Look, I spend a lot of time needlessly defending bad television on this blog. I get that. I do. I’m a self-proclaimed connoisseur of the terrible TV show – as the filmmaner Werner Herzog says, “the poet must not avert his eyes”. I’m sure he was talking about Riverdale when he said that.
Season eight of The X-Files may be the strangest of its entire run.
The X-Files was an entirely different beast in its eighth year.
Sometimes, I just don’t feel like jumping into a whole series, you know? It just feels like too much of a commitment to sit down and stick to six or eight or twenty-four episodes, when I could be spending my time brewing elaborate teas and smelling my cats head.
I’m bored of misogyny.
Excuse me, Sir, spare some plot for a struggling recapper? Just a little, anything helps; I have gone so long without plot, I have almost forgotten the taste of it. Is it I, stranded on the island, torn away from the decencies of reality such as a coherent, forward-motion plot? Perhaps it was me on the island all along.
I was resigned, I really was.
Honestly, I’m offended.
So, over here in Guignol Land, I’m handing over a new series to my delicious and delightful co-writer over at No But Listen, Kevin! An X-Files fanatic, he wants to counter my attempts to make through lost with a classic series that actually still stands up, with a deep-dive into the best episodes that The X-Files has to offer. Without further ado, enjoy his first entry into this series!
