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Pulling Up Stakes
Vampire slayer 'Buffy' faces her greatest evil in the cult fave's finale
Tuesday
By Noel Holston
STAFF WRITER
May 18, 2003
All great epics come to an end. "The Iliad." "The Odyssey." "War and Peace."
"Buffy the Vampire Slayer."
Just kidding. The Tolstoy book is a ringer. Doesn't belong on this list. Too
literal. Not enough monsters.
But no, I'm not kidding about "Buffy," which will come to a conclusion
Tuesday night at 8 on UPN after a run that stretches back to March 1997 and
another network, The WB. In the finale, devoted fans will find out if Buffy
Summers of Sunnydale, Calif., a small circle of friends she has had since
high school and a small army of vampire-slayer trainees have it in them to
stop the First Evil, an amorphous entity that may be sin itself; its
clerical-collared first lieutenant, Caleb, and an army of ghouls who hope to
overrun Earth and turn all humanity into slaves or snack food. Be still, my
heart.
I am not the first person to suggest that "Buffy" is grand mythological
literature. In fact, I am far down the list. I was on a sabbatical when
"Buffy" premiered, ignored the first couple of seasons entirely and, frankly,
found the critical gushing rather silly when I finally got around to seeing
what the fuss was about. Sure, the show had snappy lines, smart cultural
allusions and some decent karate-kicking, vampire-staking action. Decent for
, anyway. But it was no "X-Files." It was no "Kolchak: The Night Stalker."
Then, the night of Dec. 14, 1999, I tuned in once more, just on a whim, and
encountered an episode in which a squad of emaciated, death's-head fiends in
long, dark coats and bowler hats glided into Sunnydale on little cat's feet
and stole everyone's voices, a prelude to harvesting out seven hearts. They
were The Gentlemen, and the episode was called "Hush." It was surreal,
unnerving and largely absent dialogue - a silent nightmare that suggested a
daring well beyond the ambition or the ability of most shows. I was on my
way to becoming a "Buffy"-phile.
According to the lore of "Buffy," the back story dreamed up by creator Joss
Whedon, who had written for "Roseanne" and earned an Oscar nomination for his
"Toy Story" script, planet Earth was originally inhabited by demons. Over
time, they were either forced into other dimensions by a newcomer race,
humans, or they mingled with our ancestors to become harder to detect, hybrid
forms. They're forever looking for an opportunity to retake control.
That's where the 15-year-old Ms. Summers came in. As the series' preamble
establishes, "In every generation there is a Chosen One. She and she alone
will fight the demons, vampires and the forces of evil. She is the Slayer."
It's always a she, always a young woman, but in this particular generation
the honor and the burden fell to a cute, blond teenager whose name is
practically a synonym for vacuity and who already had her hands full with
hormones, homework and her parents' divorce. How do you psyche yourself up to
save the world from evil when your dad tells you you're not as smart as he
thought you would be, or when no one asks you out, or when you're just having
a bad-hair day? Being a teenager is hell enough without knowing that your
high school sits on a portal to the netherworld where vampires congregate
like roaches.
Whedon was hardly the first writer to give a supernaturally empowered
character everyday, real-world problems, or even teen angst. Stan Lee did
that with Peter Parker, the hapless alter ego of "The Amazing Spider-Man," 40
years ago. But Whedon is unsurpassed in developing his creation's world,
giving it a sound, internal logic and making the phantasmagoric and mundane
coexist in a manner that illuminates truths about power, duty, love and
honor, even as it metaphorically encompasses contemporary social issues. The
"Buffy" episode in which our heroine (Sarah Michelle Gellar) and her
classmate Cordelia (Charisma Carpenter) were drugged by members of a
fraternity-cult and almost fed to a reptilian demon was as harrowing a take
on date rape as any movie or series has ever delivered - and this despite
the atypical cheesiness of the monster makeup.
