Captain Malcolm Reynolds—Choosing the Losing Side Doesn’t Make it the Wrong One

**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~

Captain Malcolm Reynolds—Choosing the Losing Side Doesn’t Make it the Wrong One

            On the surface, the audience should not like Captain Reynolds.  He’s surly, bitter and angry for the majority of time.  When he isn’t too busy calling Inara a whore, he’s insisting that Simon and River bring him nothing but trouble and must vacate his ship immediately. 

            However, this is merely part of the role Reynolds plays.  Despite his violent disagreement at Saffron’s insistence that we all merely play our parts, on some level, he knows she’s right.  For further confirmation of this, the audience need only look to the crew he has surrounded himself in.  Each member aboard Serenity represents some facet of his personality long driven away by trials and tribulations.  Kaylee, with her naïveté and sweet innocence, Wash with his avid love of life and resulting sense of humor, Book’s spirituality and Inara’s blunt preference for honesty, which allows her to speak her mind—well, on most things, anyway.  Together, they represent a man the audience never truly got to meet—the Malcolm Reynolds in the days before the war.  As a result, he is highly loyal to all those who surround him; he protects his crew because he doesn’t want to see them damaged as he is.

            Mal informs Saffron that, despite the fact that she believes she has the edge due to her clever cunning, she’s wrong. He has his friends and crewmates—people he honestly believes he can count on until his very last breath.  He never once doubts that they will come through for him in the end; that, to him, is far more valuable than any form of intellect Saffron may have in her possession. 

            At first, River and Simon were not necessarily included in this grouping.  However, by “Safe,” Reynolds reveals the great lengths he is willing to go through for their safety—although, I could argue this is at least partially due to his dedication to his own moral code, but more on that later.  The audience sees this again in “Ariel,” as Mal nearly kills Jayne for turning the pair over to the feds.  This conflict is crucial in terms of his character development—where he previously and sometimes presently couldn’t tolerate the risk the two presented to his ship and his crew, he is now willing to murder a ranking crew member for their sake. 

            Then there is, of course, his intense loyalty to Inara.  While he is obviously allegiant to all members of his crew, his relationship with Inara has always involved a different form of devotion.  When she requests he come to the rescue of her friends—all of which are common whores, not even worthy of the elevated status of Companion—he heeds her request with very few questions asked.  Although, he screws it up royally as he manages to sleep with the head whore, Nandi.  This action, a cliché guy move, placed me as definitively disappointed in the character for quite some time.  In the film, he comes to aid, despite knowing that it is undeniably a trap.  Even after a conflict breaks out, they both work together to insure they return to Serenity in one piece.

            River, Simon and Inara are not the only people or material objects Mal blesses with his strong sense of allegiance. When he is faced with the choice between himself and his crew, Reynolds will undeniably sacrifice his own livelihood to insure their survival.  While the audience had suspected the character was capable of this selflessness, we see it first hand in “Out of Gas,” where the captain evacuates his crew and elects to stay behind and attempt to fix Serenity himself.

            This is not a one-way street; the crew is equally resolute in their dedication to their captain, as he is to them.  Before the end of “Out of Gas,” both shuttles have returned to aid Mal; as a result, they manage to save him at the very last moment.

            Even a petty Alliance Commander, who has known Mal for approximately fifteen minutes in “Bushwacked,” can very easily spot the faith his crew has in him.  He comments that the captain is not only capable of extreme loyalty, but that he also has a habit of inspiring that quality in others.  While the faith he puts in his friends and the fealty he receives in return is incredibly valuable, his ability to imbue that characteristic where it may not have previously resided is certainly most impressive.

            The conversation with the commander reveals a deeper and even more important aspect of Mal’s demeanor.  As he snidely responds to the posed questions, the audience learns very quickly that this is a stubborn character with very little respect for authority—a particularly ironic current characteristic, considering his position of power aboard Serenity.  Instead of idly keeping his temper in check, he still feels compelled, even years after the war has ended, to return the favor when members of the Alliance push.  In the interrogation, the commander implies that he isn’t a fan of Serenity’s name—the ship is, after all, named after the definitive final battle of the Unification War, where the Browncoats suffered their final crushing defeat.  The Alliance member embraces the opportunity to reassure Reynolds it is ridiculous to name a ship after a battle of a war he was on the wrong side of.  In response, with a thinly veiled tone of contempt, the captain snipes right back, as he claims losing doesn’t necessarily equate to wrong. 

            This is, obviously, a very risky move.  He is in their territory; it would be very simple for the commander to seize his ship and his crew.  However, whether fortunately or unfortunately, Mal has his own pressing moral code that demands to be followed.  As a result, he refuses to be bullied by the authority of the Alliance.  This leads to a proclivity towards underdogs—his choice in crew supports this, as almost every single member aboard the ship is at odds with some banner philosophy of the Alliance—and controversial causes. 

            He helps the whores in “Heart of Gold,” not only because Inara asked him to, but because they face an oppressive force.  His motivation behind constantly assisting River and Simon’s escape from the Alliance is partially driven by a general blanket of loyalty to any person who sets foot on his ship; however, the truly deeper desire is a blind refusal to submit anything or anyone to the Alliance.  He is, at his very core, still at war with the oppressive figures and, therefore, cannot justify giving them any pardon or assistance. 

