This is another of those episodes that probably seemed like a good idea to the writer, and then just couldn't quite find the right rhythm in its execution.
There were some very good, very Dollhouse-like elements of 'John Doe', and I'd say once it hit about the twenty minute mark and Reyes and the rest of the FBI got involved, it really picked up and became an interesting episode. The problem is, why did it take half the episode to get to that point?
I don't understand this in TV sometimes, because it doesn't just happen on The X-Files. Every show I've ever watched has some episodes that take more than half the episode just to get to the interesting part, and the setup isn't really that compelling in the mean time. It's a horrible flaw in pacing and I feel like good, experienced writers should be aware of that and try to find ways to keep things moving.
So again, good concept, shaky execution. (I also think that maybe the story could have been fleshed out more anyway - because really, we figured out very early on that Doggett had no memory, and it seems they spent a lot of time trying to tell the viewers that that had happened. There was very little development outside that aspect of the story.)
It occurred to me that this could go to a very Memento place, too, and every time Doggett was shown waking up in the morning, I commented that he would move aside a piece of clothing or a bandage and discover a new tattoo that told him John G. murdered his wife or not to answer the phone or something. (Speaking of Doggett's wife, we saw her in the flash backs in this episode, but where did she go since? Did their son's murder tear apart the marriage? I guess we're meant to assume that, but I don't think it's been stated outright.)
Like oh so many science fiction and fantasy stories involving abduction and memory loss, there was a definite theme of, "Who would miss you?" There's this idea that people who end up in situations like Doggett's here are the ones with nothing left to give up, so it almost doesn't matter that they're now in a place they don't recognise and they don't even know their own names.
It initially seemed like Doggett was regaining bits of his memory each day, and somehow, something or someone would steal them again by the next morning. And I guess that's kind of confirmed at the end, because it's not like he has to do anything special to get his memory back anyway.
I've seen stories like this before where the villain asks the same question - why would you want to remember all the crap that's happened to you? And the answer is always the same, so Doggett really doesn't let me down here when he tells Caballero that the memories are his and they are what they are, which he confirms more clearly with Reyes later, saying he'll keep the painful memories in order to keep the good ones.
That's what our lives are. We are a series of experiences and memories of those experiences. If all we remembered was perfect and good, we'd never grow, never learn, never change. We'd be robots, and that sounds kind of boring. I don't want to suggest that life is or should be all about suffering, but it's our struggles that make us human. Life is a challenge. How we overcome those difficulties is all a part of who we are as individuals and as a society.
The town that was hijacked by the cartel had no life of its own. We only saw one side of it, but I think it's safe to say that the people living in the town whose memories hadn't been stolen probably lived in great fear of that happening. Mindwiping and enslaving people is so much more efficient than just killing them.
Seeing Doggett's self-rediscovery was interesting, too. We knew his son had been killed and that he'd investigated the case with Reyes, and we can be somewhat sure that whatever unusual aspect Reyes saw in the case - the burnt body - he saw, too, but refused to accept. But we never really got to see the whole thing. 'Empedocles' just took us through the investigative aftermath, but not the personal. So we're now able to see Doggett mourn for his son again. It's almost like he had come to accept his place in this mindwiped society and come to terms with the idea that ignorance is bliss. And maybe it was, but the thing about ignorance is, eventually you find out the truth, and the less you know going in, the harder the truth is to take.
But I, too, would rather have the entire knowledge of my life, including the painful parts, than have it all wiped away. The good parts are worth it.
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