Spike--Fool For Love

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Spike—Fool For Love

            Spike is always the exception, never the rule.  He feels things all most vampires in the Buffyverse aren’t privy to.  His skills in observation surpass even his human compatriots.  Most vampires fear the Slayer; Spike seeks her out.  He’s an anti-hero who still manages to have a heart—whether it beats or not is insignificant.  But, above all, his cold, unbeating heart is capable of far more love than it logically should be. 

            In fact, Spike is arguably capable of loving more freely than the humans of the Buffyverse, for instance, Xander who leaves the woman he supposedly loves standing at the alter.  But it isn’t just romantic love Spike’s heart follows.  It’s a love of everything—life, objects, and, of course, specific people. 

            Spike doesn’t love lightly.  He may be a tough guy, spending the bulk of his first few seasons on the show as the supposed “Big Bad,” but if someone were to threaten the thing that he loves most, they will surely grow to regret they did.  For decades Spike followed Drusilla, often choosing to ignore any misdeeds she may have forayed in for the sake of his love for her; she could never do any wrong.  Even when Angelus joined their crew in the second season, the fact that there were lingering tensions between the pair was always Angelus’ fault, never Dru’s, in the eyes of Spike. 

            He loves obsessively, blindly, by his own code.  His ideas and moral justifications are so out of sync from ours that, when he kidnaps both Buffy and Dru and threatens to kill the vampire to prove he loves the Slayer, we laugh.  Why shouldn’t we?  To us, the concept of killing one little vampire in order to prove affection for another person is incredibly bizarre. 

            To Spike, however, he isn’t just killing another random vampire.  If he had wanted that, he would’ve just prowled the streets of Sunnydale for ten minutes until he undeniably found one.  No, this vampire is special, from his point of view.  She was his savior, the woman who gave him a second chance, the woman who took him from his previous dead-end human life and exposed him to a world of the truly living. 

            He’s right.  William the bloody awful poet wasn’t really living.  He hid behind fears and insecurities.  Even when he attempted to pursue the girl he fancied, he was only rejected in an unnecessarily cruel manner. 

            Drinking Dru’s blood in that alley infused him with a renewed sense of life.  It gave him a new sense of self as well, one in which he created an entirely new persona.  This new William was purposely designed to be as polar opposite of William the bloody awful poet as was possible. 

            As much as it would probably pain Spike to hear this, he didn’t do a very good job at creating an image that differed much from the passionate poet of old.  Sure, his accent was different, his clothes had changed—Billy Idol was obviously a fan of the look, anyway—and he suddenly hated going out in the day.  However, his ability to love and love fiercely never failed him.  Here we have another exception to the rule—an exceptional amount of William’s personality transferred to his vampire self, which, as a rule, doesn’t happen in the Buffyverse, at least, not in this concentration.  His need to love and be loved was still so strong, that his first course of action post-transference was to sire his mother and save her from a case of TB. 

            There’s a lot of bad that occurred with his mother.  Changing her into a vampire was not his wisest decision.  However, it is his mother who deserves the credit for several of Spike’s personality traits that I’m rather fond of and, therefore, I can’t help but like her.  The woman she was before he changed her was sweet and caring.  The two were obviously very close and were, therefore, rather affectionate. 

With this comes another instance of Spike as the exception, not the rule.  Most vampires in the Buffyverse have very unfortunate family lives.  In fact, typically their first objective is to kill all of the members of their family as violently as possible.  Spike, instead, turns his mother, not to be cruel, but to save her. 

            It is from her that he learned to love so deeply and passionately.  Without her, Spike wouldn’t be a fool for love.  Perhaps he would just be a fool.  Instead, she imbued in him a sort of comfort he experiences when around women, but, in particular, strong women.  Spike tends to distinctly dislike the men on Buffy the Vampire Slayer:  Giles, Xander, Riley, and, of course, Angel.  Now, some of those I will openly acknowledge as him not liking simply because they were with Buffy.  I could see that was what was behind his dislike of Riley long before he could.

On the other hand, it is extremely rare for Spike to find a Whedon Woman—named as they are created by the mastermind and feminist Joss Whedon—he doesn’t get along with.  The only possible exception may be Faith; he likes her at first, but her part to play in the mutiny of Buffy puts that to a stop very quickly. 

