Being the end of July in the mountains the theatre was cold but not as cold as the snow-swept backwoods of West Virginia where the newest entry into that big box called the X-files is stored. Incredible amounts of snow, flakes blowing in the wind, icy ruts in rural roads lined with rusted mailboxes and a ramshackle gym with a heated pool where two victims of the plot chose to swim for exercise that would have been shunned by ninety-percent of any population in the world, even many Americans.
So welcome to a movie that unites Fox and Dana in a complex plot revolving around a defrocked priest who has been condemned as a child molester but still has visions of a young female victim and her attacker passing before his mind’s eye. He soon leads our intrepid pair on a hunt for some mad Russian surgeons who are trying to prolong the life of--it’s difficult to believe--one of their countrymen while they perform surgery at a giant, fenced-in, dog pound--somewhere in West Virginia.
The operating room is connected to the outer kennels by square wooden tunnels with doors of slated plastic and the floors are strewn with all sorts of stuff, very little of it having any relationship to medical supplies. The doctors wear headgear straight out of the scene in BladeRunner where cold-air organ manipulations were working with frozen eyeballs. I’m sure it was all antiseptic not because the doctor’s washed their hands but because it was too cold for bacteria (much less viruses) to infect.
Meanwhile, Dana is now a practicing surgeon in a Catholic Hospital and trying to save the life of a young boy using procedures that will cause pain for the patient and, apparently seriously impact the hospital’s budget.
Oh, sure, Fox loves Dana and Dana loves Fox but the initial movie was genius compared to this chilly trial.