Seven Seasons of Buffy: Science Fiction and Fantasy Authors Discuss Their Favorite Television Show (Smart Pop series) (13 page)

Giles’s neutrality as Watcher makes it clear that he is not a competing predator—he is there to provide instruction and support, to train and assist the Slayer in her fated work—in other words, he was cast in the role of a metaphysical scout, providing the information Buffy needs to do her work, but unwilling/unable to participate in the actual slaying. As Giles became increasingly active in Buffy’s work over the seasons, he became less and less a Watcher, his neutrality diminishing steadily, until he was effectively excommunicated for his participation in Buffy’s activities. The more Giles was moved to engage in active evil-hunting, the farther he got from Watching. It also provided the opportunity for him to leave Sunnydale and all that it contained, since he had never
aspired to being a predator himself yet he had reached the point of having to become one in spite of himself. It also allowed him to return to save the day with his knowledge, making it possible for Buffy to fulfill her work as Slayer while restoring Giles’s task of information provider.

Multiple predators is a tricky proposition in this universe, and Joss Whedon has been at pains to show that secondary Slayers are intrinsically flawed. Kendra was overly rigid in her predation, and her failure to adapt was her undoing. But the more perplexing case of flawed Slayer was the vampire-like Faith. It is necessary for any reputable predator to respect its prey, to understand the importance of their relationship and to honor it. Faith was not a successful predator in any sense of the word, for she lacked respect for her prey, and indeed, for humanity as well; she didn’t acknowledge the irrevocable tie between predator and prey, nor did she comprehend her role as protector. Faith was an exploiter of both people—particularly Buffy, who put the pressure of conscience on Faith and provided a living counterpoint to Faith’s fecklessness—and vampires, using her slaying as an expression of pride. Unable to function as a predator, Faith could only strive to disrupt Buffy’s well-balanced predation. She condemned Buffy for her concerns and her integrity, while seeking to use Buffy as a foil to enhance her own circumstances. From her seduction of Xander to her alliance with the mayor, her ambitions over-rode all other considerations; ultimately she suffered for it, which, in terms of folklore, was necessary because of her betrayal of Slayer ethics as well as her contempt for her predestined work.

Crucial to the acceptance of the tradition of predation is the constant contrast of the mordant wit that makes it possible for
Buffy
to discuss matters that would be either too grim or too far-fetched to hold the continuing attention of the audience. Much like the Mulder period of
The X-Files
,
Buffy
uses ironic humor to underscore the ongoing themes of the series without having to lecture or preach on the subjects. The wry humor takes the sting out of the predation, and also gives the series its deft touch; without the humor, the series would be heavy-handed and ponderous. Predation can be a gritty subject, unsympathetic to most audiences, and conceiving the predator as the good guy is a dramatically chancy device. The Slayer’s being a young, attractive, petite woman makes for an opportunity to create a heroine who is allowed a degree of ruthlessness that would be much less acceptable in a large, muscular young man. Being female, Buffy has a
fine chance for making pointed observations about her circumstances that in a male performing the same function might seem a sign of weakness, or at least a lack of heroism, or an inadequate comprehension of the scope of the task being undertaken.

As the series has evolved, the skills of the Scoobies have continued to adapt to the new circumstances that continue to crop up in Sunnydale. Willow’s pursuit of witchcraft was a natural extension of her general intellectual curiosity, and made it possible for her to continue to contribute to the ongoing predation. The newly-human Anya, with her charming mix of venality and naiveté, brings an insight that simplifies some of the more exotic predations the Scoobies have undertaken. Dawn’s elaborate transmogrification to human form removes her from simple kid-sister duties, and retains a very particular potential for handling the more apocalyptic prey. Xander provides the human anchor for all these outré conflicts; it is entirely appropriate that Xander stopped the cataclysmically inclined Willow from ending the world as an expression of grief—only he is sufficiently committed to the here-and-now to interrupt the most dreadful manifestation of predation. Remarkably, Spike, the most ambiguous of Buffy’s supporters, has changed the most dramatically as his bond with Buffy evolves in his continuing attempt to participate as fully as possible in this essential relationship; hence, he achieves more than redemption in the end through his altruistic apotheosis, going out in a literal blaze of glory.

With the creation of a cadre of slayers, and therefore enlarging the nature of slayer predation, the Buffy cosmology has shifted its emphasis but not its nature. The complex dance of non-carnivorous predator and carnivorous prey continued to the very end of Joss Whedon’s compelling vision.

I
WANTED TO KILL YOU TONIGHT
,” Angel says to Buffy in “Angel” (1-7), as he’s explaining not only his life story to her, but also the truth about his nature.

