You're floodin' it, Booger.
For God's sake, Izzy.
Here she comes. Let's go.
Come on, man. Come on.
- You gotta be kiddin'. - What?
"What" me and you won't go to no comic-book convention.
I'm 18. I can go anywhere I want.
Yeah, but where you gonna live when you get back?
Mom, we gotta get goin'.
Drive careful, Booger. He's the only son I've got.
OK, Mrs B.
I'll introduce you to a woman
who was delivered the surprise of her life.
After what seemed like a normal pregnancy,
doctors delivered to Delores a very special child.
A mother of two beautiful children,
Delores held in her arms a boy with fur like a dog and a hairline like Eddie Munster.
She's here with us today with her real-life, but sleeping wolf baby.
Why not just give him a razor and some shaving cream?
He'll be shaving in a few years, anyway.
Well, actually, he seems to be quite allergic to shaving cream.
..seem to like it. They like to come up and touch his hair.
- So they don't tease him? - No, he's quite popular.
Dandruff a problem?
No, I wash his hair twice a day, and brush a hundred strokes a night.
I can't believe this.
I think the question the audience really wants answered is,
what does the father look like?
- The father is completely bald. - Completely?
Hello?
Who's there?
"Dear Special Agent Mulder, I'm writing to you for help."
"Several years ago, I had an experience I could not explain."
"I was lying in my bed when I felt a presence in the room."
"Though I was awake, I felt that something had taken control over my body."
"I don't remember much else, but I woke up three days later pregnant with my son Izzy."
"That was 18 years ago but now it happened again."
"I was in bed, and could swear I heard Cher singing."
"The one who was married to Sonny."
"Then the room got all smoky and I saw some kind of monster."
"He had a really gross face with lumps all over his head."
"I was too scared to scream. Then I got all groggy and conked out for three days."
"Guess what happened when I woke up."
"I got your name off the TV."
"Some lady on the Jerry Springer Show who had a werewolf baby
said you came to her house."
"I got her story beat by a mile, so maybe you'll want to come see me, too."
"Sincerely, Shaineh Berkowitz."
Scully, do you think it's too soon to get my own 1-900 number?
Did you actually see that werewolf baby or was that just a story?
No, it had something called hypertrichosis lanuginosa.
It's a rare hereditary condition,
most commonly found in some South American families.
Uh-huh. But it was all hairy and stuff?
Uh, Mrs Berkowitz, you said that you also had a son?
Mm-hm. Izzy. That's him there.
And Izzy is the product of your union with some kind of intruder?
I don't know about no "union", but I sure woke up in a condition.
- Did you report this to the police? - Of course I did.
Was there an investigation?
Not really. Nobody here ever locks their doors.
And it took me a month or two to figure it out - that I was pregnant.
And now you're pregnant again?
Uh-huh. But as I told Agent Mulder on the phone, that's what takes the cake.
Mrs Berkowitz had a tubal ligation two years ago.
You can't plant a seed in a barren field.
They were cookin' somethin' on the range.
Took me two clays of scrubbin' to clean the skillet.
I don't know how many of 'em there were. I only saw one,
but they ate a whole jar of peanut butter.
You were gone three days, but nobody missed you?
- I know what you're thinkin'. - Do you drink, Mrs Berkowitz?
No. But I'm not so sure my intruders, as you call 'em, didn't have a few.
Somebody set a tumbler here and didn't use no coaster.
That's a family heirloom, too.
Is there no chance your son could've put it there?
Izzy's got more brains than that. Not much more, but he values his life.
That pigsty there's his room.
You know what this thing is, don't you, Agent Mulder?
- Why do you say that? - Because. You're all quiet and stuff.
And you know somethin' you're not sayin' - about alien abductions.
They said on Jerry Springer you're, like, an expert.
Well, I don't think this has anything to do with alien abductions.
- I don't know if I believe in that any more. - Oh, come on!
- Really? - Mrs Berkowitz?
You gave a description of the intruder,
saying he had a gross face and lumps on his head?
And two mouths. I don't know if I mentioned that.
Funny. Sounds just like this.
Oh, that?
That's the Great Mutato.
That's a comic-book character my kid Izzy created.
What's goin' on?
These are Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI.
The Federal Bureau of Investigation?
We were wondering how this suspect in your mother's case looks exactly like this.
- The Great Mutato. - Because I've seen him too.
