...a medium-speed pan over a desk with a tape recorder on it
in a dark room. A soft, slow, insistent rhythm shimmers into
existence in tandem with the music. The tape finishes. A finger
comes into view, it ejects the tape and the hand attached to it
turns the tape over and pushes play. Cut to Scully, calm, but
battling with a not very well masked concern that creeps into
her eyes (perhaps trying to maintain a clinical detachment, or
maybe trying to understand).
Psychiatrist (On the tape. He is calm and in control,
he shows little aversion to the strange events discussed, just
curiosity. He tries to show Mulder the way, but not to lead him):
"But your eyes are open?"
Mulder (On the tape. Calm and focused at first, we
imagine him lying on a psychiatrist's couch somewhere with
his hand folded across his chest, his head propped up slightly
with the eyes closed. We can almost see the white lab coated
psychiatrist sitting a few feet away taking notes on a
clipboard): "Yeah their open, but it's like . . . nothing's
happening."
Scully appears to be looking at something. We cut to her
perspective. She is holding the FBI case file describing the
alleged abduction of Mulder's sister. Clipped to the lower
left corner is a picture of a young, happy, healthy girl about
6 or 7. As if in reaction to the picture, the sound of a flute
blends into the music. It blows steadily drifting from note to
note, but not distracting us from the contents of the scene.
We don't even realize that the flute wasn't there before.
Psychiatrist: "Try turning your head."
Mulder (a tad bit frustrated): "I can't."
Back to Scully, staring at the picture. She puts it down
and looks up and away from the camera. She seems to be in a
state of tired contemplation. As if carrying a heavy burden.
Psychiatrist: "Why not?"
Mulder (We hear the frustration in his voice. He is
experiencing it all over again.): "I don't know. I can't move...
so I don't. I just lie there in bed."
The camera closes on the tape still moving inside the
recorder so that we can read the typed label on it: "F. Mulder,
Hypnotic Regression Therapy, Session Number 2B, June 16, 19-"
(The rest of the year is obscured).
Psychiatrist: "Can you see your sister?"
Mulder (struggling): "No..."
Scully reacts to the tone in Mulder's voice. She tries
to maintain her facade and looks down at a picture lying on
the desk. She picks it up.
Mulder (continuing): "...but I can hear her."
Psychiatrist: "What is she saying?"
Mulder: "She's calling out my name..."
We can see the picture in Scully's hand only from behind
as she stares at it. Our attention is focused on the picture's
back where a slight see-through image can be made out. Then
the shot switches to a close up of the picture's front and we
can see that it is the same girl from the first photograph, a
boy is standing next to her, a little bit older, with his arm
around her. The camera pans up and we realize that we have
switched locations and that Mulder is the one holding the
picture (perhaps the same picture later, but I think this is
a simultaneous occurrence with a different copy of the same
picture). He has a deep pain in his eyes as he stares down at
the photo. The camera stays close on his face...
Mulder (continuing, almost sobbing, very intense):
"...over and over again... she's crying out for help, but I
can't help her...I can't move."
...then switches to a pulling away shot of a sitting Mulder
at an angle. He is in a pew in an unknown church. It is dark and
deserted. He loses control and begins to cry silently. The picture
shakes noticeably in his hand and then he brings it down quickly
out of his sight. The music suddenly becomes louder and deeper,
grabbing our attention. It exemplifies the emotional intensity
of the moment.
Psychiatrist: "Are you scared?"
Mulder (calmed down a bit, determined, almost like
revealing a secret): "I know I should be, but I'm not."
The camera spirals upward revealing more of the large church.
Psychiatrist: "Do you know why?"
Mulder (almost in wonder, but with a complete certainty):
"Because of the voice."
A deeply intricate stain glass window becomes visible in
the background.
Psychiatrist (Genuinely curious): "The voice?"
Mulder: "The voice in my head."
Mulder leans forward with his hands on the pew in front of
him and his head on his hands. We can not hear his crying. His
pain is too private for our ears. The music is even louder and
more intense now.
Psychiatrist: "What's it telling you?"
Mulder (His voice reveals the first indications of
hope.): "Not to be afraid. It's telling me that no harm will
come to her. And that one day she'll return."
Mulder is barely discernible set against the background of
the vast church interior. We hear the final few rhythmic strikes
of music reaching a climax, then it fades away to almost
nothingness. But it is still just barely audible to set the mood,
but out of our consciousness so that the power of the final lines
are not interfered with.
Psychiatrist (almost as if indulging his own curiosity,
and ours): "Do you believe the voice?"
The shot fades to black and stays that away during the long
pause on the tape. Mulder finally answers with a deep conviction,
certainty, and inner strength:
"I want be believe..."
Interpretations
This scene represents great drama and in fact great art
because of a few very important reasons that some writers and
all studio executives don't seem to understand.
A deeply emotional scene that works on multiple levels and
truly has a profound effect can not happen in every episode of
a show. If we watch a "victim of the week program," we begin
to tire of feeling sorry for either the same person over and
over again or the show's sorrowful theme's become repetitive
and contrived. A powerful, emotional scene can not happen very
often. We must be immediately interested in the scene because
it shows us a depth and view that is different and more vivid
than the show's normal flow. Yet actually creating it is much
harder then simply a few sappy faked tears. Every detail must be
perfect so that it contributes to the mood without shattering it.
Music, movement, lighting, tone of voice, facial expression,
location, foreground objects. Everything.
"Conduit" is the only live-action television scene that
measures up to my standards. Very much because of it's amazing
depth and understated sorrow. The subtle manipulation of the
music can only be discerned after repeated listenings, but it's
effects are obvious. The music signals the beginning of the scene
and sets up the mood and tone. The separate entities of a flute
and a rhythmic undercurrent are blended seamlessly. You don't
even realize that they have been added to the mix, but they stir
at a person's emotions. Rather then drawing attention to
themselves, they actually focus a person's attention even more
intently on the screen images and voices. I think the flute in
particular is a stroke of genius. Its whistling almost resembles
a person calling out, searching for something, and at one point
the tone shifts almost as if the caller realizes its efforts are
in vain, but it keeps calling, keeps searching. Maybe for its
own sake. This interpretation is of course brought on
subconsciously by Mulder's words, but perhaps that is the intent.
The tape recording is another high point. Its use allows us
to, in effect, stitch together three distinct, separate, but not
separate subscenes within the big picture of the larger scene.
Scully realizing the depth of Mulder's sorrow and understanding,
or trying to understand his intense search for a resolution.
A totally auditory scene of Mulder relating his memories to a
psychiatrist. We get a very clear picture of this subscene through
the voice characterization and by tapping into our own imaginative
views of this event.
And the most intense of the three: Mulder alone in a church. I like
how we never hear him crying and don't see it very well. The entire
scene seems to be telling us that we are walking in a very private
place and even though we can't bring ourselves to stare at Mulder's
pain from right behind him, looking over his shoulder, neither can
we pull ourselves away from it completely. As long as we stay a
discrete distance away and allow him his space. In some ways the
scene is taken directly from inside of his head, a feat rarely
accomplished by the visual medium.
And as for the final line. No single line has ever summed up
the power, style, substance, heart, and purpose of a show. We can
see David Duchovny's face raises up, looks us in the eye and tells
us with everything he is that he wants to believe.
And best of all, so do we.
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