I Wanted To Believe (Part 1)

I wanted to believe. I wanted to believe so much.

I wanted to believe that the new reboot of The X-Files was going to be every bit as great as the show I fell in love with as a lonely small town teenager in the mid-'90s. I wanted to believe that the series would hit the same high points that left me breathless at the end of each episode and have me thirsting for the following week's installment. I wanted to believe that the passion and energy that Chris Carter's writing once had was going to return with a vengeance and that the new episodes would capture my heart and imagination in the same way that the series did during my adolescence, that it would give me the intoxicating rush that truly great entertainment can provide. I wanted it so much to be the way that it was before. After watching last night's premiere of the limited six-episode run, I am disappointed to say that my hopes have been dashed yet again.

I remember when the show first aired and I didn't quite get into it at first. I heard it was this funky weird sci-fi show that was on TV, but had read mixed reviews of it that didn't seem very promising, so I ignored it during that first season. By the time season two rolled around, it had started getting better reviews, so I decided I'd check out a few episodes. The first one I saw was kind of a disappointment. It was one entitled "Ascension", which I didn't realize was the second half of a two-parter, so the story didn't really make any sense to me at the time. It was the second one I saw that got me hooked, though. The title of the episode, according to the newspaper TV schedule, was "Blood" and I knew nothing about it, other than that it was a word that promised horror and violence. I retreated to my bedroom later that night and watched it on the crappy hand-me-own black-and-white TV I inherited from my older brother. The episode unfolded and I was quickly drawn into the story of ordinary residents of a small town going on bizarre killing sprees after receiving creepy subliminal messages on their electronic devices. I was blown away (no pun intended). Here was an hour of television that was scary, original, imaginative, and exciting. There was no turning back after that point. I was an X-Files junkie and like most junkies, I tried to keep my addiction a secret. For some reason, I didn't want anyone else in my family to know I was a fan. I don't know why, exactly. I mean, I'm sure they already knew I was pretty geeky at this point and didn't know why my secret love of a brilliant TV series would make them think any lesser of me. My secrecy didn't last long though and it wasn't long before I "came out" as a huge X-Files nerd.

My obsession with the show lasted for most of my teenage years. I devoured the episodes, and purchased magazines, comic books, trading cards, and T-shirts devoted to the ongoing adventures of true believer Fox Mulder and his skeptical partner Dana Scully. I even sculpted a clay bust of the Flukeman (the giant worm man from season two's classic "The Host", still its greatest monster-of-the-week episode, in my humble opinion) in my sophomore art class, but forgot to hollow out the head, so it was super-heavy. Its exact whereabouts remain unknown, but it's rumored to be collecting dust somewhere at my parents' house.

The X-Files was the perfect show for an awkward introverted teenage outcast. Here was a program that proved that not only could geeks be cool, they could be downright sexy. And for someone who had a hard time making friends and getting through school without being teased at least once, what better motto was there than "Trust No One"? The paranoia and anxiety that Fox Mulder dealt with on a weekly basis mirrored my own paranoia and anxiety, although his were concerning a massive global conspiracy regarding extraterrestrial life, while mine were about surviving until the end of the day without getting made fun of or slammed into a locker. His villains were shady government officials, shape-shifting alien bounty hunters, and liver-eating mutant serial killers. Mine were condescending preppy douchebags, assholes jocks, and unsympathetic teachers. It wasn't hard to relate to a protagonist who felt that the world was conspiring against him.

Seasons two through four were the glory years, when the show seemed to be firing on all cylinders. Sure, there were a few clunker episodes here and there, but they were few and far between.  The writing, directing, acting, and special effects were all top-notch and my passion grew. I became a devoted congregant to the church of The X-Files and regularly attended service every Friday night at 9 pm (and then later, Sunday at 9pm). I would become irritated if I had to miss a show due to a Boy Scout camping trip or some bullshit school function. Fuck tying knots! Mulder and Scully are chasing monsters! I would always make my family members promise to tape episodes that I had missed, which they rarely ever did, and on the rare occasions that they did so, would whine about stupid it was. I didn't care, though. I was a fanatic and nothing was going to change that. Then season five rolled around.

Something about season five was...off. It wasn't bad exactly, but the episodes didn't leave me with the giddy high feeling that previous ones did. It was during that season that I noticed the writing was starting to slip a little. Cracks and inconsistencies were showing in the show's already complicated overarching mythology. One problem was the dissatisfaction I had with the previous season's finale. It ended with Dana Scully solemnly declaring before a senate committee hearing that Agent Mulder had recently killed himself, before cutting to the end credits. I knew that was bullshit. There was no way they were going to kill off their main star and I had read that David Duchovny was contractually committed for a few more seasons, so I knew something was up. During summer vacation that year, I guessed what the secret plot twist was going to be and sure enough, when the two-part fifth season premiere began, I found my instincts had been confirmed. It was at that moment that I realized that the show could no longer surprise me. I still turned in to catch the "monster-of-the-week" episodes, but the mythology had lost me at that point. What was one intriguing and provocative was now convoluted and silly. What the hell did corn and killer bees have to do with alien invasions?

I dutifully watched the first feature film (The X-Files: Fight the Future) and trudged on for the next two seasons, mostly out of a sense of obligation and a hope that things would return to how they were before, but my heart was no longer in it. My faith was lapsed. By the time Duchovny left at the end of season seven, I could see red flags ahead, warning me that the show was going to turn from mediocre to awful. My worst suspicions were confirmed during season eight, when Duchovny was replaced by Robert Patrick and the show descended into outright silliness. (This is no disrespect to Patrick, who is a good actor, but wasn't given an interesting role to play and had the thankless task of replacing such a memorable character.) By season's end, I gave up entirely on the show. I wasn't alone. Cinefantastique critic Paula Vitaris (the Pauline Kael of X-Files reviewers) also bailed after panning nearly every episode of the season and expressed her opinion that Carter's heart didn't appear to be in the show anymore. I didn't even bother with season nine, the last before the reboot, only turning in to watch the long-awaited finale "The Truth". The truth was that the show that I had once loved was now a joke, and the episode itself was two hours of exposition essentially recapping the entire series up to that point. I was heartbroken. I consoled myself with the knowledge that the first few seasons were readily available on DVD and that I could revisit the glory years over and over again. After all, season four did end with Scully saying that Mulder was dead and that seems like a nice alternative way to reimagine the series. Just pretend that it ended in tragedy and ignore the years after that when it all went downhill.

TO BE CONTINUED (cue whistling theme music).