**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~
Buffy Summers—The Hardest Thing in This World is to be a
Slayer Live in it
When
Joss Whedon set out to create Buffy Summers, his goal was to conceive a
character that could serve as an excellent role model, particularly in terms of
defying the clichéd “little blonde girl,” who gets killed immediately in every
horror film. Conversely, he
created a powerhouse blonde (a fact I am personally grateful for, as we are almost
always portrayed as hot and/or stupid.) who was beautiful, but a social
outcast, vulnerable, and yet could lead a troop into a horde of Uber-Vamps and
come out the victor. Whedon, with
his very first official Whedon Woman, succeeded beyond belief.
Buffy
Summers started out as a Valley Girl.
To see the details of this, view the movie Buffy the Vampire Slayer, although be prepared for a thoroughly
different character; she’s almost unrecognizable in comparison to the Buffy we
meet in Welcome to the Hellmouth. Sure, Buffy isn’t at the height of
sophistication or maturity throughout the bulk of season one. As a meager sophomore in high school,
it would be unfair for the audience to expect as much from her. However, the Summers present in the
film takes the character’s early faults to new heights, rendering her nearly
unidentifiable.
Buffy’s
faults are still evident in the television series, although they are slightly
underplayed. Whedon rounds out her
character, maturing her a bit as she slowly comes to grips with her destiny.
This
is not an overnight process. I
would argue it takes the entire duration of the series for Buffy to be done
baking, like Cookie Dough responsibly accept her destiny and what it means
in terms of her life. She gets her
start here in season one, as she chooses social outcasts Willow and Xander as
her friends as opposed to Cordelia, who would’ve been Movie-Buffy’s very easy
first choice. By the end of the
season, she voluntarily takes on the Master, despite knowing that it will lead
to her death. This decision holds
such importance, as it is the first sacrifice of many Buffy will make for the sake of someone she cares for or, of
course, for the safety of the entire world.
Whedon
runs everything on a metaphor. As
with the bulk of the material covered on BtVS,
Buffy’s decision at the close of season one is meant to resonate with the
audience on two levels—on a surface, it is a sixteen-year-old girl courageously
giving up her life to protect the world.
On a more applicable level, it is a sixteen-year-old girl actively
making the choice to sacrifice her own happiness for the happiness of
others. Valley Girl Buffy never
would’ve cared enough to make this choice. Yet, here we are, a mere few months later. She’s made this selfless decision based
entirely on the fact that she knows it’s what her duty calls on her to do.
This
doesn’t mean she submits easily.
If, once Giles had finally informed her of her inevitable fate, Buffy
simply would’ve shrugged her shoulders and resigned herself to her death with a
begrudging smile upon her face, the character would’ve been too noble, too
perfect, for the audience to relate to.
As an alternative, Whedon gives us one of the greatest speeches in the
entire series in Prophecy Girl. Buffy yells and cries out that she
quits, she’s fired; she demands they
defeat the Master. Giles attempts
to remind her that, should the Master rise, the entire world will come to an
end, including her life. Buffy
interrupts, her voice cracking and tears coursing down her cheeks, as she
declares she doesn’t care, “Giles, I’m sixteen years old. I don’t wanna die.”
My
heart broke for her in that moment.
The first season is far from the show’s best. The plot is rough as Whedon gets the feel for how he wants
to run the show. The writing,
however, is, as always, witty and sharp.
The characters are refined and deep, even within the mere first twelve
episodes. Whedon, in this speech,
manages to give us an accurate representation of a sixteen-year-old girl, who
wants nothing more than a simpler life.
As
the series progresses, Buffy only grows to be more relatable and a better role
model. In season two, she is
forced to deal with the fact that her boyfriend—once kind-hearted and caring—is
now a completely different person.
Worse yet, the change was prompted by Buffy’s choice to sleep with him for
the first time. The loss of
Buffy’s virginity, and the corresponding change in Angel’s character, is, once
again, meant to be pertinent on two levels. The first level is difficult for us to relate to, as very
few people in reality date vampires who lose their soul—the very essence of
what makes them good—once they sleep
with you. On another level,
however, it is very realistic for the politics of a relationship to shift with
the introduction of sex. I feel
assured that Buffy is not the first teenage girl to sleep with her significant
other, only to have him become malicious, or even potentially dangerous,
shortly after the fact.
Season
two is, in my opinion, one of the best seasons of television ever
produced. Good guys become bad,
bad guys become good—both of which the heroine is, both directly and
indirectly, responsible for. Buffy
is now forced to face her accountability for the many deaths Angelus causes
over the second half of the season, which involves the very personal death of
Jenny Calendar. By the end of the
season, Buffy has matured to the point where her Valley Girl persona isn’t even
a dim memory. She’s forced to
reveal her identity to her mother, whose natural reaction is to worry her daughter
is insane—a problem Buffy has very little time to ponder, as she’s late for a
date with Angelus and Acathla.