            Perhaps the most interesting part of his own moral code is his opinion towards women and how they deserve to be treated.  On one hand, he is ever eager to insult Inara’s profession, calling her a whore at every opportunity that presents itself.  However, the moment someone becomes too possessive or disrespectful, he is the first to throw down the gauntlet.  In “Shindig,” Mal spends the bulk of the episode nitpicking Inara’s date—a client named Atherton who presents a pleasant surface appearance, even going so far as to offer to employ Inara as his regular companion, only to pan out to be a misogynist who seeks to possess her, whether she agrees or not.  As a result, Mal challenges Ath to a duel, one he perseveres to win for the sake of his somewhat antiquated penchant for protection. 

            This is also revealed in “Our Mrs. Reynolds,” where Mal delivers a poetic speech to his supposed wife—or, at least, poetic by his standards.  When Joan Saffron implies that men are permitted to kill unpleasing wives on her home planet, Reynolds is quick to be disgusted, as he barks at her that she should never stand for that:  “someone ever tries to kill you, you try to kill ‘em right back.”

            Perhaps typical captains of spaceships would’ve advised a woman to seek out the assistance of someone stronger—a man, perhaps?  It’s certainly what Caleb would’ve encouraged what he saw as worthless women to do.  However, Mal, conceived as a positive character in the wonder that is Joss Whedon’s mind, knows that women are more than capable of handing themselves.  He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s quite right, as Saffron serves to be one of the very few women who can outsmart this clever captain.  Once again, when the truth is revealed, and Saffron manages to overcome Reynolds, not once, but twice, he may be surprised—due to his own propensity towards prosperity—but he is never disgusted, merely vastly impressed.

From Gary King to Nicholas Angel:  Is Captain Mal a good role model?  Reynolds served for his own noble cause in the Unification War, where he fought for the underdogs—the Independents.  While their war effort may have lost, it is admirable to see a character willing to take a stand for a cause that is truly worth the dedication Mal offers.  Even after they’ve lost the war, he continues to hold his ground, as he continually defies the Alliance.  His allegiance is admirable.  There is also a deep respect for woman about the character that is exemplary.  Mal’s ability to see females as powerful and authoritative characters is something almost every man I’ve met could use a bit more of.  This respect, although valuable, has a tendency to cross into over-protection, which can aggravate women who don’t feel the need to have a bodyguard constantly looming over them. His character has some rough edges, brought on by the terrible trials and tribulations he suffered through in his service for the Unification War.  While he can be snarky and rude at times, generally the character is decently balanced, particularly considering the struggle he’s suffered.  In fact, this ruggedness has equipped him with a rough sense of humor that allows him to simultaneously worry over potential Alliance threats and laugh off the inherent danger present to their every day lives.  Much like Percy Jackson, Mal Reynolds manages to toe a line between realistically vulnerable yet casual acknowledgements that our fate isn’t always in our realm of control. 

Role Model Rating:  8/10

From Peter Parker to Spider-Man:  Is Captain Mal relatable?  Mal, despite being more intelligent than he actually gives himself credit for, is not above fault.  He misreads the Saffron situation, opening himself and his entire crew up for raid.  This instance, and several others similar to it, shows an inherent ability to not only acknowledge his own mistakes, but keep an ever present smile on his face while he does so.  Often this smile is nothing more than a facade, introducing another relatable factor to the character.  Despite his insistence that Saffron is wrong on the ‘we all play parts’ front, he, much like the bulk of the audience and fellow fictional characters alike—except Cordy.  I think we all can agree that’s one Whedon character that truly puts her entire self out there, exposed openly to the world—always puts on his brave face and utters a sarcastic comment to hide how things truly affect him.  In a world where appearance is everything, this is remarkably relatable, if not depressingly so.  Finally, while loyalty is truly important to the captain, his first priority is money.  This is very applicable to the audience, as we all seem to agree we could always use a few more funds.

Relatability Rating:  9/10

Summers versus Chase—Who is the Better Grown Up Cheerleader?

**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~

Summers versus Chase—Who is the Better Grown Up Cheerleader?

            In terms of the arc of their characters, both Cordelia and Buffy have a lot of commonalities.  They each come from humble beginnings—in character, not necessarily in monetary or influential terms, as both girls came from moderate to vastly successful families and were at the height of popularity in their perspective schools—as a character carved from an archetype of the popular cheerleader variety.  However, despite these disconcerting origins, both characters rose above their circumstances to become a vastly more powerful and relatable character than the audience could’ve ever anticipated from their introduction. 

            When we first meet the characters in the television show, Buffy has already made some progress in the issue of maturity, whereas Cordelia is approximately in the same place as Buffy was during the film set earlier in the same school year.  As a result, Cordelia serves as a constant reminder of the life Buffy left behind in order to fulfill her destiny as a Slayer.  Chase, in her ignorance of all things supernatural, is able to be popular, run for prom queen, date and, in general, have a normal social life. 

            Buffy, at the start of the series, has been forced to sacrifice quite a bit already.  In the flashbacks provided by Becoming, as well as first hand experiences seen in the film Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the audience glimpses that Summers was almost as tactless as Cordy at one time.  She was once cruel, as she speculates manipulating others into asking her to the dance and releases verbal lashings to her supposed best friends.  In Los Angelus, she could say whatever she wanted and people would bow at her feet, just begging to know her, be close to her.  At the time, this made her feel as if she were on top of the world. 