You've seen the Great Mutato?
Yeah. A lot of people around here have.
Has it crossed neither of your minds that what you say you saw
fits perfectly with this creature that your son created?
Well, yeah, but...
that don't mean it didn't happen.
Don't ask me why, but it works.
Peanut butter sandwiches?
You think bologna would be more effective?
Why are you humouring them, Mulder?
I'm not, Scully. This is a very serious crime.
So is perjury. So is calling out FBI agents under false pretenses.
- For the purpose of what? - Isn't it obvious?
I think what we're seeing here is an example of a culture
for whom daytime talk shows and tabloid headlines
have become a reality against which they measure their lives.
A culture so obsessed by the media and a chance for self-dramatization
that they'll do anything to gain a spotlight.
I am alarmed that you would reduce these people to a cultural stereotype.
Not everybody's dream is to get on Jerry Springer.
Psychologists often speak of the denial of an unthinkable evil
or a misplacement of shared fears.
Anxieties taking the form of a hideous monster
for whom the most horrific human attributes can be ascribed.
What... what we can't possibly imagine ourselves capable of,
we can blame on the ogre, on the hunchback, on the lowly half-breed.
Common sense will tell you these legends, these unverified rumours, are ridiculous.
But nonetheless, unverifiable,
and thus true in the sense that they're believed to be true.
Is there anything you don't believe in?
Sh!
What's that sound?
It's the Great Mutato!
- Where'd it go? - I don't know. I lost it.
There. Up there.
Turn that damn thing off!
You're on my property.
We're with the FBI.
- They're not. - We were...
We were chasing what they told us was a monster.
Monster? What did I tell you boys?
There ain't no monster.
I'll show you the monster you're lookin' for.
- Who sent you here? - Your father.
My father is a simpleton farmer.
He understands nothing of my scientific achievements.
- What achievements are those? - What makes you think you'd understand?
Well, I'm a scientist, for one.
Then you probably know that once in a generation, perhaps once in a lifetime,
a truth is uncovered which thrusts mankind into a shocking new consciousness,
turning accepted notions of our very existence on their head.
Consider relativity. The double helix. And now the homeotic hox gene,
for which I will undoubtedly have my place among the Columbus's of science
as a visionary leader of men, yes?
What do you want me to do with these, Dr Polidori?
Never mind.
What is the homeotic hox gene?
She's a scientist. Ask her.
I, uh... I believe that it has something to do with, um... growth and development.
If you two will excuse me, I don't have time for this.
I have to travel to the University of Ingolstadt to deliver an address.
Sir, unless you want your scientific achievements
to end up as a footnote on the Jerry Springer Show,
I suggest that you make the time.
Jerry Springer Show?
Witness the morphogenesis of drosophila.
The fruit fly.
What you are watching has been going on for millennia,
since the Cambrian period some 580 million short years ago,
when drosophila was first born.
See the elegant symmetry with which the pupa grows
into a series of beautiful segments.
What we have found...
what I have found
is that these segments represent a linear model
for the genetic development of our friend the fly.
Each gene is responsible
for the development of its corresponding segment -
the legs, the mouth, the body, posterior and anterior -
but which I, through my genius, can alter into a creation of my own.
Behold, proboscopedia.
This fly has legs...
Growing out of his mouth.
Why would you do that?
Because I can.
Could that be done in humans?
That would go against every scientific convention.
But could it be done?
Theoretically.
Good night, Dr Frankenstein.
Despite what you might think, Mulder,
designer mutations like these are virtually impossible on humans.
- That's not what I just heard. - Mulder, even if they could,
no scientist would even dare to perform these kind of experiments on a human.
- Well, then, why do them at all? - To... unlock the mysteries of genetics.
To understand why, even though we share the same genes,
we develop arms instead of wings,
we become humans instead of flies, or monsters.
But given the power, who could resist the temptation to create life in his own image?
We already have that ability, Mulder. It's called procreation.
And first thing tomorrow morning,
I'm gonna verify the pregnancy of Shaineh Berkowitz.
- When are you comin' home again? - Huh?
- When are you comin' home again? - What?
- We were gonna have that talk. - Soon.
- Soon. We'll have our talk soon. - That's what you always say.
Elizabeth, you know how I feel about children.
- They're mewling little monsters. - But I want children.
What happened to our dream?
Of getting out of this place, getting away from this hick town?
I think that's your dream.
