 |
|
|
Empty Places (Ep. 7.19)"One is the Loneliest Number" It's an old sailors' adage that when things get bad, rats will desert a sinking ship, and that's what we see in "Empty Places." As if the Hellmouth brewing and The First Evil throwing off deadly vibes weren't enough, with super-preacher Caleb in the field, Buffy now has an opponent she can't simply defeat in a showpiece of her own girl power. Worse, stress is taking its toll on the Slayer, and for once, her make-it-up-as-you-go tactics aren't getting the job done. With both these factors looking more and more obvious all the time, the assembled gang of Scoobies and Potentials finally asks itself the reasonable question: is Buffy really the best choice to lead them? . . . Downtown Sunnydale, the site of a mass exodus. Apparently, the overwhelming aura of big, creeping evil has gotten too much for the permanent residents, who have shut their businesses, loaded their cars and packed the streets in a slow crawl of traffic leading out of town. Sunnydale is rapidly becoming a ghost town. In the midst of this chaos, there is Buffy, walking alone in contemplation. She chances upon someone she knows - the loose-skinned demon Clem. "You'd think these people had never seen an apocalypse before," Buffy says drily, while walking alongside the red-eyed demon's slow-moving car (a stylish orange Volkswagen Beetle!). An awkward conversation follows. "We've seen some bad stuff in this town before but, you know, this time, it's like it just seems different," Clem explains, clearly embarrassed to be caught skipping out, but unable to stop himself from admitting his fears, although he tries to soften the blow for Buffy: "I don't think anyone's gonna be able to stop it... I mean, I'm sure you'll do fine. If anyone can do it, you can," he stammers, then suggests, "Maybe you should just get out of town this time?" All Buffy can manage in response to this is a painful smile. How bad must it be if even the demons are leaving town? The uncomfortable tension continues. At the hospital, Willow sits at the bedside of newly one-eyed Xander, holding his hand in support, while Buffy awkwardly rotes medical information. As with Clem, she's unable to offer any brave promises or words of comfort, and simply excuses herself to get back on the case as soon as she can. In a heartbreaking moment after Buffy leaves, Willow and Xander both struggle to not to cry while lightening the mood with jokes. "I keep waiting for my other senses to improve fifty percent," Xander tries. Poor guy. I guess it's true - it's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye. Like Buffy, Anya is more about practicality than comfort, but she's at least more upfront about it than the Slayer. "I know you're all upset," Anya sympathizes to her restless crowd. "I myself, would much rather be sitting at the bedside of my one-eyed ex-fiance than killing time here with you people in this overcrowded and might I add increasingly ripe-smelling basement," she tells them, adding a reminisence about her recent discomforting bout of "breakup sex" that leaves them squirming from information overload. Anya's intelligence may not be all that helpful, but it's more than nothing. "I'm doing what I can do, contributing any way I can, and so will all of you," she tells them. Fair enough. What-you-have-to-contribute is a theme of this episode, a point re-emphasized almost immediately in another conversation upstairs. "Everyone's feeling pretty pointless," Kennedy gripes. This status changes slightly when Buffy arrives bearing Caleb's police records - the idea of researching his "overt religiousity" is a good one, and the files turn up a history of vandalism and violence against religious institutions, which at least gives them a "place to start." The deserted school, and specifially her office, symbolizes the sum total of Buffy's failures this season - everything from the counseling she never got all that good at, to the lives she didn't manage to save (remember the zombie students, "raised to seek vengeance," from "Lessons"?) - and appropriately, it's this place that's the stage for her next confrontation with Caleb, who appears grinning from the darkness as a sad-eyed Buffy studies an old photograph of Willow, Xander, and herself in happier times. "Oh, now, look. Things don't go exactly your way, so here come the waterworks. Ain't that just like a woman?" the preacher grins. Caleb's odd power to intimidate Buffy by his very presence is still in effect - her reaction to his appearance is to back into a corner and listen to his belittling chatter with a trembling, tight-lipped expression, managing only a token show of defiance: "Go near Xander again, and I will end you," she spits when he taunts her about finishing the job on Xander's other eye. His violent reaction to her outburst, overturning her desk, plays exactly like a scene of domestic violence, an irate father figure asserting his dominance over a rebellious child. "Mind your manners," he grates, then lectures her about the "great, sweeping tide of change" that's she's getting in the way of. "I'm gonna take such sweet pleasure in taming you," he finishes, then hurls her against the wall in a hail of shattering glass. Why is Buffy so susceptible to Caleb? His physical