When former Agents Mulder (David Duchovny) and Scully (Gillian Anderson) find themselves once again standing outside the threshold of some gloomy office within the labyrinth of FBI headquarters in The X-Files: I Want to Believe, they’re greeted by a cute if inconsequential sight-gag: on one side of the door hangs a portrait of George W. Bush; on the other, one of J. Edgar Hoover. I guess the idea is that during whatever era, there’s always going to be some crackpot and/or nincompoop in the executive branch trying to steer the ship. In other words, things never really change much in the shadowy, bureaucratically-fraught world of this beloved TV show-turned-potential movie franchise.
Lack of change is a problem however when you’re attempting to meet the demands of a distinct form. I Want to Believe feels very much like an episode of The X-Files, one that runs roughly an hour too long. As directed by show creator Chris Carter, the movie’s transitions, scene construction and corny “boo” effects, its use of Mark Snow’s boilerplate score and Mark Freeborn’s generic production design, feel overwhelmingly like a serial drama tailored for small screens and smaller expectations. The only sense in which it departs radically from television standards is, unfortunately, in its pacing, which is remarkably baggy, at times even aimless. The basic premise of Carter and co-writer Frank Spotnitz’s script is serviceable, but you can’t help but feel these guys haven’t cracked the formula that elevates such a premise to the level of urgency, stakes and endurance needed to fuel a feature film.
As I Want to Believe begins, Scully’s working at a Catholic pediatric hospital, while Mulder has opted for backwoods reclusion, killing time clipping newspapers and working on his beard. When an agent is kidnapped and a psychic, child molesting priest (Billy Connolly) stands as the FBI’s sole, rather dubious hope for finding her, Mulder and Scully are brought in. The initially reluctant Mulder is swiftly back in his element, though Scully is less enthused about returning to “the darkness.” She’s got enough on her plate, what with dying kids, agonizing parents and moody clergymen expecting her to perform miracles. In juxtaposing her trails at the hospital with the FBI’s search, the movie’s title assumes a multitude of variations, all of them boiling down to the necessity of faith when faced with dilemmas that stymie mere reason.
If only either story rose above Carter’s over-calculated thematic. Things don’t add up, timelines make no sense, supporting characters are woefully flat, and the best thing by far—Mulder and Scully’s conflicted, bittersweet romance—is given short shrift. Carter doesn’t even bother to show us how they find themselves in bed together after many years apart. It’s a shame, especially since Duchovny has slowly learned to transmit tenderness, and Anderson, with that transfixing gaze of hers, at once skeptical and flush with worry, is truly one of the finest, most unusual, most underused American actors of her generation.
...On that note, what the hell is with Callum Keith Rennie, here playing a gay Russian organ delivery boy trying to stitch his husband's head to another person's body? Why do the Yankees always cast Rennie as scum? (For a recent example, see Sleepwalking.) Are lesser known Canadians the new Europeans, i.e.: the new ideal casting choice for baddies to be pummeled by all-American heroes? With all due respect to my man CK, the guy can't quite do the Russian accent anyway. Why not cast an actual Russian to front all of this funky Frankenstein shit? These, dear readers, are the real, deeper mysteries of The X-Files: I Want to Believe.
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