The simple (but sadly true) take on the strangely delayed second X-Files movie (The X-Files: I Want to Believe) is that it rolls out as nothing more than an elongated regular TV-like episode. Creator Chris Carter, answering the complaints of many, has purposefully tossed away the dark and swirly central mythos that both bewitched and bedeviled the show’s legions of loyalists in it’s TV years (1993-2002), but the film plods along like a procedural, despite the plots hints and detours into spiritual questions and ethical dilemmas. It’s a sadly desaturated exercise, all but killing the chance for another movie to follow, and definitely finishing off the desire for further x-filing for any audience other than the most hard core cultists. Gulp, bye-bye my beloved Scully, you television china doll, you, Gillian Armstrong, who epitomized the attractiveness of an overtly intelligent women, a fictional feminine creation who sparked a sexual aura through the characteristics of restraint, reserve, and mystery and made your character whole without an iota of overtness. How sweet it was.
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