"True love is like ghosts, which everybody
talks about and few have seen."
-- Francis, Duc de La Rochefoucauld
If you look up the word "elegy" in the dictionary, you'll see that it means "a type of poem or song written to show sorrow for something dead or lost." The questions that this episode should be answering, then, are what poem or song, for whom was it written, and what has died or has been lost?
Mulder and Scully are drawn into a case that looks like an ordinary, run-of-the-mill murder case, if there is such a thing. There's a serial killer on the loose in DC, and (s)he's killing young, blonde women. But one of these women is seen by a local bowling alley proprietor, bleeding on one of his lane from behind the pin-setter. When he sees the police outside, he runs to get them and is shocked to see that the police are attending to the vary same corpse he has just seen. Enter Mulder and Scully.
What we have as a basic plot here is simply another variation of the old ghost story. It's fair to say that a series such as The X-Files is limited in scope simply by its genre. These limitations thus force the creative people behind the series to find new ways of telling an old story. The success or failure of those creative efforts are thus determined by the plausibility of the situation (given the presumed suspension of belief if you're already watching the series) and the consistency or deepening of the primary characters as they react to the setting.
"Elegy" is an episode written by John Shiban on two levels. I know. I'm just as surprised as you are. On the surface, we have a simple murder mystery: who is the serial killer, and how will Mulder and Scully track him/her down? This layer of the episode is innately mundane and simply forms the backdrop for the more important (and much better done) character interaction between the two principals. It is merely the metaphorical canvass upon which the greater work is painted. "Elegy," thus, is incredibly average in its presentation and its ability to enthrall the viewer. Certainly, the apparition scenes were well done, and quite chilling. The bloody mirror in the ladies room where Scully sees the fourth victim was enough to raise goosebumps. But aside from those scenes, the surface of the episode was devoid of any really original, substantive content.
Ahhh, but let us now consider the characterizations of the main characters. "Elegy" takes its substance, its gist, its life from Mulder and Scully. The characterizations by David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson here transcend the backdrop and lift "Elegy" to a higher plane. Did I mention that this is the work of John Shiban? Yes, amazingly enough, Shiban has written an episode that draws upon strong dialogue between the lead actors and interweaves that interaction with the main story theme. And it all plays out so very smoothly, so starkly realistically that I can hardly believe that it came from the same writer who gave us "Teso dos Bichos" and "El Mundo Gira."
The real crux of "Elegy" is that Scully once again, through a nose bleed at an inopportune time, is forced to face the reality of her cancer. This seems to be the only visible manifestation of her illness, and it is being used almost to the point of cliché. Whenever the writers want to bring Scully's illness to the forefront of the episode, they simply show a single drop of blood landing on something, have Scully reach up to her nose, and <voila!> instant pathos. This particular plot device is getting pretty tired. But I digress.
The interactive dialogue in this episode is what makes it more than an average ghost story, while, in fact, it is even less than average as an X-File. But as dramatic television, it works so well because it straddles that fine line between gut-wrenching drama and soap opera schmaltz without crossing it. And it isn't just the Mulder/Scully scenes that tug at the viewer's heartstrings. Scully's encounter with her shrink reveals a deep sense of denial on Scully's part, and it saddens her to think that she may be spending the rest of her days without admitting to Mulder, and, even more so to herself, what she really feels. It's about, her life and its meaning, that Scully has to face. What really has driven her? If she does die, what will her life have meant in the overall scheme of things? What will her life have meant to Mulder, and can she even begin to appreciate what Mulder has meant to her life? These forays into existentialism were written and acted with such deep emotional attachment that you can hardly believe that you're not really watching someone who actually suffers from a fatal illness. I sat in amazement as Gillian Anderson choked back tears and developed a real lump in her throat as she spoke. This woman's dramatic acting talent appears to be almost boundless. Just when you think she can't possibly act any better, she outdoes herself with another shattering performance. There is also the wonderful closing scene where Mulder and Scully try to tell each other how they feel about each other without actually telling each other how they feel about each other. I know. That sentence is about as clear as peanut butter. What I saw was two people who obviously care for each other very much, trying to tell the other how much they care. But besides trying to tell the other how they feel, they also want to make sure that they don't make themselves too vulnerable by revealing too much about their feelings. They skirted around the real issue and couldn't bring themselves to talk about the cancer and how it has affected them since it was discovered. They do treat each other differently and they react to each other differently since "Momento Mori"; they just can't admit it to themselves. They've taken a lot for granted and they want to rectify that, but they're just not very good at it. Mulder is trying to break free of the cold aloofness that has been his curse in life and show Scully how much he cares about her. The only way he can do this is by talking about trust. This is as personal as he can get. Trust is more important to him than anything, even love. So he registers his disappointment in terms that are meaningful to him, essentially saying, "Scully, I trust you. That's the highest compliment I can pay to someone." Unfortunately, for Scully, life is about more than trust, much more, and so these two ships once again pass each other in the emotional darkness.
David Duchovny handles this emotionally charged scene with an ease that belies its difficulty. Maybe the two lead actors drive each other to a higher level, one feeding off the other in a symbiotic exchange where the viewer wins. Whatever the reason, Mr. Duchovny's performances of late have been his best in several episodes.
Director James Charleston's eye for quality was flawless in "Elegy." His close-ups of Anderson and Duchovny contrasted nicely with the panoramic shots from the back of the bowling alley. The interiors of the New Horizon Psychiatric Facility had many claustrophobic shots that added presence to that setting. And the apparition sequences with their attendant blood-stains and messages were chilling.
Mark Snow's music was, too often, intrusive. I almost got the feeling he was going for his own version of the theme from "Jaws." When Harold started reacting to Mulder's questioning, Snow's music took over the scene and overpowered it. For me, less is more when it comes to background music.
I've been highly critical of John Shiban's work over the past two years. "Teso" and "Mundo" will take their rightful places in the X-Files Hall of Shame, alongside such other underwhelming episodes as "Space," "Hell Money" and "Sanguinarium." "Elegy" wasn't a first rate-ghost story by any means. Nor was it a first-rate murder mystery. I did think it was a nice touch that the audience was let in on why Nurse Innes switched rings from the victims' left hand to their right, while Mulder and Scully never did piece that one together. But the murder-mystery was simply window-dressing for the more important issues.
"Elegy" was a first-rate character study, and it used the premise of ghostly apparition to drive home the point that Scully and Mulder have a lot of unresolved issues with which they must deal, and time is running out for both of them.
The "Elegy" from the title, then, would seem to be metaphorical rather than literal. The elegy is actually a dirge for their relationship as it has existed for some time. Scully's lack of trust in Mulder, regardless of motive, evokes a sadness deep within his essence, for trust is what he treasures the most. Scully's realization that she fears failing Mulder ties in with her "strong, male authority figures" from "Never Again." "Elegy" is a turning point in the Mulder/Scully relationship, in which both partners want more than they've been getting, but don't quite know how to ask for it. Even more important, both partners need more than they've been getting but don't know how to ask for it. True love is like a ghost . . .
My Score: 8 out of 10