Elizabeth, what do you want? A baby? Or a Nobel prize?
See you on Thursday.
Hot plates! Hot, hot, hot!
Biscuits, fritters, grits, flapjacks, eggs - boiled, scrambled, poached and fried.
We got some monster grapefruits on the way.
Bigger than your head, almost.
I'd... I'd just like some coffee, thanks.
On the house. Compliments of JJ.
That's with two Js.
Is it true Jerry Springer's comin' to town?
We've been had.
I'll save you the trouble of reading it.
It has everything that we talked about last night. Word for word.
Izzy Berkowitz!
- Get your butt front and center! - What did I do?
All I can say is, I hope the answer to that question is nothin'.
We believe you or one of your friends recorded our conversation last night
- and gave it to a newspaper reporter. - Me?
In order to promote your comic-book monster that you created.
- Do you own a tape recorder, Izzy? - Uh...
Christmas 1993!
..of shared fears. Anxieties taking the form of a hideous monster
for whom the most horrific human...
- That's for starters! - ..what we can't possibly imagine...
- Hey. Hey, that's it!
Loneliness
That song was playing when I got knocked up.
- Is the cloak you wear - ..cloak you wear
- Who the hell is that? - That's the voice we heard in the woods.
That's him. The Great Mutato.
The sun ain't gonna shine any more
The moon ain't gonna rise in the sky
Tears are always clouding your eyes
The sun ain't gonna shine any more
Love
- Where are we going now? - Messenger this to the Bureau.
I want special audio to separate out the voice.
- Then I wanna see the professor. - Mulder, this is just a dopey hoax.
Something recorded its voice on this.
What, do you think that Dr Polidori had something to do with it?
When Victor Frankenstein asks "Whence did the principle of life proceed?"
and as the gratifying summit to his toils creates a hideous phantasm of a man,
he prefigures the postmodern Prometheus, the genetic engineer,
whose power to reanimate matter, genes, into life, us,
is only as limited as his imagination is.
Mulder, I'm alarmed that you would reduce this man to a literary stereotype.
A mad scientist.
Who else would go to such trouble to impregnate Shaineh Berkowitz?
I mean, I have to admit, Mulder, everything looks in order.
Mrs Berkowitz had a tubal ligation in 1993,
and two months ago she had two pregnancy tests, both with positive results.
What are you doing?
Mrs Berkowitz said that when she saw her intruder,
there was a gaseous white cloud.
Then, when she woke up three days later, nobody knew that she'd been gone.
Yeah. So?
I was born in the wagon of a travelin' show
My mama used to dance for the money they'd throw
Papa would do whatever he could
Preach a little gospel
Sell a couple bottles of Dr Good
Gypsies, tramps and thieves
We'd hear it from the people of the town
They'd call us gypsies, tramps and thieves
But every night all the men would come around
And lay their money down
Come on. Get up.
Move!
Mulder?
I told you. There ain't no monster.
What are you doing in my house?
He had this awful face, with these hideous tumours and...
and not one mouth, but two.
Oh, my God.
Dr Polidori?
Is there something you'd like to tell us?
Are you accusing me of knowing something that I'm not telling you?
I'm accusing that your wife may have been impregnated.
Impregnated? By whom?
Oh, I think you...
Sir, with all due respect, I think this is all part of a hoax.
- A hoax? - A shameless publicity stunt.
Scully.
What? What is that?
The other victims, they had their frying pans... violated.
Do you know what that is?
No, I don't.
I think we found our smokin' gun.
Hey, Mom.
Hey, you look great. You look great.
Hey, Gar.
Mom, I got some great news.
- Me too. - You first.
I quit. I'm clean as a whistle.
Brought you your favourite. You finish your movie.
Don't stay up too late. OK, son?
- Well, that's a start. - Well, what about your news?
Well, it's no big deal I met a girl, We're goin' out.
Oh! Come on, tell us!
- Well, her name is Diana. - Yeah?
- She's beautiful with long blonde hair. - Yeah?
She rides horses, and she's beautiful and she's smart,
and she loves me.
Oh, what's not to love, baby?
Tell me it isn't true.
You didn't.
You wouldn't.
Why?
Because I can.
- Excuse me. - Not a problem.
Agh.
- What's this? - Compliments of JJ.
- Coffee? - Sure.
Whoa!
That's not a place you wanna burn a guy.