            Cordelia, who expresses in Out of Mind, Out of Sight that she would rather have fake friends than none at all, understands this feeling of superiority.  The conversation is difficult for Buffy to navigate, as she can appreciate that her life has improved since her days of popularity have to come a close; yet, she still yearns for that sense of normality that Cordelia so illusively represents to her.  In short, Buffy envies Cordy, something I doubt she’d ever fully admit. 

            When Cordelia learns that Buffy was once possibly even more popular than her, any chance of a potential friendship between the two is eliminated.  Instead, Cordelia, in her authority as the Queen Bee—or, C, as she would undoubtedly prefer—of Sunnydale High School, declares Buffy a social outcast, as Summers turns towards the true friendship offered by the likes of Willow and Xander as an alternative to the merely motivationally driven companionship that Cordelia extends.  High school Cordy, in all her power and authority, represents, as the authors of Praising Cordelia state, “the archetypal feminine type,” a woman who embodies the “stereotypes of femininity”—endowing her with an ability to simultaneously dominate all the females of the school and command the attention of every male.  In short, Buffy has a supernatural power that makes her nearly unbeatable on a battlefield.  Cordelia, on the other hand, has an applicable sway and charisma (get it?) that allows her to reign supreme in the structure of the public school society. 

            From this downgrade of Summers’s social status, the two will forever serve as mutual foils and rivals.  They compete over titles of popularity, friendships and, of course Angel.  In their time spent at Sunnydale High, Buffy is clearly the better role model.  Cordelia’s blunt honesty does have several merits, but, beyond that, her character lacks a level of vulnerability that would be required to redeem the negatives of this trait, making her appear to be little other than cruel.  The audience does get a peak of a true potential for emotional exposure from within Cordy at her discovery of Xander’s betrayal in Lover’s Walk.  Unfortunately, she quickly closes all emotions down and regresses towards her vindictive and popularity driven ways. 

            Cordy, in a somewhat Fronting Feisty Female fashion, enjoys berating others while being utterly incapable of standing on her own without need of a savior.  Buffy, on the other hand, requires very little rescuing in the first three years of the show.  She is often the one doing the saving, with the damsel in question frequently being Cordelia herself.  With this earned selflessness, Summers has learned to filter what she says since her days in L.A.  However, this does not mean she’s completely changed personalities; she does managed to remain true to herself in this time.  With the change in her priorities, Buffy simply accepted that a change in her personality came with the job.  The change is brought about in a more begrudging manner from Chase, who suffers endlessly between a desire to be popular and what her true instincts tell her she should do. 

            Ironically, while it took moving away from L.A. to round-out Buffy’s character, Chase’s relocation to the City of Angels achieves similar ends.  While Cordelia will always have desires driven by popularity and superficial values, she does start to take some impressively large steps in the right direction here.  She hasn’t changed some much as to avoid telling the occasional superficial lie to draw in the attention of a significant other, particularly in one who is of both rich and attractive.  However, she finds that she now has further standards than money and physical appearance; should that person begin to question her or ask her to compromise her part of the Angel, Investigations mission, she will quickly remove them from her life.  Repeatedly, over the course of season one of Angel, we see attractive men come and go, as they begin to bore her in comparison to the sense of purpose she now feels the need to fulfill.

            Alternatively, Buffy, seen in season four as a freshman in college, struggles to continue to hold true to the strength she had displayed in her relationship with Angel.  Her submissiveness at the lack of sustainability in her relationship with Parker is borderline disturbing, as all of her friends attempt to repeatedly convince her that Abrams is nothing worthy of her time or energy.  While it may be more realistic to show a character who isn’t always at the top of her game in terms of relationships with significant others, it does her no favors to show her as desperate as she is here. 

            Likewise, Summers consistently second guesses herself in regards to her relationship with Riley Finn.  I do respect the struggle she adamantly conveys to him before the relationship begins—her bond with Angel was turbulent at best and it is, therefore, only realistic that she be rather gun shy to become invested once again.  However the dependability developed after they become settled into the situation isn’t necessarily healthy.  Finn’s strength—admirable, yet inferior to Buffy’s—also adds a complexity to the relationship, as Buffy admits to Willow several times that she holds herself back to prevent from hurting his feelings.  While this may be the compassionate thing to do, no female should ever feel the need to coddle the insecurities of another at her own expense. 

            I have no doubt that the very thought of holding herself back for the sake of sparing someone’s feelings would be enough to make Cordelia laugh.  While she may not have the strength of Buffy, she refuses to compromise on the characteristics she thinks of as her best assets.  Regularly, characters ask her to bite her tongue in an attempt to become more socially appropriate.  If anything, this only causes her to become more crass as she refuses to do what she’s told. 

            There is also the issue of the near rape towards the end of season six.  I discussed this briefly in my post centered on Spike—although, I will be the first to admit I skirted around the issue, as the actual action and the resulting consequences, or lack thereof, truly bother me.  While I understand what facts allow Buffy to forgive Spike of his misdeeds—namely, the acquisition of his soul—I strongly believe Cordelia’s reaction would’ve been significantly different and would’ve served to set a sturdier model. 