The series inspired a spin-off - WB's "Angel," built around Buffy's
good-vampire heartthrob, played by David Boreanaz. It has also been the
subject of scholarly books, dissertations and collegiate seminars (i.e.,
"Blood, Text and Fears: Reading Around 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'"), not to
mention so many Web sites and so much chat-room gab that Whedon says it's
impossible to keep anything about it secret - even what's going to happen in
Tuesday's finale. But "the destruction of surprise" is "the only real
downside" to the Internet, he said during a recent conference call with
columnists. He's well aware that the community facilitated by the Web has
been integral to the show's cult status.
Whedon, who salvaged the "Buffy" concept from an under-realized 1992 movie he
wrote, said that he didn't recognize the series' full potential when he
started. "I just sort of had this basic notion of it's tough to make it in
high school; it'll be funny, involving and scary and really get into things
people can relate to," he said. "I didn't know how good my actors would be. I
didn't know how long we'd go or how much they'd grow or what the network
would let us do."
What Whedon and collaborators such as Marti Noxon and David Greenwalt did was
seamlessly fold comedy and horror into a soap opera with all the usual
elements - love triangles, betrayals, personality reversals - but a wholly
unusual emotional honesty. "Buffy" has been and continues to be thoughtful,
silly, poignant, funny, frightening, romantic, hot - sometimes in quick
succession, sometimes all at once. Not every episode is five-star like "Hush"
or "The Body," in which Buffy is staggered to find her mom dead of something
unheard of in Sunnydale, natural causes, or this season's intensely
philosophical "Conversations With Dead People." But there's something fresh
and surprising in every one.
If I had to pick the perfect moment of the show's seven-season run, I just
might have to nominate a sequence from "Inca Mummy Girl," a so-so episode
from the second season. It speaks to the overall strength of the series that
Buffy herself is not even part of it.
Buffy's dainty, socially inept, computer-geek friend Willow (Alyson Hannigan)
has shown up for a costume party at the Bronze, Sunnydale's teen nightspot,
dressed as an Eskimo, complete with harpoon. She watches while the boyfriend
she secretly adores, Xander (Nicholas Brendon), slow-dances with Impata, a
beautiful South American exchange student who is, in fact, a revivified Inca
mummy whose kiss, we viewers know, will suck the life right out of a man and
turn him into a husk. Edge-of-your-seat anxiety is compounded by the sexiness
of the dance, Willow's heartbreak by the absurdity of her costume. The throat
constricts, the mouth edges into a grin, the arm hair rises, the fingers
clinch. It's difficult to recall another series triggering so many emotions
at once.
The current dread-steeped season has steadily built toward Tuesday's episode,
in which Buffy, no longer a reluctant teen but a battle-tempered woman who
grudgingly recognizes the necessity and the human costs of war, will confront
the greatest evil she has yet seen.
If UPN is lucky, the apocalyptic showdown will pull in 5 million to 6 million
viewers, which is what "Buffy" averaged in its best seasons on The WB, but
only about a fourth as many as the top-rated series attract. Its most recent
episode had an audience of 3.6 million and ranked 97th out of 108 prime-time
shows.
"Our viewership has never been as large as the awareness of us," Whedon
acknowledged, adding that the show is "certainly not designed to exclude
anybody. I don't believe in exclusion. But at the same time, 'Buffy the
Vampire Slayer' is not a show that some people are going to switch on, and
that's just the way it is."
He said that doesn't bother him, nor does he worry about whether "Buffy" will
have the sort of long afterlife other cult favorites, such as "Star Trek" or
"The Twilight Zone," have enjoyed.
"The thing we were trying to do was tell epic, timeless stories on a small,
emotional scale," he said. "And that sort of thing, if it's done right,
certainly can live on. Will it? I don't know. I do know the character, as a
concept, has affected the way people think about heroines and heroes and who
can front a show and what boys will watch and a lot of different things.
That's more important a legacy to me than [whether] they're still watching
the episodes."