As Angel’s dialogue indicates in that same scene, the
Buffy
ethos equates a soul with humanity, with a conscience, with the ability to experience remorse and guilt. Prior to regaining his soul via the infamous gypsy curse, Angel was (as Giles describes him when first researching Angel’s past) “a vicious, violent killer.” Two seasons later, when Angel tries to twelve-step the rogue Slayer Faith while she’s chained to his wall in “Enemies” (3-17), he recalls the pre-soul clarity and exhilaration of killing without remorse, which he remembers as an addictive pleasure. And when Angel loses his soul in season two’s “Innocence” (2-14) and spends the rest of the year tormenting Buffy,
killing innocent people, and wreaking havoc in Sunnydale, we see for ourselves just how
evil
Angel is without a soul.

But what’s interesting about Angel is not how evil he is when he’s bad . . . but rather, how evil he is when he’s “good.”

“I wanted to kill you tonight,” says the
good
version of Angel in that season-one episode, the version of Angel whom Buffy invites into her home, trusts with her life, and grows to love. This is the kind of stark, unmitigated impulse that can (and often does) seize Angel. Many desires and instincts just like this one live inside his skin, and he struggles nightly with them.

When “good” Angel stops his sire, Darla, from killing Buffy’s mother in “Angel,” his heroic gesture starts crumbling under the onslaught of his blood hunger when Darla shoves Joyce’s warm, wounded body into his arms and urges him to drink; his face transforms into the familiar monster-mask of
Buffy
vampires, he licks his lips, and his body is as taut as that of a long-denied lover on the verge of consummation. In season three’s “Amends” (3-10), when a tormented, hallucinating Angel comes to Buffy’s bedroom to warn her that he has become a danger to her, he stalks her as they talk, his gaze fixed hungrily on her jugular vein. Angel may have stopped feeding on humans years ago, but it’s not as if he doesn’t still
want
to; and it’s not as if we can ever be sure he’ll never do it again.

Nor is Angel’s struggle with his vampire nature purely gustatory. In numerous instances, Angel’s inner demon gains ascendancy in moments of high emotion. When his first-ever embrace with Buffy gets passionate in “Angel,” his self-control slips—immediately revealing his demon face. When Angel is near death and refusing Buffy’s self-sacrificing cure for him in season three’s “Graduation Day” (3-21, 3-22), Buffy deliberately provokes him with physical violence, intentionally inciting visceral anger so that Angel’s vampire nature will take control and override his human judgment. When Angel revisits Sunnydale in “The Yoko Factor” (4-20), Riley Finn finds his manner so dark, menacing, and “king of pain” that he mistakenly assumes Angel has gone evil again, and he’s stunned when Buffy explains that no, this is how Angel behaves
with
a soul.

Whatever sexual, moral, or spiritual metaphors may be inferred from Angel’s storyline in
Buffy
, the key point here is that his characterization is built on the inherent struggle between his evil demon nature and the soul which gives him a “good” human nature; and this perpetual internal conflict is precisely what makes him such a compelling character.

Angel’s inner darkness may be supernatural and demonic, but it’s a rare person—and therefore a rare
Buffy
fan—who has never once wanted to seize something he has no right to take; never once wanted to give free rein to instinct and desire with no thought for social mores; never once wanted to act out of anger without consideration for the consequences; and never once wanted to break a strict and unsatisfying diet (even in context, cold pig’s blood sounds pretty unappetizing). When someone really pisses me off, I don’t break out in a monster face and roar like the MGM lion; but sometimes, I’d really like to. In fact, some surveys suggest that more than half of all people in our culture have occasionally fantasized about killing someone. Though we may feel repelled by or wary of the demonic urges living so close to his surface, Angel’s struggles are nonetheless
our
struggles—taken to dramatically heightened extremes by the supernatural qualities of the
Buffy
verse.

Of course, this moral ambivalence, this duality of nature, is not unique to Angel; in one way or another, it’s at the heart of all of
Buffy
’s most compelling characterizations.

It’s a well-known craft premise among writers (and probably a well-recognized one among readers and viewers) that a flawed character is usually more interesting than a perfect one. Stories in the fantasy and horror genres are usually about the struggle between good and evil, in one form or another; and in
Buffy
, good and evil are personalized. Not just in the sense that Buffy regularly comes face to face with evil, learns its name, and then gets to beat it up and kill it; but also in the sense that most major
Buffy
characters manifest both qualities—good and evil, bright and dark, cruelty and compassion. In doing so, they continue to surprise us, as real people do throughout our lives; and they thereby accurately reflect the confusing ambiguity of life in our own world, thus making the supernatural
Buffy
verse compelling and seemingly real because of its visceral truths.