            He doesn’t only feel comfortable with these characters; he genuinely seems to like them more than any male in the cast.  He believe it or not enjoys Dawn’s company, something no one in the audience can say.  Spike had a particularly soft place in his heart for Joyce, prompting him to bring flowers after she passed away.  He was one of the few who actually appreciated Anya’s sense of humor, something her own fiancé/boyfriend/almost husband/ex could very rarely say.  On that note, he actually enjoyed Cordelia’s lack of tact, something even fewer people could attest to.  After moving over to Angel, he grew a similar affectionate for Fred, to the point where he felt a very deep loss when she died.  In the end, even Illyria, in all her blue-tinted Fred-ness couldn’t escape his affection.   

            This reaction to women makes Spike a feminist’s dream.  He not only knows how to treat a woman—well, most times, anyway; more on that later—he knows what they need in terms of respect and how to see that they get it.  In short, even when he’s a soulless demon, he knows how to be a gentleman, if not a cheeky and sarcastic one. 

            This appreciation and respect for women wasn’t the only commonality between human William and vampire Spike.  He got his start as a horrible writer of poetry and, as such, has a distinguished way with words.  I will always remember the first time I sat down to watch Fool for Love, the episode in which it is revealed to us that tough, big bad Spike was a sensitive Londoner with a bad poem, no cockney accent and no jilting gibe to throw someone’s way.  I’m relatively certain I spent the bulk of the episode with my mouth hanging open in absolute shock.  While he may have been horrible at writing poetry in the late 1800s, a hundred years later in Sunnydale he makes some fine speeches—speeches that have a habit of stealing the episode.  For example, Spike steals the show in Touched and Beneath You in something as small as a two or three minute scene.

            Through his words, he tells us so many things about himself.  In Lover’s Walk, he keenly observes that a recently separated Buffy and Angel are attempting to be friends.  Spike not-so kindly informs them that that is absolutely ridiculous, that they can never be friends.  With this declaration we learn two things.  The first is that he is viciously observant.  He’s been drunk for the majority of the episode and still managed to perceive that they were not only not together, but disastrously attempting to be friends as they were before they dated.  Secondly, we, of course, learn that he may be love’s bitch, but at least he’s man enough to admit it. 

            This declaration comes a full two years before we learn the full implications of it.  His statement really couldn’t be more accurate, even if we don’t quite know it yet.  Those next two years will be long from Spike’s point of view.  He’ll go through an incredible amount of changes, all of which get a kick-start when he returns in the fourth season to become a full-time cast member. 

Season four is a rough year for the show, a year in transition.  I dislike the Initiative, although I can appreciate Whedon’s message that humans can often do far more evil than demons—an implication which, I must admit, Angel does a far better job of covering.  I hate Adam as the big bad—I feel like I know I should be worried about him, but I just can’t bring myself to be.  I loathe Riley as Buffy’s new corn-fed Iowa born and raised boyfriend—he pales in comparison to the likes of Angel and Spike. 

            But, for all its faults, season four gives Spike some of his best character development.  The process was started a year earlier at the end of the second season, when his love of the world not to mention, Happy Meals, motivates him to assist Buffy in taking out Angelus.  From there, he could never be wholly evil again.  Season four picks up this torch right where season two left it. 

Taken hostage by the Initiative relatively early on in the season, Spike has a chip implemented in his head that only allows him to kill demons.  Spike’s the type of guy who enjoys any form of violence, as long as it’s a good fight.  Therefore, he quickly jumps back into fighting, even if it means it’s his old allies he’s up against. 

            This places him in a precarious position.  He’s no longer ‘evil,’ but neither is he necessarily ‘good’ yet either.  He helps the Scoobies off and on for the rest of the season but, ultimately, he just isn’t ready to be a white hat yet. 

His final play in season four shows us he is capable of psychological cruelty in addition to the physical.  In the appropriately wittily named Yoko Factor, Spike takes on each Scooby individually and plays on the insecurities of each character to tear the group apart as a whole.  He alone can see that Willow is developing feelings for Tara.  Spike notices that Xander and Giles feel undervalued by the others, even if no one else seems to.  His plan works—albeit temporarily.  Regardless, when they reunite and the battle at the Initiative commences, Spike is right there, fighting the good fight. 

This betrayal is really one of the last he will serve out.  As season five comes around, he begins using this talent for other purposes, namely breaking Buffy and Riley up.  While I’m immensely grateful to him for removing the bore-fest that is Riley Finn from Sunnydale by playing on his insecurities that Buffy never really loved him as much as he loved her—so true, by the way—it appears, remarkably, that the only person Spike isn’t capable of reading very well is himself. 