In
an act that may outweigh her sacrifice at the end of season one, Buffy fights
Angelus, fully intending to kill him to stop Acathla’s portal from dragging the
entire world into Hell. As if this
sacrifice wasn’t a high enough demand, Willow, at the very last possible
moment, manages to retrieve Angel’s soul.
For a few small moments, Angel has returned, dazed and confused,
oblivious to the reign of terror he has exacted upon the Scoobies for the last
several months. Buffy, unsure what
to do, returns his embrace as more tears escape her. She sees the portal and knows that it is just too late—she
has no other choice but to follow her original plan and kill him.
She
whispers for him to close his eyes, kisses him one last time, and shoves the sword
into him, sending Angel to Hell.
The sadness on her face as she realizes she’s lost everything breaks my
heart every time.
I
do not mean that she’s lost everything in the way Bella Swan lost everything in
New Moon when Edward Cullen left
her. Bella had alienated every
other force in her life; therefore, when the only thing person she
relied on chose to leave her, she literally had nothing left to live for (or,
at least, she didn’t think so. I personally think that notion is
utterly ridiculous, but whatever).
Buffy,
on the other hand, with this sacrifice, truly witnesses the destructive power
that comes with being a Slayer. At
the end of season two, she can’t help but feel that the strength required to be
a Slayer only comes accompanied by destruction. Therefore, to prevent any further damage done on her part, she
sought to remove herself from her life in Sunnydale before she could ruin the
lives of anyone else. This
decision, while understandable, starts season three on a rough note.
Season
three is a difficult year for Buffy.
She has a lot of important decisions to make, upon her return to
Sunnydale. A resurrected Angel is
back in town and is, as always, complicating things. Faith—a new Slayer as a result of Buffy’s first death…it’s complicated. and
Buffy’s foil—arrives in Sunnydale and immediately begins to stir up trouble,
eventually progressing to the point of murder and betrayal.
However,
despite the collection of complications evident in season three, it has some of
the show’s most interesting aspects, in the process raising some previously
unaddressed issues. Among them,
there is a complication in which Angel is poisoned, with a serum that can only
be cured by the blood of a Slayer, forcing Buffy to seek out Faith in an
attempt to kill her, badass leather pants and all. Buffy, of course, fails, as it simply
isn’t in her nature to kill humans, nor is it ever allowed, really. Angel and Spike can kill humans; it’s
an unwritten rule that Buffy cannot.
As
a result, Buffy is forced to allow Angel to feed on her to save him. He puts up a fight, of course, but
eventually submits to Buffy’s insistence.
This situation is very complex to me—to the point where I’m still not
quite sure how I feel about it. My
initial reaction is along the same lines as Xander’s—a disgust at Angel for
even allowing the situation to come to pass. On the other hand, Buffy’s desperation to save the man she
still loves, despite the fact that she isn’t supposed to, humanizes her, makes
her imperfect, still in the process of maturing.
I’ve
read articles that associate Buffy with a concept called The Exceptional
Woman—a character that is infinitely better than anyone else at a specific
task. Veronica Mars can solve
crimes better than even her father.
Hermione Granger can cast spells better than her male counterparts (although,
let’s be honest. Hopes were never
necessarily high for Ron or Harry).
River Song can kill the Silence while everyone else simply stands by
scratching their heads.
Buffy
kills vampires and demons better than almost anyone. She’s stronger than Riley (even with whatever the
professor had him on). She’s
more collected than Faith ever had any hope to be. She even manages to beat both Spike and Angel, although that
may not always be the case.
I
will agree that Buffy, on some level, is an exceptional woman. She was created for that very
purpose—to offset the stereotypical blonde female who fails at everything,
particularly in the matter of surviving.
She, therefore, had to possess a certain level of strength at her disposal,
an ability to beat even the most difficult adversaries. And, to her credit, the bulk of the
time, she succeeds. Summers
manages to defeat Glory—the hell-goddess, despite Council insistence that it
will be impossible. The Slayer
defeats the Mayor—in all his wormy goodness; she even manages to grab
her diploma on the way out. The
Master, supposedly one of the most powerful vampires to ever exist, is put to
rest by Buffy at the meager age of sixteen. Finally, an army of Uber-Vamps and the First Evil present
little worry for the Slayer—that is, after she deciphers how to kill the first
one.
Buffy’s
saving grace from the declaration of the Exceptional Woman is the most
important facet of her life—her friends and family. It is true, she achieved all of the items listed above, but
none of it was completed on her own.
