It's A Zen Thing
The X-Files self-destructs in Part III of our ongoing series, "The Carter Conundrum."
      by pisher

So back to the real world, such as it is. There will be an eighth season of The X-Files and a spinoff. This much is certain. Chris Carter is also working on a movie project, unrelated to The X-Files. It's an already existing property he took over, the real life story of a man with psychic abilities. And at this point, I would humbly suggest to Mr. Carter that if he has any original story or character ideas left in him, he should stop hoarding them. I mean, what's he waiting for?

Darin Morgan, Superstar.

Barring that occurrence, his career will rise or fall on his ability to take other people's ideas and characters and make something interesting out of them. That is, to a great extent, the business of the Showrunner, and it can be a very honorable one. He did that once, seven years back -- with a lot of very capable assistance, and no expectations weighing down upon him. And we're still waiting for him to do it again. The trouble is, for both us and the sagging Fox network, that we keep expecting more from Carter than he is able to deliver on his own. He sold us all a line of utterly magnificent B.S., and he sold it beautifully, but I doubt very much he ever realized how eagerly we would all buy into it.

And now Professor Harold Hill has his foot caught in the door. When he fails to live up to expectations, we get mad and his new projects go to hell. But we're addicted to those two brainchildren of his. Mulder and Scully. Some of us can't just get enough of them. Some of us think they've long since expired. The actors playing them must feel that way about their careers sometimes. But the network will keep bringing them back, for as long as the ratings, the stars' contracts and Carter's endurance continue to hold out.

And while Chris Carter does know how to say no to the network guys, he also knows that this could be the last thing of significance he ever says in the Biz. Because he knows the final truth -- that he is a visionary without any vision. A salesman with only second hand goods to hawk. A man who stumbled onto something bigger than he was -- and then made the mistake of believing himself bigger than it was.

I cannot escape the feeling, wrong though I may be, that he despises his fans, despises his show, despises his own success. It shows, quietly, in some of his interviews, and it shows in his work. I am quite willing to believe that he has his good points as a person, and one of them may well be an understanding of his shortcomings. But he's addicted to success, to having people pay attention to what he says, regardless of how inane it sounds. He's smart enough to recognize that his recent work isn't at the level of excellence he so briefly attained (and most of us never reach at all). But he's also good enough at rationalization to just refuse to deal with that fact. There are truths he does not seem to want to know.

It seems ridiculous to say, as some Fox executives have, that The X-Files can't go on without Chris Carter. It certainly wasn't true in the first few years. Plenty of great shows have continued successfully without their creators -- but no show creator has ever attached himself quite so securely to his show as Carter. To the point where it probably can't continue without him. And his career may not be able to continue without it. Like Siamese twins joined at the hip. Maybe that's what "Fight Club" was about. That and knocking his two most famous creations about the ring for a few rounds, punishing them, and us -- and maybe even himself. And when I saw their bruised faces at the end, I almost thought I saw some recognition of the indignity being perpetrated against them. Which is ridiculous. Mulder and Scully are fictional characters. Fictional characters do what they're told and don't bear grudges. Fictional characters don't talk back.

But let's recall there was a time when Carter did what they told him. When he lived up to the best of his odd potential, which is about the best that anyone can do in this world. And he gave us all a great deal of enjoyment. I'll try to remember that, along with all the bad stuff. And to let it go. Just let it go. Because it's just a show. Just a damn TV show.

You didn't really think we'd leave out this picture, did you?

(pisher stops talking. Finally. Nobody says anything. They sit there a minute or two, looking sad and tired.)

Sarah: pisher? What did you mean when you said "It's a Zen Thing?"

pisher: That's another of those questions you'd be better off asking Carter.

Linda: But she's asking you.

pisher: Okay. Back in 1995, he was interviewed for People magazine. The article was entitled "His X-cellent Adventure." It's a surprisingly revealing little piece, considering the dopey title. He says he's just "the guy next door, not a paranoid, kook or crank... I have no reason to believe in paranormal phenomenon." He describes himself as a "scavenger of magazines, essays, movies." He says he still sees himself as a 38-year-old surfer. And you know what surfers do.

Linda: They ride the wave until it washes out -- or until they wipe out. But the other thing --?

pisher: Carter was being followed around by this reporter at the X-Files set. He was tired and trying to get past some writer's block. He took a boat out to an island near Vancouver, and went into a pottery shop. He got permission to use the potter's wheel -- he worked in that profession once, you might remember. He made a few things, while musing about various plot ideas he had been tossing around in his head. Then he looked over what he had made with his hands. He made this. Then he methodically smashed all the pots to bits. "It's a Zen Thing," he said.

Sarah: But -- what does it mean?

pisher: What is the sound of one hand clapping, grasshopper?

Sarah: The sound Chris Carter is going to be hearing by the end of next year, master?

pisher: Time for me to leave.

(They rise and head for the door. The California Surfing Man sits quietly at the window above them, his expression unreadable. Suddenly, there is a noise behind him. He wheels about, and sees two figures coming through the doorway in slow motion, sidearms at the ready. One is a tall thin man, the other a redheaded woman. They both have severe contusions on their faces. The woman is pregnant. They look very very pissed off.)

CSM: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

(Two Sig Sauer automatics fire repeatedly in the darkness. We hear a thud. Fade to black. We see the screen legend -- )

TO BE CONTINUED -- UNTIL YOU'VE HAD ENOUGH

The End. Or is it only the -- nah. It's The End.

Writer's addendum: I relied on a huge number of sources for the writing of this series, more than I can list here. But for those wishing to read some really fine entertainment journalism -- a very rare commodity, I can personally assure you -- I strongly advise a visit to Paulaland, where you will find, among other things, a much more in-depth account of Morgan and Wong's stints on The X-Files and Millennium. And other cool stuff. The Truth is in there. Trust me.

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