Fortunately, Buffy is endowed with supernatural strength and was able to prevent the assault before it was fully realized.  Cordelia, on the other hand, has been violated several times over the course of her adventures with Team Angel.  In Expecting, she wakes up the morning after a date nearly nine months pregnant with very little comprehension of the course of the previous evening.  In Epiphany, she is once again impregnated, this time by a three-eyed demon that is, at the very least, able to evidently do so without actually sleeping with her.  In the season two two-part ending, Cordy is told that she will be forced to sleep with Gru to rid herself of her visions.  While Chase was initially attracted to Gru, she refuses to sleep with him if it means she will lose her visions in the process.  This repeated sense of sexual violation, albeit in varying levels of seriousness, would most likely have forced a very different reaction from Cordelia, had her place been switched with Buffy’s.  Summers vaguely struggles to redevelop her trust towards the vampire.  While Cordelia manages to forgive a lot of actions Angelus subjects her to, I believe a rape—successful or not—would’ve distinctly placed them in an unforgivable territory. 

While she will never be endowed with the supernatural strength that allows Buffy to defend herself so readily, Cordelia, over the next two years of her life, will become more immersed in the elements of the supernatural, via visions that are incredibly painful gifts from the Powers That Be.  At first, she views these premonitions as a curse, as they induce painful migraines that have the potential to be very dangerous.  However, as time carries on, and she experiences more strangers in the height of their pain, she is fundamentally changed.

            In season three, she is offered an opportunity to return her visions in trade for the life of the stardom she had originally sought.  As Skip informs her that retaining the visions will mean her death, she takes the deal, albeit tentatively.  In the events to follow, Chase, without any recollection of her previous life and mission in Los Angelus, manages to find her own way back to the path she chose several years prior.  She kisses Angel, and receives the visions all over again.  Her obstinate demeanor results in another offer from Skip—he can change her physicality to make her part-demon, thereby allowing her to retain her visions without their implicit fatality. 

            Chase’s agreement to change her very nature in order to preserve her part to play in the mission of Angel, Investigations rings along the same lines of Spike seeking out his soul.  Buffy and Angel each had changes forced upon them.  Summers’ character developed because she was called as the Slayer and, therefore, had to learn to grow up rather quickly, as the weight of the world was dumped on her shoulders overnight.  Angel was cursed with his soul and, therefore, much like Buffy, joined the good fight due to an external uncontrollable factor. 

            Spike and Cordelia, on the other hand, each sought out their own way to join the cause.  After the aforementioned attempt at rape, Spike went looking for a way to acquire his soul.  Chase could’ve very easily contentedly settled into a life of fame and fortune when presented with Skip’s opportunity.  Even after the first deployment failed, she could’ve insisted Skip give her one last attempt at finding normality amongst the rampant supernatural saturation that has occurred to her in the last year.  However, she simply can’t do that.  She’s seen a bigger purpose in this world—something that can make her life worth living and dying for.  As such, she goes so far as to voluntarily change her very being to preserve her chance to make a difference in this world. 

To draw attention to this, at the very same time that Cordy is sacrificing her humanity to serve a larger purpose, Buffy is complaining that her responsibilities as a Slayer make it very difficult for her to get a job somewhere other than the local burger joint.  As Cordelia progressively climbs up the selfless ladder in season three of Angel, Buffy struggles to keep her head above water in season six of BtVS.  She engages in a relationship that’s unhealthy and unsatisfying to both her and Spike.  She hides her true afterlife experiences from her friends, despite knowing that they could help her deal with the aftermath of being ripped from Heaven.  In general, she develops a pattern of making poor decisions, as she selfishly puts her own needs ahead of the helplessness of those who surround her. 

            In a sense, I cannot blame her for this.  Buffy has selflessly served as the world’s protector and savior for the last five years.  Her reward has been to lose everything she’s ever cared for.  While her mistakes here are understandable, I still can’t help but be bothered by the uncharacteristic nature of the character in this season. 

            Thankfully, Buffy resumes her usual disposition in season seven.  Roles reverse here once more, as Summers becomes the leader of the greatest army BtVS has ever seen and Chase, possessed and atypical in behavior, becomes Angel’s Big Bag for the fourth season.  The Cordelia here, however, is not, in any shape or form, the actual Cordelia.  Therefore, she cannot be held accountable for any of the horrible deeds she completes throughout the season.  Her resulting comatose state, however, reminds me once again that, while Buffy has her ups and her downs, she is, at her very core, able to take care of herself just a bit better than Cordy has ever been able to. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Are Buffy and Cordelia good role models?  I have rated both of these characters individually in the past.  However, for their evaluations here, I will be comparing them to their foil alone, as opposed to their previous ratings, which resulted from a comparison in regards to the general population of other strong female characters.  Buffy’s sense of sacrifice is rarely surpassed, as she repeatedly places her own happiness on the line in order to save the lives of others she cares about.  However, this isn’t to say she can’t be selfish.  She spends almost the entire sixth season perpetually whining about money and dead-end jobs.  While I understand her displeasure at the degrading social standing brought on by her supernatural capabilities, to be fair her friends all offered a variety of alternatives that would be more suitable to her Slaying schedule; it was her own depression that forced her to believe she deserved nothing better.  This depression, though uncharacteristic for perky Buffy, does provide a certain model, as depression is rarely shown in media.  In addition to this struggle, she manages to bring herself back around to become an even better role model than ever in the show’s seventh season.  Once the others take it upon themselves to remove her as leader, she and Spike alone remain free off treason in my eyes.  The fact that she is able to rise above their betrayal and return to command their army shows an incredible ability to forgive that is admirable.  On the other hand, her ability to forgive sins enacted by significant others—in varying levels of severity—is a less than exceptional example to be set that results in a hindering of her rating in comparison to the brunette to follow. 