The Mayor, not to mention his army of vampire thugs, is defeated only
thanks to the finally proactive Sunnydale class of 1999. Without her classmates and friends, who
serve as her commanding officers, the Mayor would’ve undeniably succeeded. She defeated the Master, but not
without being resurrected by Xander first. Not to mention, Giles, Cordelia, Willow and Jenny, who all
took the brunt of it, as they fought off the beast of the Hellmouth from ground
zero. As for the Uber-Vamps,
without Willow’s ability to share Buffy’s powers with the Potentials, the white
hats never would’ve survived the fight, let alone managed to avert the apocalypse. And there is, of course, the matter of
Spike’s sacrifice. Without his
ability to bear the amulet, the world would’ve indisputably come to an end. Summers
defeats Glory, but only after Anya manages to retrieve Olaf the Troll God’s
hammer. Even then, the price is a
high one, as another sacrifice is required on her part to save Dawn and the
world. She really did save the
world, a lot.
The
Exceptional Woman would’ve never allowed Angel to bite her, knowing full well
it could result in her death; the Exceptional Woman be far too smart for that. The Exceptional Woman would’ve never
allowed herself to become involved in the intensely sexual and violent
relationship Buffy shares with Spike in the sixth season. Not to mention, The Exceptional Woman
would’ve dealt with her pains at leaving Heaven in a much more brisk state,
carrying quickly on to do what is right in the name of all that is good.
Buffy,
unlike the Exceptional Woman, makes mistakes, and very frequently pays dearly
for them. Summers fails to notice
her best friend has fallen far from the tracks, until it is almost too late to
do anything about it except sit back and watch her bring the world to an
end. Similarly, she fails to
recognize how undervalued Riley feels in their relationship until he has
boarded a helicopter for some forest or another (although, I’m
certainly not complaining. Good
riddance.). Finally, while she
does manage to kill Glory, she fails to do so before deadweight Dawn’s
blood has opened the portal to the goddess’s hell dimension, forcing her to
make the ultimate sacrifice. Buffy
admitted to Giles that killing Angel for the sake of the world in season two
was the hardest decision she had ever made. Therefore, Summers went into The Gift, refusing to allow Dawn to die in order to save the world. And, she doesn’t, as she tearfully bids
her goodbyes to Dawn, making only the request that she go on living…for her.
From Bella to Katniss:
Is Buffy a good role model?
Whedon set out to create a cultural icon in Buffy Summers; he wanted
everyone to know and remember her name, hence the streaming of the words Buffy and Vampire Slayer into the same title. In Buffy, he gave us a character capable of an immaculate
physical strength, obviously—there are very few enemies she can’t defeat
without breaking a sweat, particularly after she ramps up her training in
season five. However, on a less
pronounced level, there is an intense emotional vulnerability and strength
about Buffy that arguably outweighs her physical merits. Buffy’s life is never easy—she makes
many difficult, sometimes impossible, choices, often with no regard to her own
happiness. She sacrifices so much
and receives so little in return.
She suffers many losses—Angel, her mother, Spike—but still manages to
take care of her dreadfully dull and foolish fake sister when the day is
over. Whedon sought to give us a
woman every girl should aspire to become with Buffy Summers. She’s strong—fighting literally and
metaphorically for who is most important to her in life until her very last
breath, willing to sacrifice whatever is required to insure their safety. While I would never condone this
causality with one’s life, to Buffy there are times when she has given so much
she is literally left with nothing else to give. Again, in the mode of Whedon’s metaphors, the message is transparent;
one must be willing to put themselves on the line in order to receive the same
loyalty in return—just, perhaps, not via climbing a rickety old tower built
by crazy people.
Role Model Rating:
10/10
From Lorelai to Wonder Woman: Is Buffy relatable?
The example set by Buffy is almost too perfect, until you factor in her
humble origins and her ability to complain when things fail to go her way—Doublemeat,
anyone? She started as a vapid
Valley Girl, who cared about little else than who would take her to Homecoming. By the end of the series, she’s a force
to be reckoned with. This sends a
particular message to the audience—no matter what you may be now, you can
become whatever you wish. Buffy
faces a lot of changes in the seven years we followed her. She grows from a Cordelia-esq
cheerleader to the leader of the strongest army to ever be seen on the
show. This transition gives the
audience hope that, no matter what background we may come from, where we end up
is in our hands. This isn’t to say
Buffy’s perfect. On the contrary,
Buffy knows how to pout with the best of them, particularly in season six where
nothing seems to go her way. This
isn’t to say that Buffy needs to always be happy; in fact, despite how
difficult it may be to watch at times, I’m glad the show explored a deep
depressive state, such as the one Buffy finds herself in during the duration of
the sixth season. Characters in a
less than healthy mental state are very rarely seen on television; therefore,
it is always interesting to see how writers will tackle the subject. I felt Buffy’s portrayal in the sixth
season was very accurately done, and allowed some audience members to relate to
Buffy in ways they may never have been able to previously—particularly in
her previously peppy macho-macho-man singing state.
Relatability Rating:
8/10
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