X-Files, Fanboy Baiting & Fringe
by Stephen Simons
The X-Files started something both wonderful and horrible. On the wonderful side, we had a prime time sci-fi show with great writing, deep characters, and a complex evolving plot. Also, it wasn’t Star Trek. But as the show became a hit, a diabolical formula began to emerge that would plague television for the next 20 years (and counting). The formula is simple: reveal three mysteries, answer one.
It all happened naturally. Chris Carter never intended to make a 10-year epic, shadow-government-secret-alien-“Smoking-Man” conspiracy. He originally intended to write a weekly horror/sci-fi/mystery show with little or no story arc in the vein of Twilight Zone or Hitchcock Presents. But the same characters returned each week, so their unsolved dilemmas stuck around with them, and — as the show became more popular, and it became apparent that one impetus of its popularity was speculation — they went with it. The Smoking Man, initially meant to be a menacing extra in the background of three episodes, became a go-to character for unanswered and newly revealed questions. The disappearance of Mulder’s sister became a lynch-pin that just kept growing in complexity. And as the questions multiplied, viewership, interest, fan theories, and of course profits, increased.
People were hooked. I knew some of them. I almost became one of them. Thankfully, I started watching at the peak of interest and could already see it beginning to unravel. Soon, the plot involved so many unanswered questions, unresolved clues, back-burner plot developments, and overly complex characters with shifting alliances, that only the most devoted fan-boys could claim to keep track of it all.
And they did claim just that; with a fire burning in their eyes, they could piece it all together for anyone who had a few hours to listen. It was important to follow all the clues because soon, so very soon, every mystery would be answered. “The truth is out there.” “The writers have it all wrapped up!” “They’re just waiting for the right moment to reveal everything.”
And then . . . Mulder and Skully would get married.
Little did the fans know that at a certain point the X-File writers began spending more time spit-balling increasingly bizarre complications and misdirections than they did actually trying to come up with resolution. Then, David Duchovny left the show, and even the most rabid fan-boy had to wonder, “Did they ever actually intend to wrap this thing up?”
No, they didn’t.
X-Files had stumbled upon a formula for getting big bucks with less work.
Their discovery became a contagion. The 4400, Millennium, The Event, Kyle XY, Flash Forward, and Alcatraz all attempted to follow this formula — and I came up with those just off the top of my head. After five minutes of internet searching, I found dozens more.
X-Files, at least, started with a good idea, good writing, good characters, honest intentions, and then stumbled onto this formula. As a result, the show had many excellent years. These other shows began with the diabolical formula.
When a creative team sets out from the beginning to string the audience along without any real hope of resolution, it lacks integrity. They pretend to have a story to tell but, really, they just have a bunch of cool, weird, ‘what if’ ideas. They throw them at the wall around stereotypical characters and tired, reused plot lines, and hope that something will stick — that some grand, enticing narrative will emerge.
It’s a scam.
It’s intellectually bankrupt, and it is killing good sci-fi mystery shows that actually have a plan, because the audience has become weary and jaded.
Lost. Yeah, it’s the worst. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it had some good, tight writing, great characters, and compelling stories. In fact, if we didn’t mind a complete absence of ending, the first three seasons would deserve a column in “TV Worth Watching.” (whoa . . . meta) What made Lost the worst is that the writers claimed (on multiple occasions!) that they knew where they were going and already knew how the story was going to end. Apparently, they meant that they knew the opening and the final shots would both be of an eyeball. But they didn’t say that. Of course not, because they knew that people were becoming wary of the diabolical formula, and we would soon drift away, unless there was a promise of resolution.
And the fans believed them.
Even after the season finale the fans believed them. Lost made liars out of so many people that some of them could not even face the truth of the betrayal — including my wife, who was so duped that when the final episode finished and I said, “What the . . . ,” she looked at me with a dreamy, satisfied smile and said, “What? It answered all my questions.”
But we can only remain deceived for so long before resentment sets in. I think the two-years-later response to Lost is a lot more telling than the two-weeks-later response. After two years most of us can muster some slight regard, coupled with contempt, scorn, and disdain. In the end, it failed.
And I became weary. And I became wary. I watched five episodes of The Event before spotting the tells. I suffered through a few episodes of Alcatraz. I saw it in Grimm and Once Upon a Time. And I vowed to never be fooled again.
Then I started watching Fringe.
During the pilot, I kept thinking, ‘obvious X-Files rip-off,’ but the characters had uniqueness to them, so I watched another episode. By episode three, the show had only introduced two mysteries that remained unresolved — something characters called ‘the pattern,’ and mysterious bald people in fedoras, whom they called ‘observers.’ But these unknowns were tied together, and ultimately tied to the overall plot-arc.
