X Files Season 4 Episode 7 – Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man

I just re-watched one of my favourite episodes of The X Files. This episode delves into the personal life of the Cigarette Smoking Man.

CSM is a very powerful person. He controls the gears of history. He wields power that is unmatched. He is the one who assassinated John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King. He puts Saddam Hussein on call waiting, and is the first to know when the cold war ends.

There is a scene when he and Deepthroat, another one of these shadowy figures, are notified of the capture of an alien. In order to abide by a secret international code, they must kill the alien. He then goes on to describe his situation.

How many historic events have only the two of us witnessed together, Ronald? How often did we make or change history? And our names can never grace any pages of record. No monument will ever bear our image.

I find it sad that no one will ever know what truly happened. That someone else, a mere patsy will be inscribed in stone as the one who killed JFK. That he never has, and never will get the recognition he deserves for his efforts.

That is why he writes. He writes short stories, fiction to the world. However, what he writes is true. It is his story. At least there will be a single record of his existence, and his impression that he left on the world. However, it was up to others to modify his story, and the drawing became blurred. His story was altered. His endeavours will never be recognized, all because some board of meddling editors scrambled up his passage. He will still be recognized as the author, not the editors, but his story, like that of the patsy, will not be in his control.

He then goes on to give one of the most profound monologues ever delivered:

Life… is like a box of chocolates. A cheap, thoughtless, perfunctory gift that nobody ever asks for. Unreturnable, because all you get back is another box of chocolates. You’re stuck with this undefinable whipped-mint crap that you mindlessly wolf down when there’s nothing else left to eat. Sure, once in a while, there’s a peanut butter cup, or an English toffee. But they’re gone too fast, the taste is fleeting. So you end up with nothing but broken bits, filled with hardened jelly and teeth-crunching nuts, and if you’re desperate enough to eat those, all you’ve got left is a… is an empty box… filled with useless, brown paper wrappers.

This pretty much sums up his life.


~ by mtl_zack on February 27, 2010.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: