The action figures and I had a bit of an unfortunate accident this afternoon. I was cleaning the apartment and I removed them from the top shelf of the bookcase, where they live, so I could dust. And in the middle of the dusting, the phone rang, and it was my friend C and we had a very illuminating discussion about why the stupid Survivor casting people haven't called us yet, and how, perhaps, it has something to do with the fact that neither of us were able to speak in complete sentences when we made our audition tapes. Then I hung up and I washed the dishes and had a bologna sandwich, and then I sat down to watch Part One of the Two-Part Season Finale of The X-Files, starring David Duchovny, and I looked up at the bookshelf and they were...gone. Not on the shelf. Not on the floor. Not on the desk by the bookshelf. Not on the little white table I rescued from the alley last week and painted myself. Nowhere. It was like they'd just...disappeared. Turns out they'd fallen into the crevice between the bookcase and my desk. When I finally fished them out, they were all covered in dust, and now they're not speaking to me, the little brats. They won't even sit on my knee to see The Season's Greatest Mystery Revealed. So, just to sum up, I have: no job; no boyfriend; no action-figure love. It's a damn sad state of affairs.
Due to some violent content, parental discretion is advised for this episode. This worries me; I've seen a lot of gore this season, but I haven't seen much of this whole parental-discretion folderol. It can't get any gorier, can it? Mommy, hold me.
So, you can tell that this episode was penned by Chris Carter, because it starts out with the Patented Chris Carter-Penned Voice-over, Full of Meaning and Portent, Spoken By The Long-Suffering and Virtuous...Mulder? Okay, what the hell, I can get behind that. Anyway, remember the Miracle of Life footage from the season premiere? It's back. But this time, it's all that stuff from the beginning, with little sperms driving pretty hard to the hoop, and then the sperm piercing the egg, and cells dividing and so on and so forth, miracle of life, yada. Behold the monologue, in its entirety:
What Mulder Says: We call it the miracle of life. Conception. The union of perfect opposites. Essence, transforming into existence. An act without which mankind would not exist, and humanity cease to exist. Or is this just nostalgia now? An act of biology commandeered by modern science and technology? Godlike, we extract, implant, inseminate. And we clone. But has our ingenuity rendered the miracle into a simple trick? In the artifice of replicating life, can we become the creator? Then, what of the soul? Can it, too, be replicated? Does it live in this matter we call DNA? Or is its placement the opposite of artifice, capable only by God? How did this child come to be? What set its heart beating? Is it the product of a union? Or the work of a divine hand, an answered prayer, a true miracle? Or is it a wonder of technology, the intervention of other hands? What do I tell this child about to be born? What do I tell Scully? What do I tell myself?