Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Buffy Summers—The Hardest Thing in This World is to Live in it

**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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