The X-Files - 6.

writer: Vince Gilligan

director: Michael Watkins

STARRING:

David Duchovny as Special Agent Fox Mulder

Gillian Anderson as Special Agent Dana Scully

Guest Cast:

Geoffrey Lewis as Alfred Fellig

Richard Ruccolo as Agent Peyton Ritter

James Pickens, Jr. as Assistant Director Kersh

From Mania <http://www.mania.com/columns/amhh/amhh120498.html>:

A New York photographer discovers that he has the ability to foretell people's death because he begins to see them as black-and-white as their demise is imminent. While his photos of their deaths are artistically shocking, they also attract the attention of the FBI.

From TV Guide <http://www.tvgen.com>:

An envious Mulder looks on from afar as Scully is partnered with another agent (Richard Ruccolo) to investigate a freelance crime-scene photographer (Geoffrey Lewis) whose consistent scoops raise suspicion that he is murdering to manufacture work. Scully: Gillian Anderson. Mulder: David Duchovny. Kersh: James Pickens Jr. 60 min (CC) TV Rating: - Infrequent Coarse Language/Moderate

Guest actor, Geoffrey Lewis, has one of those faces you'll recognize as soon as you see him. He most recently appeared in the movie, "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil", and you may remember him from two other Clint Eastwood flicks, "Any Which Way You Can" and "Every Which Way But Loose" where he played Orville Boggs.

Thanks to Kersh leaving Mulder off the case, Scully will be working alone on this one. Mulder doesn't go along for the ride, though, he stays at home and broods, but he does offer her some help. In New York, Scully is teamed up with an eager beaver young FBI agent, someone NOT out to screw anyone over for once. During the investigation, Scully and the photographer bond in a way through some well-written conversations (so I'm told). Meanwhile, Mulder looks into the photographer and finds out he's more than 100 years old. No, really. Scully is skeptical at first but the guy makes a good case and she finally gives him the benefit of the doubt. There's that "Scully will open herself up to extreme possibilites" plot we've heard about for this year. The eager beaver FBI agent does something rash when Mulder contacts him to warn him (Scully can't be reached) and Scully pays the price.

Let's tackle the title, shall we? Lots of folks contributed to the Greek mythology side and thanks to Dave Fox <davefox@richmond.infi.net> here's a great link, <http://www.cybercomm.net/~grandpa/grkmyth.html#tithonus>. In a nutshell, Tithonus was a character in Greek mythology, a mortal and son of Laomedon. Eos, the goddess of Dawn, fell in love with him and persuaded Zues to grant him immortality but she forgot to throw in eternal youth. Tithonus proceeded to grow more feeble and shriveled as he aged and eventually Eos changed him into a grasshopper. Hmmm ... can we see if this works on Spender? ;-)

Although I doubt it will have anything to do with the episode, here's the poem of the same name as written by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 - 1892). This version comes from my copy of the book, "Immortal Poems Of The English Language", all typed with my little fingers. Really cheesed me off when someone sent in a slighty different version to one of my mailing lists ... grrrrr ... oh well, enjoy while I go soak my fingers.

Tithonus

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,

The vapours weep their burthen to the ground;

Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,

And after many a summer dies the swan.

Me only cruel immortality

Consumes; I wither slowly in thine arms,

Here at the quiet limit of the world,

A white-haired shadow roaming like a dream

The ever-silent spaces of the East,

Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.

Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man --

So glorious in his beauty and thy choice,

Who madest him thy chosen, that he seemed

To his great heart none other than a god!

I asked thee, "Give me immortality."

Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,

Like wealthy men who care not how they give.

But thy strong Hours indignant worked their wills,

And beat me down and marred and wasted me,

And though they could not end me, left me maimed

To dwell in presence of immortal youth,

Immortal age beside immortal youth,

And all I was in ashes. Can thy love,

Thy beauty, make amends, though even now,

Close over us, the silver star, thy guide,

Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears

To hear me? Let me go; take back thy gift.

Why should a man desire in any way

To vary from the kindly race of men,

Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance

Where all should pause, as is most meet for all?

A soft air fans the cloud apart; there comes

A glimpse of that dark world where I was born.

Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals

From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure,

And bosom beating with a heart renewed.

Thy cheek begins to redden through the gloom,

Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine,

Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team

Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise,

And shake the darkness from their loosened manes,

And beat the twilight into flakes of fire.

Lo! ever thus thou growest beautiful

In silence; then, before thine answer given,

Departest, and thy tears are on my cheek.

Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears,

And make me tremble lest a saying learnt,

In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true?

"The gods themselves cannot recall their gifts."

Ay me! ay me! with what another heart

In days far-off, and with what other eyes

I used to watch--if I be he that watched--

The lucid outline forming round thee; saw

The dim curls kindle into sunny rings;

Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood

Glow with the glow that slowly crimsoned all

Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay,

Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm

With kisses balmier than half-opening buds

Of April, and could hear the lips that kissed

Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet,

Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing,

While Ilion like a mist rose into towers.

Yet hold me not for ever in thine East;

How can my nature longer mix with thine?

Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold

Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet

Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam

Floats up from those dim fields about the homes

Of happy men that have the power to die,

And grassy barrows of the happier dead.

Release me, and restore me to the ground;

Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave;

Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn,

I earth in earth forget these empty courts,

And thee returning on thy silver wheels.