#Faith Fear and Scully Symbiosis Part I | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

randomfoggytiger · 10 days ago

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The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XXI): Faith, Fear, and Scully Symbiosis, Part I

The concluding scene between Scully and her mother is enlightening: not only of their past, present, and future dynamics, but also of the heretical hierarchy she unconsciously erects with her loved ones. There are "other fathers"; but there are also interceding mothers, blind believers, and advocating consciences.

ALL HOPE IS LOST

Scully is lying in bed, wrestling for composure-- swallowing, raising her signature eyebrow-- as the camera pans in, narrowing further and further in on her lost, hopeless, terrified expression. Here, she is aware that the chip has “failed”; and finally believes that death is approaching.

When the door opens and Maggie whispers, “Dana?”, Scully turns abruptly away from the wall, a tear spilling from the corner of one eye.

“Dr. Zuckerman called. He, uh…” her mother rambles, worried and anxious. Catching herself, she affects unaffectedness, approaching with a spring in her step and false smile on her face-- “He said that you wanted to see me?”-- which drops, quickly, when her daughter sits up without a word, visibly troubled. “What is it?”

Scully lunges towards her mother, clinging in shaking horror.

“I’m so sorry,” she wobbles, voice stained with repentance and guilt as she struggles against her fear. “I fight… and I fight and I fight, but I’ve been so stupid." Grieved and shaken, she sniffles back tears clogging her throat.

Lost but relieved at her daughter’s openness, Maggie asks, “What is it?” with a maternal lilt to her voice. (One she might have used to unscramble a weepy confession over some minor infraction, or to unwind the logic behind a particularly challenging math problem.)

Scully pulls back, haunted. “I’ve come so far in my life on simple faith. And now when I need it the most, I just push it away.”

While her admittance explicitly refers to her Catholic beliefs, it also explicitly applies to her partnership and her cancer journey. Scully, despite vowing she would find the answers “for her own reasons” has clung to the hope that, against all the universal laws of science, she would survive terminal brain cancer. Her journey since Memento Mori has been to embrace the fight, to refuse to give up, to insist that she can save herself with her science; or, if push comes to shove, with Mulder’s truth. She likely gave up chemo after Scanlon-- there were no chemo treatments that would cure her, as stated-- and tried immunotherapy treatments instead so she could continue to work, to find answers; and pretended nothing was wrong because everything would be made right, soon. In Elegy, her report came up clean; but she still saw Harold Spuller, which shook her conviction that science was stalling the cancer (post here.) In Gethsemane, she was given a death sentence but refused to accept it; and still did not want her brothers (or Father McCue) to be told-- because deep down, despite her grand stances and "last wishes", she didn't believe she would die (post here.) In Redux I, she escaped a sense of helplessness by working, by trying to prove Mulder right while he plundered the DOJ: she believed he, if anyone, could save her. In Redux II, she panicked when her partner asked if conventional treatment needed to be halted (post here); and was shaken when her doctor admitted the only hope she had left would have to be “unconventional.”

Mulder became her faith: while she was languishing in Scanlon’s facility, she clung to his conviction, drawing upon it to record her defeated thoughts. She used it to rise from Betsy’s deathbed, to move forward with strength, to believe, deep down, that his truth and her faith would cure her. Mulder had doubts in his abilities-- gifting her a keychain in Tempus Fugit, pointing a gun at his head (at his failures) in Demons-- but Scully never did… until Elegy, until he ripped that conviction out from under both their feet. (“The doctor said I’m fine,” she’d said, clinging to shaky ground. “I hope that’s the truth,” he’d replied, showing her there was no ground to cling to.) Scully thought she gave up in Gethsemane, but Bill exposed her to herself (post here)-- “What are you doing at work, getting knocked down? What are you trying to prove? …To this guy, Mulder?” She was trying to prove something: that she hadn’t failed, that she’d done her best. And she felt those efforts had been rewarded by his last-ditch effort to get her a cure… and it had failed. She had failed.

Here, Scully can no longer dodge, run from, or escape the reality of her death: it is before her, again, after being banished in Memento Mori; and it has defeated her (and her partner’s, and her family’s) last hope. With this in mind, she called Maggie first to admit defeat so her mother relay to Mulder, a reversal of Memento Mori’s order of operations. She would rather disappoint her mother than her partner, not after everything they'd been through that year.

Maggie listens, sympathetically and without comment, assuming her daughter will close up if she misplaces a word.

Scully continues, becoming more fervent in her ravaging self-doubt while ripping out the cross from under her hospital gown. “I mean, why… why do I wear this?”