I’ve had my suspicions about his feelings towards Buffy from his very first episode, School Hard, three years previous.  There’s a very insignificant scene in that episode, in which Spike sees Buffy for the first time.  He circles the dance floor of the Bronze, just watching her with her friends.  This is done under the pretense of studying his opponent, however, those aren’t the intentions I see written all over his face. 

            This suspicion is affirmed as he repeatedly attempts to find a way to kill Buffy for the next three years.  For a guy who has spent almost a century seeking out and slaying Slayers, he seems impeccably bad at it.  Personally, I always thought his heart was never truly in it, which caused him to inevitably fail repeatedly. 

            No, I always thought his heart was invested in other regards towards Buffy Summers, a fact further suggested by Something Blue in season four—where Buffy and Spike are bewitchingly engaged for a few hours—and eventually confirmed by a series of dreams Spike is begrudgingly subjected to a little less than a year after Something Blue. 

            Spike finally coming to terms with his feelings for Buffy opens up so many new doors for him.  He’s no longer attempting to be evil, but neither is he wholly good yet.  For the first part of season five, a lot of the supposed good deeds Spike completes are done in an attempt to show Buffy he’s changed.  While the acts he’s doing are technically good, he fails to see that he’ll need an inherently less deceptive motivation if he wants to persuade Buffy he’s changed.  As it is, his misleading motivations and daring declarations of devotion stirs her old distrust of him and causes her to revoke his previously standing invitation to her house, an invitation which she never bothered to rescind, despite the three years that have passed since their original alliance together in the second season. 

            As season five carries on, however, something fundamentally changes in Spike, forcing Buffy to reconsider her previously drawn conclusions on him.  In Intervention, Spike is taken hostage and forced to suffer immense torture at the hands of Glory, this season’s awesome Big Bad, who only wants to know the location of the Key, which she needs to return home. 

            Spike knows what, or rather, who, the Key is.  But, seeing as it is Buffy’s fake little sister, Dawn, a character he for some reason actually cares for, he simply doesn’t see giving up her identity as an option.  He eventually attempts to escape, just as the Scoobies crash the party, hoping to find Spike before he gives up Dawn’s secret.

            It had never even crossed Buffy’s mind that Spike might know to keep his mouth shut.  Up until this point, Buffy sees Spike as nothing more than a soulless demon.  Who can blame her, given her previous experience with vampires?  Ensouled Angel made her believe that it was impossible for a vampire to be even remotely decent, sans soul.  From Intervention on, though, she won’t make this mistake again.

            The episode establishes a new, yet concrete trust between the two.  When the elevator doors open and Spike sees the Scoobies have arrived, he allows himself to collapse.  This is, in six years on Buffy and another year on Angel, the only time Spike allows all of his will to fight to leave him.  He simply doesn’t have it in him after what Glory subjected him too.  But, he didn’t need to.  He trusted Buffy to insure the fight was won and that he was extracted from the mansion. 

            While Buffy originally only removed him to insure that he hadn’t spoiled their secret, once she learns the truth, they are officially beyond the point of return.  Spike is officially a white hat, having earned Buffy’s deepest level of trust possible. 

            Buffy’s friends have plenty of objections to this level of dependence in the last two years of the show.  Typically, I have full faith in Buffy that her faith in Spike isn’t misguided.  There is only one instance in which I feel I must disagree with Buffy.  In the sixth season, Spike hits another low as he attempts to rape Buffy.  I struggle to watch the scene every time it comes time to view it as I run through the series, but I always do, because I know girls who have suffered through similar, if not exact replicas of the scene.  I feel the very least I can do is dedicate my full attention to the scene, and appreciate how powerless it must make one feel. 

            But the actual scene is just the beginning of the problems I have with it.  The aftermath truly bothers me.  Once Spike returns in the seventh season, with his brand new, squeaky clean—well, not really, but whatever—soul, Buffy forgives him for his indiscretion almost immediately.  It is almost as if to say, well Spike, you didn’t have a soul, so you weren’t really in control of your actions and, therefore, you should obviously be forgiven right away.  And, of course, since you now have that soul back where it’s supposed to be, clearly you won’t try your luck a second time. 