- Come on! - What is it?
Come on! Hurry! Come on!
What's goin' on?
- You wanna see your monster? - Yeah!
- You really wanna see your monster? - Yeah!
Here's your monster.
His name... is Izzy Berkowitz!
- Let's get him! - String him up!
Get your hands off him!
- You let him go. - I intercepted a package.
How would you like your face to intercept my fist, coconut-head?
Your kid's a monster!
That is my son you're talkin' about!
What if somebody talked about you like that?
- Mulder? - You may have been right, Scully.
What, that they can be reduced to cultural stereotypes?
- They unmasked the monster. - Don't start that with me.
I may have found something saying otherwise.
The residue on the frying pan was an agricultural product,
used to anaesthetise herds of animals.
- Used by who? - Farmers,
who must register with the FDA even to have it in their possession.
- Is there someone registered locally? - Mm-hm.
Mulder?
We may be too late.
I think we are.
Who's that?
Show yourself!
If you're armed, drop your weapon and walk out slowly.
Please don't... don't kill me.
- Who are you? - I'm with the newspaper.
- What's your business here? - The old man was murdered.
By whom?
- It's alive. - I've seen it.
In the barn, burying the old man.
He's a killer!
Murderer!
Where's the monster?
Whatever you have in mind, I'm gonna have to ask you to stop right there.
We have come for the murderer!
- What makes you think he's here? - I've seen him with my own eyes.
- He is not a man. He is a monster! - Yeah!
The fiend must be found, and then we'll let justice take its course!
Yeah!
We'll search every crevice, every ravine!
- Get him alive if you can, but you get him! - Yeah!
There's only one way Polidori could have seen that monster.
If he was out here himself.
Mulder.
We're federal agents, and we're armed! Come on out!
Scully, look at this.
Huh.
- Oh, my God. - You're gonna have to come out of there.
We're not gonna hurt you.
- Think he understands? - I hope not.
He looks frightened.
We're gonna have to get him out of here, Scully. They're gonna kill him.
The barn's on fire!
There it is!
- Let him go! - Where is he?
You let him go or we'll burn him out.
Where is he? Show the world your horrid, lumpy face!
Yeah!
- That's him. - Uck.
That repulsive physiognomy is the vilest perversion of science.
- Created by whom? - A pale student of my most hallowed arts,
whose life was taken by that which he gave life.
By his own horrible creation, by that monstrosity that you see before you.
Who's he talkin' about?
My father.
- No. - He can talk.
Your ears deceive you.
It's a trick.
I'm sorry, my voice is damaged by the gaseous chemical.
But I would like to explain myself.
Despite my appearance, which you see is quite horrible to the human senses,
I... have never acted to harm another soul.
- These are fiendish lies. - Quiet.
25 years ago,
my father, having only one son -
a spiteful, hateful man of science, incapable of the deeper sentiments -
he came to realize that this son had been conducting secret experiments,
of which I was the most unfortunate product.
A simple man, he rescued me and loved me in spite of my deformities.
But as time passed, I grew restless for friends of my own.
Because I couldn't go to school or play sports,
or even show my face outside this farm,
my father set out to learn his son's science,
so that before he died he might create for me a mate.
Uh-oh.
Alas, my father was a simple man,
his heart close to the soil he worked, the animals he tended.
The experiments he attempted, too advanced.
The science, too complex for his understanding.
The results of his experiments, unsatisfactory.
I still... You mean Izzy...?
But who's the father?
Suffice to say, his experiments failed.
My father is dead.
I am alone and miserable.
But one as deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me.
If this being you can create, then I will take blame as a murderer.
I don't know how to recreate you.
You were a mistake.
What we did was wrong.
But in our trespasses, we gave you a loving son.
And in your homes,
I went places I'd never dreamed of.
With your books and your records and your home media centers, I learned of the world,
and of a mother's love that I'll never know.
Cher loved that boy so much.
Hey. He's no monster.
Arrest me, then, as you will.
We should go, Mulder.
- The prisoner's in the car. - This is all wrong, Scully.
This is not how the story's supposed to end.
What do you mean?
Dr Frankenstein pays for his evil ambitions,
but the monster's supposed to escape to go search for his bride.
There's not gonna be any bride, Mulder. Not in this story.
Well, where is the writer?
I wanna speak to the writer.
Tell me something. Is it... is it hard to love these babies?
What's not to love?