On top of that, the characters felt fresh.
The driven, serious, betrayed, sexy, blonde FBI agent, Olivia Dunham (Anna Torv) initially felt a bit reminiscent of Agent Starling in The Silence of the Lambs, but good writing eventually brought her character to a life of its own. My appreciation for her acting grew slowly, and I can’t give specifics without spoilers, so I’ll just say that by the end of season two I decided that she was one of the best actors in the show.
Joshua Jackson plays Peter Bishop, the genius son of a genius. Pulled into the group only because Dunham needs him to give her access to his father, Peter begins the series reluctant to be on board and always looking for a way out. I won’t give away the secret unraveling of his character either. I’ll just say that at times he displays nobility enough to make women swoon, and at other times he can be downright scary.
Peter’s father, Walter Bishop (John Noble), a brilliant — like fifty-years-ahead-of-his-time brilliant — scientist who once had a lab at Harvard, first appears locked in an asylum for the criminally insane, where he had spent 17 years after a fire in his lab killed a student assistant. For many people (including me) Walter becomes the main attraction of the show. A cross between Dustin Hoffman’s Rain Man and Dr. Frankenstein, he might say or do just about anything in a given moment. Some might claim that an actor needs less talent or ability to play a caricature such as this, compared to a normal role. Be that as it may, Noble soon proves himself the standout actor of the show.
And, yes, the writers sometimes make him put science-y object ‘A’ with mystical artifact ‘X,’ and suddenly a key plot point resolves. But with Walter it feels so right. That is his character — making vast intellectual leaps and using everyday science to crack dimensions, look through time, or link two people’s minds together.
So I continued to watch, constantly waiting for plots to unravel, sure that it was only a matter of time before the facade of promised resolution slipped away, and the ugly face of fanboy-baiting showed itself.
But that didn’t happen. The mystery deepened, yes, but with a sense of satisfaction for the viewer, rather than a sense that we had just solved a puzzle box, only to open it and reveal three more puzzle boxes. The show moved forward with the primary focus never deviating from ‘the pattern’ and the ‘observers.’ The resolution of ‘the pattern’ gives way to a revelation so bold and fraught with potential disaster that I couldn’t believe the writers would attempt it, but they did, and they handled it wonderfully.
Fringe is one of the best television shows I have seen. Despite some campiness, the occasional episode that just has to solve things by means of someone plugging in a machine that answers all their questions, and the ever-odd 19th episode of each season, Fringe was one of the few TV shows I have ever watched twice from beginning to end.
Fringe ran for five seasons, and I never really got over my fear that its creators would start making a mystery du jour just for the money, with no end game in sight. So when I hit a great stopping point at the end of season three, where all the mysteries had been resolved, except for the ‘observers,’ I almost decided to stop watching. I’m so glad I didn’t.
And despite my fears, creators J.J. Abrams (aw come-on, this guy produced Lost!), Alex Kurtzman, and Roberto Orci — and their writers — stayed faithful to the plot in a way that I can only describe as ‘loving.’ Through two cancellation warnings and what seemed like two almost reboots, they managed to keep the story on track and guide it home to the best television show resolution I have ever seen.
I like Fringe.
It’s not a perfect show. Fringe didn’t have great ratings when it ran on TV — for various reasons. The first six episodes employ shocking levels of gore. Anyone tuning in halfway through an episode would be totally lost. And at any moment, Walter might do or say something that would turn off anyone who doesn’t understand his character. Meanwhile, his son, Peter, presents a constant source of potential writer laziness, as he tends to have whatever skills are necessary in any given moment. Other convenient ‘quick fix’ solutions that come from unintelligible things (like ‘spectrographing’ the residual DNA and analyzing it with the electro-magnetically enhanced phonograph) occasionally occur as well. It’s a serious critique and my biggest beef.
But Fringe’s biggest problem in attracting viewers likely rose from when it aired.
Lost had two years left and its fans were not looking for anything new. Those who had correctly sensed a familiar pattern (::ahe-diabolicalformula-em::) emerging in that show’s direction had turned away in disgust — resolute that they would not get sucked in again, like when they were in high school, watching X-files. The likelihood that we would turn to a show by the producer of Lost, and that so openly resembled The X-files, was extremely low — to say the least.
And that’s just too bad, because Fringe broke the pattern. It offered exactly what we longed for, but at the precise moment when we had given up looking.
Lucky for me –and everyone — we can find it afresh on Netflix.