Role Model Rating:  8/10

Cordelia has a sense of sacrifice, but it is not nearly as honed as Buffy’s.  As the Slayer, a certain level of surrendering for the safety of the world is to be expected.  Alternatively, Cordy, as a civilian playing a game she isn’t fully equipped for, doesn’t have the demands placed upon her as Buffy does and, therefore, is presented with fewer opportunities to follow in those footsteps.  However, when such a chance arises, she consistently chooses her dedication towards her newfound higher purpose above all else—particular examples of this can be seen in her willingness to become part-demon to continue her visions and her eventual acceptance of forfeiting her human life altogether to become a higher being.  Her compassion doesn’t lessen her edge, however, as she continues to contain a certain sense of tactlessness and rudeness.  While some may think Buffy’s more conventionally socially acceptable compassion is the better example to set, I, personally, believe we all could use to follow Cordy’s brutally honest model a bit more often.  Buffy, herself, could certainly use a dose of this medicine in regards to significant others, an area in which the brunette out exemplifies the blonde in nearly every regard. 

Role Model Rating:  9/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Are Buffy and Cordelia relatable?  While Buffy is in need of far less saving than Cordelia typically is, this is due to the blessing of her Slayer abilities—had roles been reversed, and Cordelia called as the next Slayer, perhaps it would be the brunette constantly saving the blonde.  This uncontrollable endowment of strengths makes Buffy slightly more difficult to relate to.  While she may have risen from common origins to become a strong female, she wouldn’t have been able to do so without her role as a Slayer forcing her to see the bigger purpose in life.  However, with this realization comes a perpetual state of struggle, as she constantly lays everything on the line and receives very little in return.  This loss appeals to the audience, as no one has traveled through life sans suffering.  Where her previous pitfalls in the realm of relationships hindered her ability to serve as an excellent role model, her mistakes also help the audience to relate to her far easier; I’ve seen many younger girls obsess over significant others in the way Buffy does over Angel or her brief interaction with Parker.  Buffy makes mistakes; she puts her faith in the wrong people and suffers the consequences frequently.  No one is perfect, and Buffy, in her exceptional strength and power as the Slayer, proves just that. 

Relatability Rating:  9/10

Where Buffy was blessed with supernatural powers to jump-start her conversion from vapid Valley Girl to a more compassionate and rounded-out character, Cordelia had no such igniting device.  While the visions she acquired in the first season of Angel would eventually cement the changes she had started to experience, she alone advocates for her own change in personality starting in the second season of BtVS.  As soon as she chooses Xander, and, by association, the Scoobies, over Harmony and the other mindless drones that make up the population of the popular students at Sunnydale High, she took her own first step towards improvement, with no supernatural assistance necessary.  This sends an even stronger message to the audience than Buffy’s previous off-screen renovations to her personality.  Two messages are received as Cordelia progresses.  First, as we watch her grow and develop, the audience is shown that we are in control of what we feel most passionate about.  When she first moves to L.A., she focuses on acting, as that is something that interests her.  Over time, however, she begins to see a deeper, more meaningful potential purpose; a purpose that starts to set in prior to her acquiring her visions, might I add.  Second, you are able to alter your personality without losing sight of all that it means to be you.  Cordelia manages to soften her personality without losing the distinct edge of honesty that just makes Cordelia Cordy.  For those of us who consider themselves on a perpetual track towards attempted self-improvement, this revelation about Cordelia serves to not only make her a decent role model, but works toward making her a more down-to-earth character than her brash and pushy demeanor can sometimes allow for.  It also aids the audience in finding some relatability in an overly beautiful and popular character.  Previous to the loss of her family’s money, life was almost too good for Cordelia for us to realistically understand any struggles she could go through.  With the loss of her confidence and a steady stream of funds comes a propensity to voice the true concerns of the every man; where Buffy is inherently too good to really ask others for money just for saving them, Cordy demands clients pay their bills in full, even if she has to personally put herself in danger to receive the funds.  Cordy, much like us, has bills to pay and a mouth to feed. 

Relatability Rating:  9/10 

Cordelia Chase—She Took What She Got and She Did Her Best With 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~

Cordelia Chase—She Took What She Got and She Did Her Best With It

            Cordelia has been dealt a lot of unpleasant hands in the course of her time on both Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.  When I rewatch the series and I see Cordy carelessly bop her way around The Bronze, I almost cringe as I recall precisely what fate lies ahead of her.  Sure, selfish and tactless Cordy has her issues, but knowing where the character ends her journey draws stark attention to the insignificance of her scathing remarks issued to the Scoobies. 