Pulling Up Stakes
Vampire slayer 'Buffy' faces her greatest evil in the cult fave's finale
Tuesday
By Noel Holston
STAFF WRITER
May 18, 2003
All great epics come to an end. "The Iliad." "The Odyssey." "War and Peace."
"Buffy the Vampire Slayer."
Just kidding. The Tolstoy book is a ringer. Doesn't belong on this list. Too
literal. Not enough monsters.
But no, I'm not kidding about "Buffy," which will come to a conclusion
Tuesday night at 8 on UPN after a run that stretches back to March 1997 and
another network, The WB. In the finale, devoted fans will find out if Buffy
Summers of Sunnydale, Calif., a small circle of friends she has had since
high school and a small army of vampire-slayer trainees have it in them to
stop the First Evil, an amorphous entity that may be sin itself; its
clerical-collared first lieutenant, Caleb, and an army of ghouls who hope to
overrun Earth and turn all humanity into slaves or snack food. Be still, my
heart.
I am not the first person to suggest that "Buffy" is grand mythological
literature. In fact, I am far down the list. I was on a sabbatical when
"Buffy" premiered, ignored the first couple of seasons entirely and, frankly,
found the critical gushing rather silly when I finally got around to seeing
what the fuss was about. Sure, the show had snappy lines, smart cultural
allusions and some decent karate-kicking, vampire-staking action. Decent for
, anyway. But it was no "X-Files." It was no "Kolchak: The Night Stalker."
Then, the night of Dec. 14, 1999, I tuned in once more, just on a whim, and
encountered an episode in which a squad of emaciated, death's-head fiends in
long, dark coats and bowler hats glided into Sunnydale on little cat's feet
and stole everyone's voices, a prelude to harvesting out seven hearts. They
were The Gentlemen, and the episode was called "Hush." It was surreal,
unnerving and largely absent dialogue - a silent nightmare that suggested a
daring well beyond the ambition or the ability of most shows. I was on my
way to becoming a "Buffy"-phile.
According to the lore of "Buffy," the back story dreamed up by creator Joss
Whedon, who had written for "Roseanne" and earned an Oscar nomination for his
"Toy Story" script, planet Earth was originally inhabited by demons. Over
time, they were either forced into other dimensions by a newcomer race,
humans, or they mingled with our ancestors to become harder to detect, hybrid
forms. They're forever looking for an opportunity to retake control.
That's where the 15-year-old Ms. Summers came in. As the series' preamble
establishes, "In every generation there is a Chosen One. She and she alone
will fight the demons, vampires and the forces of evil. She is the Slayer."
It's always a she, always a young woman, but in this particular generation
the honor and the burden fell to a cute, blond teenager whose name is
practically a synonym for vacuity and who already had her hands full with
hormones, homework and her parents' divorce. How do you psyche yourself up to
save the world from evil when your dad tells you you're not as smart as he
thought you would be, or when no one asks you out, or when you're just having
a bad-hair day? Being a teenager is hell enough without knowing that your
high school sits on a portal to the netherworld where vampires congregate
like roaches.
Whedon was hardly the first writer to give a supernaturally empowered
character everyday, real-world problems, or even teen angst. Stan Lee did
that with Peter Parker, the hapless alter ego of "The Amazing Spider-Man," 40
years ago. But Whedon is unsurpassed in developing his creation's world,
giving it a sound, internal logic and making the phantasmagoric and mundane
coexist in a manner that illuminates truths about power, duty, love and
honor, even as it metaphorically encompasses contemporary social issues. The
"Buffy" episode in which our heroine (Sarah Michelle Gellar) and her
classmate Cordelia (Charisma Carpenter) were drugged by members of a
fraternity-cult and almost fed to a reptilian demon was as harrowing a take
on date rape as any movie or series has ever delivered - and this despite
the atypical cheesiness of the monster makeup.
