Sadly, the show whimpered its last in 2002 having outstayed its welcome by at least three seasons. Its natural constituency has long since found a spiritual home on the internet where any number of hardcore lunatic theories are only a click away. Who needs strong hints at government corruption when half-arsed movies like Loose Change and Zeitgeist form labyrinthine narratives about horoscopes, the World Bank and the Bush clan? The truth may not be out there but the ufologists and conspiracy nuts sure are.
Can The X-Files still matter in these topsy-turvy times? Creator Chris Carter seems to think so. Almost a decade after Mulder and Scully retired from the truth-finding business, Carter has reunited our favourite cynic and true believer combo for this unexpected big screen retooling.
Happily, the team, having run out of places to go in the last movie, have ditched the ‘mytharc’ – those expansive storylines linking Big Business and extraterrestrials – in favour of a ‘supernatural monster of the week’ plot.
It starts promisingly enough. On a missing persons beat, the dynamic duo encounter a convicted paedophile priest (Connolly) who may possess the psychic abilities needed to crack the case. Mulder believes him. Scully does not. They even squabble about it in what turns out to be their marital bed. Meanwhile, limbs and body parts are showing up all over the place. Could we be dealing with some sort of Frankenstein? Perchance a Eugene Tooms?
The solution is far more mundane than either of these options and the film soon degenerates into fuzzy cop chases. Diehard X-shippers may experience an occasional Proustian rush when Skinner turns up or when Mulder and Scully stare between portraits of George W. Bush and J. Edgar Hoover as the iconic spooky synth starts to play. Newcomers are unlikely to be so easily impressed.