            Upon the first viewing of BtVS, however, the audience is of course unaware of the unpleasant nature that ends the character’s storyline.  In the first season of Buffy, Cordy has years before she needs to truly worry about any fundamental changes being forced upon her character.  Therefore, it isn’t surprising to see a stubborn adolescent with no filter and a bad temper brought on by the false sense of invincibility prompted by popularity. 

            Chase was created as Buffy’s foil, meant to mirror the humble origins of the protagonist as presented in the film adaptation completed several years before the television show was commissioned.  Therefore, Cordelia spends the entire first season in this manner, ever the superficial, shallow valley girl who values little more than her own popularity. 

            That all changes with the entrance of Marcie Ross in Out of Mind, Out of Sight.  Previous to this occurrence, Cordelia, like the majority of Sunnydale High’s attendees, was completely ignorant to the prominent presence of supernatural beings in their town.  However, Marcie, a fellow high school student who has been rendered invisible due to a lack of attention from her classmates and teachers—again with the heavy metaphor there, Joss—makes Cordy acutely aware of the evil forces that surround her. 

            Regardless of Chase’s newfound awareness, the Scoobies will spend the bulk of the season chasing her down to save her (get it?  Good one there, Joss).  In the process, she will find herself squarely located in the position of the concept I have developed entitled the Triple F—The Fronting Feisty Female; while Cordy is sassy enough to tear anyone to shreds mentally, she still spends the first year of the show waiting for the Scoobies—most often Buffy, a refreshing change, as the savior of the Triple F is typically the predominant male protagonist—to come and save her.

            After this, she feels a sense of loyalty to the Scoobies, undeniably due to the fact that they do tend to save her life quite frequently, as she continues to hold her crown as the reigning Queen C damsel in distress.  However, when forced to choose, she would continue to side with her popular friends, if they can even really be called that. 

            The second season introduces the concept of a relationship between Cordelia and Xander.  It is not necessarily the relationship—or subsequent breakup and reconciliation—that concerns me.  In the process of reaccepting Xander, she snubs Harmony, claiming the blonde is nothing more than a sheep that imitates the creativity and initiative of others just to say she did it first.  As she proclaims she’s better than her longtime friend because “I do what I wanna do and wear what I wanna wear,” Cordy doesn’t know it yet, but she’s just taken a rather large step towards progress.  By actively choosing Xander—and, by association, the Scoobies—over the superficial and fashionable choice of the popular kids, she’s sealed her own fate.  Had she chosen to stay on her path towards marrying well and living her life as a trophy wife, perhaps Cordy’s story wouldn’t have ended so tragically.  However, by association, she would’ve also missed the phenomenal development and growth the character experiences in the years to come. 

            The growth I refer to doesn’t truly start to happen until she leaves Sunnydale for Los Angelus.  Her family has lost their money due to tax evasion, forcing Cordy to realize she’s actually going to have to work to earn the money required to maintain the lifestyle she has grown accustomed to.  Of course, the loss of financial stability hasn’t changed Cordelia so much as to lessen her desire for recognition and popularity, as she settles on acting as her chosen career.  Again, this choice, so insignificant at the time, prevails to be one of the most important choices of Chase’s young life, as it serves to cross her path with Angel’s once more. 

            There’s a further touch of the Triple F here in City Of… as Angel is forced to save Cordy from a vampire.  However, she quickly recovers, as she volunteers herself to serve as his secretary in an attempt to help him help the helpless.  Originally, her intentions aren’t necessarily organic, as her lack of acting jobs leaves her without money to pay the rent for her cockroach-infested apartment.  However, as time carries on, she grows very attached to both Angel and Doyle, the half-human conduit for The Powers That Be who provides the developing detective agency with visions of those in need of assistance.

            In Hero, Doyle sacrifices himself to save others from an attempt at demon genocide.  Before he dies, he kisses Chase, in the process passing his visions to her as a way of a parting gift. 

            She spends the rest of the first season attempting to come to terms with the migraine-inducing passing present from Doyle.  At first, she views them as a heavy burden, one she has no desire to bear.  However, in the first season finale, To Shanshu in L.A., Cordelia is cursed to receive an onslaught of visions, receiving excruciating first-hand encounters of various people in pain around the world.  The experience almost kills her, but, more importantly, it undeniably changed her opinion on her situation for the rest of the series.  The visions, previously viewed as little more than an incredibly painful nuisance, now serve as Cordy’s hard-wire towards a greater purpose.  Once she has recovered, she vows to both Wesley and Angel to help as many people in pain as she possibly can. 

            This isn’t to say Cordy has lost her edge.  One of my favorite characteristics of the character is her blunt honesty and lack of filter.  While everyone else scrambles frantically to get away from Buffy’s ability to read their minds in the BtVS season three episode Earshot, Chase merely shrugs it off as she consistently voices the exact thought that runs through her mind.  The Cordelia we find in season two of Angel may be slightly more compassionate, but still lacks the certain level of tact required for her to be truly socially acceptable. 

            The term socially acceptable has never been necessarily applicable to Cordy in my mind.  She strives to stand out, to be popular, to be above the rest.  In high school, this meant having the best clothing and make-up.  As a result, some critics view Cordelia as the embodiment of the stereotypical feminine character—so beautiful she simultaneously earns the envy of every woman and the affection of every man.

