"It's not about the movies"

THE X-FILES: I WANT TO BELIEVE, (2008) DIRECTED BY CHRIS CARTER

“Don’t Give up.”

I woke up yesterday morning with those three words bouncing around in my head.  I had no idea what they meant but I had the sneaking suspicion that I would soon find out.

Although I love movies (or “the cinema” for those of you who have an extra helping of self-importance), I try to avoid seeing new releases on their opening weekends for the following reasons:

·   Firstly (is that a word?), the theater is invariably filled with teenage fan boys.  My worst experience took place at the first screening of “Remains of the Day,” and I vowed that from that point on I would always wait until the second weekend.   The added benefit of waiting is that if the movie is a real stinker, word of mouth will pretty much result in a theater all to myself (“The Village,” anyone?).

·   Secondly, the theater is almost always packed to the gills and the pungent odor of cheap buttered popcorn and nachos is enough to make me wish I had worn a Hazmat suit.

·   And “C” (I know that’s an overused joke, but I’m not proud), I really can’t stand people.

But the new “The X Files-I Want To Believe” movie was going to be an exception.  For this film I was prepared to brave all manner of people, from fan boys and Twizzler suckers to milk dud-popping, soggy, trans-fat buttered popcorn bottom feeders.

I had so many questions about Mulder and Scully that needed answers and I knew that I would find them “Out There” (sorry, I couldn’t resist) at the Multi-Plex.

 

·   Would Mulder find his sister?

·   Would Mulder find his son?

·   Would Walter Skinner bare his chest and flash his shiny abs again?

·   Does Scully still wear that little cross necklace symbolizing the ongoing, interior, no-holds- barred cage-match  between her skepticism and her desire to believe in a power greater than herself? (you knew that’s what it meant, didn’t you?)

·   In an attempt to combat rising gas prices will the current administration decide to drill in the Black Oil reserve in the Gulf of Mexico?

·   Will we see Gillian Anderson’s beauty mark or will the producers, again, have covered it up in shame?

·   In the middle of an argument, will Mulder and Scully impulsively embrace and melt uncontrollably into some hot, steamy necking?  (wait a minute I’m thinking of Sam and Diane in “Cheers”).

With all of these questions firing brain synapses I didn’t even know that I had, I pulled into the theater parking lot.

It was packed and there were several cars on shark patrol looking for a helpless, unsuspecting parking place.

“Don’t Give Up,” I said.

I finally found a place and with only seconds to spare before the movie started I bolted to the ticket counter. 

“Don’t’ Give Up,” I repeated my mantra.

The line wound its way through the cattle ropes, out the doors and around the block.

“Don’t Give Up!”

It was 95 degrees and the sun-baked line of people smelled like a giant salami and onions hoagie.

“DON’T GIVE UP!”

So I bought a ticket to “Space Chimps” and took my seat in the cool, empty theater.

What the heck, Sci-Fi is Sci-Fi, right?

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