Her mother doesn’t respond, face softly grimacing at the brandished necklace-- possibly over its Ascension connections. At her daughter’s repeated, “Why do I wear this, Mom?”, she wisely keeps silent: the answer that contents her-- a strong belief in God-- wouldn’t, and hasn't, helped her daughter. It’s best to let emotion ride its course, and help Dana settle down afterwards.

“I put something that I don’t even know,” Scully asserts, “or understand under the skin of my neck. I will subject myself to these crazy treatments-- and I keep telling myself that I am doing everything I can. But it’s a lie!” She stops, eyes down, sitting in torment-- a grotesque mask's mockery of happiness-- waiting for her mother to say something, anything.

Maggie doesn’t doubt her daughter: “You have not lost your faith, Dana.”

And Scully hasn’t; but her self doubt is overwhelming her, is providing proof of her inadequacies with each new medical report-- with the final medical report-- and laughing her to scorn.

“I have,” Scully insists, before correcting herself, “in a way. When you, when you asked Father McCue to dinner to minister to my faith, I just closed off to him.”

I’ve discussed before that Melissa Scully acted as the voice of Scully’s conscience (posts here, here, here), and literally as her voice in One Breath. However, this scene in Redux II illustrates the importance of her dynamic with Maggie Scully: her mother acts as Scully’s confessor, just as her father acted as her god. Although Scully took the life of a snake as a little girl, it was Maggie who recalled the story-- in detail so specific that she only could have gotten it directly from Scully. It was Maggie who helped absolve her guilt in The Blessing Way and Wetwired. And most importantly, it was Maggie who patched together Captain Scully and their daughter's relationship; and Maggie who Scully turned to for guidance and reassurance at his funeral (Beyond the Sea) and on her deathbed (Redux II.)

But why? Bill Scully and Melissa didn’t have that relationship with Maggie; and we can assume Charlie falls in the same lines. Yet for Scully, the sun seems to rise and fall on the opinion of her parents. Maggie herself is constantly trying to point Dana to her own path, aware she has no answers that would truly satisfy her daughter: “he was your father” and “you haven’t lost your faith” are truths that she believes are the key to these complicated questions; but knows are not enough, yet.

We see this near deification stems back to Scully’s relationship with her father and extends outward to “other fathers.” But that’s not the whole truth: for every god there is an intermediary; for every Captain there is a wife who gives him “the look” after their daughter’s Christmas dinner (post here.) And for every god and intermediary there is a true believer. And even further, for every true believer there is a conscience that puts into words the deep mysteries of the heart.

And while Scully pedestalized her loved ones-- asking for their opinion on her FBI recruitment, asking for their forgiveness-- then duplicated these structures into other areas of her life-- be it as a disciple of Daniel Waterston's or as an intermediary confessor to (and true believer in) her partner-- her own pedestalized idols pushed back against or regretted their daises. Her father was a man who loved but forgot to translate that love into words, her mother is a woman reliant on her daughter’s strength, her sister was a woman who loved loudly and often overstepped, and her partner is a man who believes deeply in everyone but himself. These people are aware of their faults and voice them constantly to Scully; but she can’t-- or won’t-- see them because she is too afraid to accept their humanity and strike out completely on her own… not until all things, that is.

(Another interesting note: Redux II will later subtly hammer home the “other fathers” connection to Mulder via this convoluted dynamic Scully keeps perpetuating.)

Maggie tightens her mouth, battling relief and bittersweet hope at this confession. Faith in God has lent her strength, and she believes it will give her daughter strength, too. Further, she believes her daughter has been suppressing and choking on denial since the cancer diagnosis; and, while happy Dana is sharing this burden, that joy is marred by the circumstances.

To soothe her own emotions, she begins to put her daughter 'back together'-- a habit Scully seems to have adopted, in adulthood, with her partner. Maggie schools her emotions as best she can while patting her daughter’s hair, delicately combing loose strands back into shape, and smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her shoulder. “What’s important now,” she mothers, gently but firmly, “is that you save your energy.”

Scully’s face loses its frenetic spark, sinking into hopeless depression. Her mouth is slick with saliva, and her eyes are filling with unshed tears.

This is the real reason she called her mother: “I’m not getting any better, Mom.”

Instantly, the true nature of Maggie’s feelings bubble to the surface: “You don’t know that yet,” she pleads, trying to bargain away her daughter’s finality with a smile and exaggerated head tilt-- a gesture she used, perhaps, when little Dana was distraught or hopeless. Still, her smile fades as Scully's tears continue to well up.