For women to fit into this mold, which I refer to as the Belle Paradigm—based on the graceful and overly-generous Beauty and the Beast character who is just too much the perfect depiction of what society thinks a woman should be for her to hold much relatablility—she must be elegant and dignified, as well as impeccably compassionate and empathetic. 

            This, to me, does not describe Cordelia.  She is, of course, skilled in the application of make-up and the selection of clothing.  However, she has a distinct edge to her—a brutal honesty—which, while preventing her from holding the same level of class, and thereby, setting the same sort of example as seen in characters such as Belle, allows her to mold a model of her own.  Two critics—Susanne Kord and Elisabeth Krimer—agree with this concept, as they declare Cordy as the “antithesis of female self-sacrifice,” as she displays “the opposite of the kind of hypocrisy that is typically attributed to women.” 

            There isn’t much I don’t love about this quote and its high applicability to Cordelia.  There is a conception amongst society that, for a woman to be acceptable and tolerated, she must display a certain level of tact and restraint when deciphering which of her thoughts to voice.  Of course, in the process of doing so, society then often declares women as hypocrites or liars, refraining or refusing to share their true beliefs on a matter, producing an inescapable vicious circle.  Cordelia takes this concept and, quite frequently, spits in the face of it.  She cares very little whether what is about to come out of her mouth will hurt the feelings of anyone surrounding her.  When she thinks something needs to be said, it is said without an ounce of hesitation or inhibition.  

            This edge to her personality will help to keep her sane as her journey carries her progressively further away from her valley girl origins.  In Angel’s season three episode Birthday, the incredibly amusing, yet unfortunately equally evil demon named Skip informs Cordy the visions are killing her, as humans naturally lack the supernatural strength to bear them.  Skip offers to rewrite Cordelia’s past, back to the very party where she once again met Angel.  Had she taken a mere few steps to the right instead of the left, she would’ve met a contact that could’ve propelled her to super-stardom as an actress.  Skip admits that he has the ability to change her history so that events play out as, in his words, they were supposed to. 

            Chase takes the deal and is suddenly propelled into an alternate universe, in which she’s a popular television star with an equally popular and catchy theme song and sequence involving an adorable dog.  She has a falsified memory of her time spent in Los Angelus, and yet her core compassion continues to compel her to help the helpless, as she manages to find her way back to their current case.  In the process, she finds a distraught and wild Angel, who, in her absence, has been forced to take on the visions with less than stellar results. 

            In pain at seeing her friend from the past suffering, Cordelia kisses Angel, giving herself the visions once more and setting her path back to its original intended ending.  A final offer is issued, in which Cordelia can compromise her humanity to become a half-demon, in the name of retaining her visions and, thereby, her ability to help those in need.  Cordelia takes the deal, her drive to help those who need it most superseding her own superficial need to be human.  With his farewell, Skip issues her one last warning—the choice she has made will come with many consequences, both good and bad, that must be lived with; this decision, once made, cannot be reversed. 

            There are several key moments in Cordy’s arc as a character.  Each decision she makes affects her like a plus and minus data chart—the further she progresses, she adds more compassion and subtracts a bit more superficiality.  For example, the closer she grows to her friends at Angel Investigations, the less she pursues acting.  Unfortunately, with every decision that improves her understanding as a human being, she takes one step closer to being rid of any sense of humanity entirely. 

            Toward the end of season three of Angel, it is a well-acknowledged fact that Cordy’s character has improved incredibly.  Those who knew her in Sunnydale know just how much she has improved; but even the friends who have known her only in the time she has spent in Los Angelus can admit that Chase has come a long way towards improvement.  Angel and Lorne both admit as much in Waiting in the Wings, as they observe Chase in a high-class societal situation that would’ve driven cheerleader Cordelia mad at the ridiculousness of the event.  While she’s still always got a snarky remark—that is, when she isn’t too busy sleeping and, therefore, drooling all over Angel’s lovely tux—she’s really grown into an amazing woman—a superhero, as she proudly proclaims to Angel. 

            He doesn’t need to be told twice just how strong she is.  Throughout season three, he’s trained her, strengthening her ability to fight and, as a result, definitively cuts back on her damsel in distress moments.  After the rescue mission initiated in Over the Rainbow at the end of season two, Cordelia does a significantly better job of keeping herself from falling pray to the frailty that befalls the Triple F. 

            She would’ve continued to be successful, had Skip not completely fooled her.  We see him once again in the season three finale Tomorrow, as he appears to inform Cordelia she has sacrificed and served The Powers That Be so impeccably that she is now being made a higher being.

I was suspicious of the situation from the start.  Cordelia has come a long way since her stomping ground of Sunnydale High.  But a higher being?  I don’t think she’s quite that good.  As much as I love Cordelia’s character, I feel like the requirements to become some sort of god would be at least slightly higher than this action seems to set them at.  Her relatively quick approval of this promotion also threw me a bit, as it seemed strange for someone who has always been so inherently human, even after her supposed conversion to a partially demonic state.  My confusion at this out of character moment was reaffirmed, as research for this article indicated that several other critics seemed to believe along the same lines. 

            However, regardless of the questions the decision raises, Cordy makes her choice.  This is the final nail in her coffin, as it is later revealed that Skip has been manipulating her into this course of action all along.  She was never as worthy as he made her out to be, even in her Birthday decision to keep her visions. 