            If a man were to attempt to rape me, only to tell me it wasn’t really his fault because he’s devoid of a soul, I don’t think I’d suddenly feel okay with it.  Furthermore, if he came back a few weeks later and indicated that now he’s gone and gotten himself a soul so we should try to hang out again in the future, I’m one thousand percent—bare with me, I was never really one for math—certain I would never have any of that.  The writer’s method of approach downplays the wretchedness of the act and the experience so many women have had. 

            While I truly hate this plot device, because it just represents a lot of things I can’t get behind, from the writer’s perspective, I can see the necessity of—well, maybe not this specific event, but I can understand that something big was required to kick-start the next step in Spike’s journey.  I understand that he needed a final big push to motivate him to seek out his soul, especially as his possession of it will be a driving force in the plot for season seven of Buffy and season five of Angel. 

            The trials he withstands to earn his soul do buy back some of his good standing with me.  But, my reinstated opinion was all in retrospect, as the writing of his departure from Sunnydale left his plan of action undeclared.  During the duration of my original viewing all those years ago, I had been determined to believe his intentions were nefarious, not honorable.  When he parted ways with Sunnydale, muttering about how he was “going to get that bitch what she deserves,” his soul had been perhaps the very last thing on a very long list that I suspected he was seeking out. 

            Personally, I had been inclined to believe he was going to remove his chip and return to his old ways of Big Bad-dom.  However, as it turns out, what Buffy deserves is a man who wouldn’t even think about hurting her.  That is what he sought to retrieve, nothing else. 

Repeated viewings tell me I shouldn’t have been so blind—the pure look of horror upon his face after he’s finally pulled from his reverie and attempts to rape her should’ve told me he had nothing but good intentions after the fact.  And, if that hadn’t done it, his distraught conversation with Clem—love that guy!—would’ve been another excellent clue.  But, perhaps, I was just so blinded by watching Spike attempt to do something I had never expected from him that I couldn’t even begin to contemplate what his next move could be.  Just how much lower could he go, I remember thinking. 

            Regardless, the trials proved, to me, definitively, for the first time in seven years, that Spike was a better man than Angel.  Angel had been cursed with his soul; Spike had sought his out, suffered for it.  Spike may never be perfect, and his relationship with Buffy may be much darker than the audience—who yearned for a return of “Buffy + Angel 4 ever” caliber fluff—cared for, but no one could deny that Spike fought for what he wanted.  He never sold himself short; if he thought he deserved the best, he would fight until the end of the world to get it and preserve it—whether it be the hand of a Slayer or a Champion chalice filled with Mountain Dew. 

From Gary King to Nicholas Angel:  Is Spike a good role model?  Spike is a classic anti-hero.  The morality of his actions is, at best, ambiguous.  He doesn’t care whether something is inherently right or wrong; instead, he wants to know what he can get out of it.  His definition of a good cause at the start of the show was anything he benefited from.  As the series goes on, his definition broadens to a select few he feels highly loyal to, a group he would die to protect.  For a vampire, he feels stronger than most humans I’ve met, particularly in the matter of love.  When Buffy realizes he’s gotten his soul back in the seventh season, they share a scene in a church in which Spike lays himself upon a cross, while giving a beautifully apologetic speech about his near rape of her in the season prior.  Still can’t completely accept it, though, sorry.  This, of course, begins to burn his pale vampire flesh.  He doesn’t stir as he just repeatedly asks her if they can rest now, his voice cracking with emotion as he does so.  I told you he was a wordsmith.  He may get off to a rough start, but by the end of the series, where he sacrifices himself to save Buffy and the entire world, I like to think he’s come through.  Upon repeated viewings of the series, I’ve often found myself taking this thought process a step further and thinking society could use a few more Spike’s in the world—a character to show guys that it isn’t wrong to feel, to want, but, above all else, to love.  Oh, and to prove you’re better than Angel, can’t forget that. 

Role Model Rating:  7/10

From Peter Parker to Spider-Man:  Is Spike relatable?  Spike is very human, for a vampire.  He has rivalries,—cough, Angel, cough—he struggles with guilt from past mistakes, albeit always with a snarky remark ready for deployment, and he loves deeper and more passionately than even most humans are capable.  At his very core, Spike strives to improve himself every day.  At first, loving Buffy served as his only motivation.  However, months after she’s passed away, he still soldiers on, taking care of Dawn and helping the Scoobies, actively working to make himself a better person in her honor and in her memory.  I like to think he didn’t turn out too bad.  And I think Buffy would agree.  Although, perhaps not Giles. 

Relatability Rating:  7/10