It starts with the X
Depending on how old you are, mentioning The X-Files can bring up very different thoughts.
If you asked someone in their fifties, sixties, or seventies, they'd probably remember that strange, dark TV show with the mysterious redhead everyone seemed to be in love with. People now approaching their forties—or reluctantly making their way toward fifty—are likely to remember it much more vividly. In fact, many of the show's fans from that time probably fall within that age group.
Then there are younger millennials and Gen Z, who, like with so many other things, stumbled upon gold without realizing it thanks to the internet. They put the show on a straming service one day with little expectation, and before they knew it, they were nine seasons deep, following FBI agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully as they chased monsters, uncovered a government conspiracy, and, in the meantime, made eyes at each other.
It took me a while to realize that The X-Files means something different to everyone.
For many fans, I discovered (and mostly male) it revolves around Mulder, the rebellious hero. A man who questions everything, who always seems to know more than everyone else, and who, driven by the disappearance of his sister, travels across the United States hoping to uncover not only what happened to her, but also the deepest secrets hidden by those in power, and, in some symbolic way, to reach the sky itself.
Then there's Scully. Young, skeptical, and relentlessly rational. Always ready to challenge whatever theory Mulder throws at her, usually with a raised eyebrow, a hint of impatience, and just enough chemistry to make you wonder if either of them is ever going to do something about it.
I imagine that's how many people remember the series. Mulder being the screen hero, the rebel, the perfect vessel for every nineties boy who dreamed of going against the grain, and, as if that weren't enough, he also had the petite redhead eating sunflower seeds out of the palm of his hand.
I've never really seen it that way.
Among the many reasons I was drawn to The X-Files, I won't pretend I wasn't already aware (thanks to things I'd read online) of Mulder and Scully's relationship and of that romance (suck it, Chris Carter) that seemed desperate to exist, yet somehow never quite arrived.
Of course, what I found was something much deeper.
A chemistry that's incredibly difficult to replicate in any other piece of entertainment I've experienced. Two personalities capable of bringing the most outrageous stories to life while making them feel sincere, original, and surprisingly human. And while we're at it, why not admit it? I also discovered some of the best fanfiction writers I've ever had the pleasure of reading.
But beneath all of that, beyond the aliens, the monster-of-the-week episodes, the conspiracies, and the flashlights pointed into dark forests, The X-Files left me with the very same questions I've been asking ever since I first watched it. What does it actually mean to believe? Why do we need so badly to find meaning in the things that happen to us? Why are we so willing to accept what authority presents as truth without stopping to question it? Especially today, when social media constantly feeds us information as though it were fact, even when we've made no effort to seek it out or verify it ourselves.
In the end, all those paranormal mysteries and conspiracies we love to believe in become nothing more than an excuse to talk about ourselves. Through two characters who couldn't be more different, and who somehow understand each other better than anyone else, the series explores fear, grief, faith, and that almost desperate need we have to believe that, whatever it may be, there has to be something out there.
So while I rewatch I'm gonna be making these type of commentaries. I might talk about other things as well, not just X Files.
Let's start!