“The PET scan showed no improvement,” Scully confirms, looking up and down to hide from her own and her mother’s pain.

Maggie is crushed, her mouth beginning to warble uncontrollably-- so uncontrollably that Scully's own chin begins to pebble.

Seeing her daughter's distress, Maggie surges forward to hug them together, knowing her child well enough to intuit that emotions are better relieved in privacy.

CONCLUSION

More Scully symbiosis thoughts to come.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

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randomfoggytiger · 9 days ago

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The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XXII): Faith, Fear, and Scully Symbiosis, Part II

A continuation of Part I's (post here) look at Scully's faith, familial misunderstandings, and (supposedly) failed hope.

MEMENTO MORI, REDUX

Where we last left off: Maggie and Scully are clinging to each other, tears flowing as their last hope is ripped away.

What's interesting about this moment is that it mirrors their hug in Memento Mori; but unlike then, Scully has finally accepted she is as good as dead-- and, walls now lowered, is openly mourning. She grips her mother like a life raft, working her mouth to keep from breaking down completely.

A few important things happen here: Maggie breaks off from crying to look upward, collect herself, and purse her lips-- so like her daughter, in fact, that it’s undeniable where Scully got her mannerisms from (well done, Sheila Larkin.) Her emotions solidify when Scully’s liquify, a symbiotic push and pull mother and daughter seem to share: one broken and struggling, the other stiff upper lipped and strong.

The latter points to two key features of their relationship, from Maggie’s perspective:

Maggie is emotionally based-- bleeding tears (Beyond the Sea, Memento Mori, Redux II) and venting her frustration (Ascension, Memento Mori) loudly and publicly.

While it's undeniable she loves each of her children, Maggie seems to gravitate to Scully the most: seeking her out in flashbacks (A Christmas Carol), advocating for her despite their disagreements (Beyond the Sea, post here), confiding in her about premonitory dreams (Ascension), and trusting in the people she trusts (Ascension, Paper Clip, posts here and here.)

Maggie is knit to but doesn’t fully understand her daughter-- and is aware of her shortcomings. Dana is “the strong one”: the one she calls first when Captain Scully dies, the one she expected would have her on her medical documents (One Breath, post here), the one she knows trusts her more than any other person on earth (Wetwired, post here), and the one who hurts her the most through continued reticence and distance (Memento Mori, Gethsemane, posts here and here.)

In short, she loves her children equally but depends on Dana the most… which creates, again, a symbiotic push and pull between the two: Scully’s equally fierce inter- and independence, and Maggie’s reliance on and distrust of her daughter's decisions (post here.) Both women depend on people; and both have to learn to stand on their own two feet. (It’s a page out of Sheila Larkin’s thoughts on Mrs. Scully, really: “...someone who never gets to finish her college degree or find a career for herself, but mainly gets enmeshed in her family. You know, the Everymother. Part of her emergence in becoming self-sufficient was during the course of this show with Dana. I think Margaret is ever-evolving." Interview here.)

"I know that you're afraid," her mother whispers, determined-- rising above her own pain in the face of her daughter's terror.

At the open avowal of her fear, Scully clings tighter, gripping her mother’s back with widened, terrified eyes. She's only prevented from prolonging the moment by Maggie's sudden withdrawal; and, still uncomfortable with showing unchecked emotion, Scully looks down while sniffling back snot-- distressed at her distress becoming public, but desperate to hear words of consolation.

“And I know you’re afraid to tell me. But you have to tell someone,” Maggie insists, drilling courage into her daughter through her eyes. She is insisting, silently, that Dana address this pain instead of shy away from and be eaten up by it. As previously mentioned, Maggie acts, per Scully's flawed system, as her daughters confessor; but here, she reinforces her own human frailty: that she is a loving mother out of her depth. But that's not the full truth: she is also a loving mother one who sets aside the pangs of ego to get her child the help that she needs.

Scully weighs the wisdom of her words; sighs resignedly at their truth--

--and looks up, finally: determined, too.

Here, then, is when she tells her mother to call Father McCue.

That detail is important: we see Father McCue in three consecutive scenes-- once on his arrival, once during a prayer session with Scully, and once with the family after her remission. Why, then, did he not drive over now, the day he got the call, instead of waiting twenty-four hours to pray with the dying?

Two considerations present themselves:

1. Nighttime visitation would be prohibited, depending on hospital policy. But that's only half an explanation.

2. Father McCue's duties and their requirements-- depending on the size, scope, and scale of his parish-- could have prevented him from shredding his calendar and marching straight over. (And as morbid as it sounds, there likely would have been a person or two who needed last rites read to them more immediately than Scully.)