The series inspired a spin-off - WB's "Angel," built around Buffy's
good-vampire heartthrob, played by David Boreanaz. It has also been the
subject of scholarly books, dissertations and collegiate seminars (i.e.,
"Blood, Text and Fears: Reading Around 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'"), not to
mention so many Web sites and so much chat-room gab that Whedon says it's
impossible to keep anything about it secret - even what's going to happen in
Tuesday's finale. But "the destruction of surprise" is "the only real
downside" to the Internet, he said during a recent conference call with
columnists. He's well aware that the community facilitated by the Web has
been integral to the show's cult status.
Whedon, who salvaged the "Buffy" concept from an under-realized 1992 movie he
wrote, said that he didn't recognize the series' full potential when he
started. "I just sort of had this basic notion of it's tough to make it in
high school; it'll be funny, involving and scary and really get into things
people can relate to," he said. "I didn't know how good my actors would be. I
didn't know how long we'd go or how much they'd grow or what the network
would let us do."
What Whedon and collaborators such as Marti Noxon and David Greenwalt did was
seamlessly fold comedy and horror into a soap opera with all the usual
elements - love triangles, betrayals, personality reversals - but a wholly
unusual emotional honesty. "Buffy" has been and continues to be thoughtful,
silly, poignant, funny, frightening, romantic, hot - sometimes in quick
succession, sometimes all at once. Not every episode is five-star like "Hush"
or "The Body," in which Buffy is staggered to find her mom dead of something
unheard of in Sunnydale, natural causes, or this season's intensely
philosophical "Conversations With Dead People." But there's something fresh
and surprising in every one.
If I had to pick the perfect moment of the show's seven-season run, I just
might have to nominate a sequence from "Inca Mummy Girl," a so-so episode
from the second season. It speaks to the overall strength of the series that
Buffy herself is not even part of it.
Buffy's dainty, socially inept, computer-geek friend Willow (Alyson Hannigan)
has shown up for a costume party at the Bronze, Sunnydale's teen nightspot,
dressed as an Eskimo, complete with harpoon. She watches while the boyfriend
she secretly adores, Xander (Nicholas Brendon), slow-dances with Impata, a
beautiful South American exchange student who is, in fact, a revivified Inca
mummy whose kiss, we viewers know, will suck the life right out of a man and
turn him into a husk. Edge-of-your-seat anxiety is compounded by the sexiness
of the dance, Willow's heartbreak by the absurdity of her costume. The throat
constricts, the mouth edges into a grin, the arm hair rises, the fingers
clinch. It's difficult to recall another series triggering so many emotions
at once.
The current dread-steeped season has steadily built toward Tuesday's episode,
in which Buffy, no longer a reluctant teen but a battle-tempered woman who
grudgingly recognizes the necessity and the human costs of war, will confront
the greatest evil she has yet seen.
If UPN is lucky, the apocalyptic showdown will pull in 5 million to 6 million
viewers, which is what "Buffy" averaged in its best seasons on The WB, but
only about a fourth as many as the top-rated series attract. Its most recent
episode had an audience of 3.6 million and ranked 97th out of 108 prime-time
shows.
"Our viewership has never been as large as the awareness of us," Whedon
acknowledged, adding that the show is "certainly not designed to exclude
anybody. I don't believe in exclusion. But at the same time, 'Buffy the
Vampire Slayer' is not a show that some people are going to switch on, and
that's just the way it is."
He said that doesn't bother him, nor does he worry about whether "Buffy" will
have the sort of long afterlife other cult favorites, such as "Star Trek" or
"The Twilight Zone," have enjoyed.
"The thing we were trying to do was tell epic, timeless stories on a small,
emotional scale," he said. "And that sort of thing, if it's done right,
certainly can live on. Will it? I don't know. I do know the character, as a
concept, has affected the way people think about heroines and heroes and who
can front a show and what boys will watch and a lot of different things.
That's more important a legacy to me than [whether] they're still watching
the episodes."