            The Cordelia we see in the fourth season of Angel is not actually Cordy.  She does some horrible things, as she experiences an entire inversion of her character.  This person, though she may look like Cordy, is far from the cheerleader turned heroine that I have come to know and adore.  This made the season very difficult to watch, particularly as the writers didn’t clue the audience in on an explanation until very late.  While I knew there was obviously something extremely wrong with Chase, I did not expect it to result in her coma and subsequent write off from the show. 

            They did an excellent job redeeming her, though, as she’s temporarily sort of reawakened from her coma in season five’s You’re Welcome.  The team she is reunited with is incredibly different than the friends she parted with in season four.  They’ve now gained control of Wolfram and Hart in an attempt to kill the beast from inside the belly—a horrible plan that is progressing just as dreadfully as could’ve been anticipated.  Needless to say, Cordy is dissatisfied with a reality that now entails Spike painted as a champion and Angel as CEO of Hell, Incorporated.

            While it is amazing to see Cordelia defy her old standard as the damsel in distress as she fights right with Angel to defeat their old enemy Lindsey; that is not the most crucial progress the episode takes towards redeeming the previously soiled state of her character.  In general, it is fantastic to see the return, one which is infused with the smirking and snarky Cordelia from prior to her possession in season four, as she terrorizes the office, bantering with Spike once more, sharing one final bonding experience with Wesley over research and Gunn over his acquisition of hair. 

But it is Cordy’s ability to reconnect Angel with their shared mission and purpose in life which truly reminds me of the character she had grown into, a character I had held in such high regard.  After all, I don’t remember her for her brave acts of sacrifice or her half-demon state; and I certainly don’t remember her for her servitude as the Big Bad of season four. 

I remember Cordelia for her ability to make the world’s most depressed and brooding vampire smile, her ability to sucker a two hundred and forty year old vampire into operating a computer to manipulate him into doing her portion of the research for her.  I remember her for her ability to humanize Angel in ways that even Buffy was incapable. 

The pair, who have so long been the heart of the reason I continued to watch the show, share one final scene together.  Angel tells her he can’t do this on his own, and that he is relieved she has returned.  I knew instantly at the slight drop in her expression that, while this may appear on the surface to be the happy ending they have always deserved, they, like so many Whedon couples before them, wouldn’t achieve the fate they’ve so aptly earned.  She tells him the PTB owed her one, and that she made sure to put it to good use, to force Angel back to his proper path.  At his look of doubt, she once again reassures him that he will win this in the end, even if she can’t be there to witness it.  She’s proud of her progress, too, as she, in typical Cordy fashion, pointedly exclaims, “ oh, and, you’re welcome!” 

Confused and riddled with questions, he’s interrupted from interrogating her by the ring of the phone, a call that will inform him she never did wake up in the end.  He issues one final statement of gratitude to an empty room, not just for her return, but for all of her support, assistance and nagging in the eight long years they have known each other; one last insufficient thank you for old times.

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Cordelia a good role model?  Cordelia is bold.  She says things she shouldn’t, takes risks to save her friends that there’s no logical way she should survive, makes decisions to protect the strangers she witnesses in her visions that she shouldn’t have to make, and moves to compromise her own humanity to preserve her link to a higher purpose in life—yet another sacrifice she shouldn’t have to suffer.  Cordelia may have originated as a horrible role model, but the character she becomes by the end of her time is a fine example of what young girls need to see; this statement is, of course, meant to exclude the Cordy-that-wasn’t-really-Cordy in season four, as no one could call that character a good model.  She doesn’t toe around the conventions expected of her as a girl—she’s self-assertive, going after what she wants, no matter what or who it may be. In general, she laughs in the face of expectations, insisting to pave her own path in the process.  No one could declare Cordy as a conventional role model, but that doesn’t prohibit her ability to grow into an excellently independent one.

Role Model Rating:  9/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Cordelia relatable?  Cordelia, much like several of the characters I have evaluated on this blog, manages to have a tough exterior—filled to the brim with snark and sass—while maintaining a hidden undercurrent of vulnerability which allows the character to off-set her less positive qualities to become a more well-rounded and relatable character.  If Cordelia had simply carried on as the arrogant and superficial character evident in the first season of BtVS, she would’ve been solely one-dimensional and failed to be both relatable and serve as a role model.  However, the development of the character, particularly as seen on Angel—once again excluding the dreaded and softly spoken of fourth season—allows her to grow into an excellent example of both traits.  This transformation is also a trend amongst the women I have analyzed, implying that the audience finds a character who comes from less than stellar origins and rises above their predestined path in life inherently inspirational and relatable.  In her time on BtVS, she also voices the concerns of the everyman, as she worries about who will pay for the damages done to her car by the raid of vampires.  This trait continues in her time on Angel, as she constantly questions potential clients how much they can afford to pay for their services.  In short, she serves as a bit of an audience advocate, saying the scathing remarks we wish we could say to remark on the occasional ignorance of the characters who surround her.  This honesty, though allowing the audience to generally relate to her, may isolate those who hail from the Belle side of things, and who believe women should nurture and cherish an inherent sense of tact.  But, in the words Cordelia, “tact is just not saying true stuff.  I’ll pass.”

Relatability Rating:  7/10

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