If that be the case-- if he couldn’t leave his responsibilities to join Scully on her deathbed until the next day-- then that would mean he wouldn’t have had time either to come back again, that same day, when she was pronounced in remission. Meaning, Father McCue hadn’t left when Scully’s doctor brought in the final report.

What does this mean, for the Scully family?

We’re told (later) that perhaps Scully, perhaps her family considers her recovery a miracle. And while that would apply because of their faith and beliefs, I have another tantalizing thought: that the doctor walked in while Scully was in the midst of her prayers, right after Mulder denounced Blevins to the FBI. It would fit with the dramatic bent of the show writers, and would explain Father McCue’s presence at the end of the episode. “A miracle” would also seem a little more plausible if Father McCue had been actively praying when it occurred, no?

After Maggie leaves, after Mulder spends the night crying by Scully's bedside, after she wakes the next day none the wiser and they swap thoughts on his next plan of attack, Father McCue opens the door, appearing for his last rites visit.

Seeing his approach, Scully feverishly reaches for Mulder’s hand-- the first initiation since her cancer diagnosis, to my recollection-- before he can slip away. She is no longer willing to fight and fight and fight-- i.e., she is no longer willing to push away her source of strength, grasping it to face a greater test of faith.

She clings to it as she whispers, “You’ll be in my prayers,” clings to it as he kisses her cheek goodbye, clings to it as he kindly lets them drift apart. Her face contorts into different stages of fear, insecurity, anxiety, and resignation: the same expressions, to a lesser degree, she’d used with her mother. This, in short, marks Mulder as a man she trusts as deeply as her first confessor (her mother.)

But, again, Mulder is not her intermediary, he is her “other fathers”-- a fact the episode drives home when Mulder teases, “Have him say a few ‘Hail Mulders’ for me.” While this functions as a witticism on the ‘Hail Mary’ chant-- a prayer to an intercessor-- he is, inadvertently, setting himself up as someone the confessor must pray for (read: to.) In other words: Mulder leaves room, literally, for Scully’s confessor, and unintentionally sets up a dynamic that will have Scully praying with her intercessor on his behalf.

The last scene of Redux II begins outside Scully's hospital room.

Her cancer is in remission; and Mulder, sits alone (again, post here) in the hospital hallway, processing. He strikes a cutting figure-- one lost in thought and overwhelmed; and one who is respectfully, ruefully following Bill’s wishes. An interesting note to leave their relationship on: lines strictly divided and enforced-- a tasty prelude to their second meeting in Emily.

When Skinner joins him, he is jolted from his thoughts; and the two engage in FBI nitty gritty until Mulder drops the remission bomb. Awed, his boss immediately wants to congratulate Scully-- but, crucially, he asks Mulder, “Can I see her?” To Skinner, Mulder and Scully have become each other’s gatekeepers; and Mulder doesn’t bat an eye at that request (neither does she, when put in similar situations.) It's another interesting aspect of their partnership that Bill Scully will have to face soon.

“Yeah-- she’s in there with her family right now,” Mulder adds, looking back to their metaphorical spot, then down-- a thought sticking, but not stinging. “But I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

Two things of note: Mulder could be, yet isn’t, resentful of the ostracization-- he’s made his peace, and is more than happy to sort his feelings at a distance. Secondly, his “sure she’d love to see you” remark is jolly and pointed: considering Scully’s recent suspicions of Skinner’s guilt, this statement implies (another) two things:

Mulder already told Scully that he named Blevins, and that his conviction has convinced Scully.

Mulder knows Scully would be more than happy to have some sort of professional from work interrupt the family stare session. Which also implies, per his tone of voice, that this fact about his partner-- her discomfort at being fussed over or made much of-- amuses him. (...Which, also, lines up perfectly with his surprise birthday song, loud clapping, and "whoo"ing in Tempus Fugit.)

Skinner dips to see his second agent (not at all bothered about invading family time), which provides us a last look at the Scully family.

Scully turns quickly towards the door, slight (though ashamed at her former distrust) smile still in place when she sees it’s Skinner, not Mulder (which gives validity to the theories mentioned above.) Maggie is sitting on her daughter’s bed, caught mid-inhale-- teary and emotionally drained and relieved. And finally, Bill stands by his sister’s left, holding what I believe is her medical bracelet: teary himself, and unashamed to be caught staring at the proof (whatever it may be) of his sister’s remission-- the very image of a proud, overjoyed big brother.

CONCLUSION

And that, as far as we’re shown, is the last look at the Scullys in Redux II.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

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