people to put on their snow parkas once again and trudge out to Vancouver (where most of the early seasons of the show were shot) without a decent script. For the answer to this, stalwart X-Files fans think they have the answer in blog interviews with Chris Carter that indicate he plans to release a third movie sometime in the future that will pick up on the alien story arc yet again, presumably when Mulder and Scully are old enough to be wearing Depends rather than F.B.I. badges. The question is: why wait? Surely old fans will leave in droves after watching this “stand-alone” water-treading movie, while new viewers are not likely to be suckered twice.
Once upon a time, The X-Files was a groundbreaking TV show, a stylish investigative series with a tone and edge that influenced shows to come, like C.S.I. and Numbers. Its questions were big, its legacy was large, but those questions were largely put to rest by Carter, and in this day and age, people might find themselves more entertained watching Battlestar Galactica than in seeking answers in the skies.
The painful truth of why this movie was made — if it is still truth we are seeking out there — is not to be found in blogs or oblique dialogue or future plans and grand schemes. It’s in big paychecks and small ambitions. And that truth is a pretty bitter one to swallow.