strength is formidable, surely, but Buffy has fought stronger opponents before (e.g., Glory). Yet, unlike the fierce battle she gave the hellgod, Buffy hangs limply in Caleb's grip when he lifts her off the ground, unable to summon up even an eye-spit, a head-butt, or a good ol' kick in his angry, red, male balls. We've seen Buffy behave like this once before - in Season 4's "The Freshman," when the vampire Sunday was able to defeat the Slayer just because Buffy was feeling small and insignificant in the new arena of college. I'm just guessing, but Caleb's talk of religion and a woman's place seems to hit Buffy in a sore spot, just as Sunday's confidence in her own superiority and coolness spoke to Buffy's schoolgirl insecurities. Caleb, for whatever reason, makes Buffy feel small and insignificant, and it's this psychological affect that makes him truly dangerous to her. And perhaps it's the key to defeating him as well... although the rocket launcher might also be worth a try... The festivities come to an abrupt end, however, with the appearance of the police, who confront the recent jailbreaker and escort her outside, where it becomes clear that these Hellmouth-infused cops have no intention of returning her to the Big House. Brandishing guns, the cops close in on Faith and dispense Rodney King-style street justice, beating her down with nightsticks. Inside the club, the Potentials rebel against the shotgun-wielding cop left behind to guard them (an inspiringly feisty Dawn leads the charge) and rush to Faith's aid. The cops are taken down handily in an impressive show of ass-kicking girl power. About time! Meanwhile, Buffy has limped home to Summers HQ to discover the house empty but for Giles, and is unamused to hear the reasons. Her attitude toward her Watcher continues to be downright hostile - upon hearing that he chose Spike to lead the recon mission, she accuses him of "sending away the one person who's been watching my back, again." Giles snaps in return that "decisions had to be made in your absence" and that "we're all watching your back." Buffy rebuts "that's not really what it feels like," and stomps off to the Bronze to put a stop to any possible unwindy fun. The Slayer arrives just as the police bash is winding up. Staring around at the carnage with an indignant air, she dismisses Dawn and the assembled Potentials without even pretending to listen to their explanations, and tears into Faith for taking them out in the first place. "I need to know that these girls are gonna be safe when I'm not around," she rails. Faith responds by pointing out that the Potentials are "not children," that Buffy doesn't have any confidence in them, and Buffy hardly kept them safe herself when she marched them into the vineyard to face Caleb. Buffy's reaction to this last is an ugly one - in a reprise of her rage issues ala "Dead Things," she lets fly with a punch that knocks Faith to the ground, and stalks off. Buffy's mistakes are clearly an off-limits topic. But instead of immediately rising to the charge as Buffy no doubt expected, the gang reacts with an obstinate digging in of heels, recoiling from the idea of more pointless sacrifices - the injured Xander being the obvious elephant in the room that Buffy is steadfastly ignoring. The objections start out reasonable - Faith points out that "it's a neat theory," but that she has no real proof, and now is hardly the time to play the odds. Wood and Giles add their agreement, all still rational. As the Potentials follow suit, the reactions get more personal. By the time Willow, Xander, and finally Dawn make the negative opinion unanimous, Buffy is reeling. "I don't understand this. For seven years, I've kept us safe by doing this - exactly this," she protests. "And now... suddenly you're all acting like you can't trust me?" Actually, not so suddenly - this confrontation has been building for awhile. The Potentials have good reason to suspect their position in General Buffy's universe. As Faith points out, Buffy doesn't even know all the girls' names. She's jeopardized their safety repeatedly, lectured at them, marched them out like expendable cannon fodder. Their injuries and even deaths have gone unthanked and unmourned. Worse, she doesn't even trust them, a little fact she reminded Giles of only that afternoon, and publicly reconfirms for the group by promptly name-checking the only person she does seem to trust these days, again accusing Giles of sending Spike away so they could "ambush" her. "Y'know, I am sick of your deal with this Spike guy," Rona moans. Buffy's bias is indeed painfully obvious at this point. As unenviable as Spike's nebulous position in the gang is, it's clearly above that of the Potentials, whose role, according to Buffy, is simply to shut up and do as they're told. Character development aside, it's hard not to read this as an unsubtle political allegory. As the "Chosen One," Buffy sees herself as the only possible choice for leader. Qualifications, reasons, explanations - all of these are beside the point. She expects her allies to "fall in line," to do whatever she asks of them, without question, and without anything so bothersome as thanks, even if accomplishing her goals will require heavy casualties. Buffy here comes off as American arrogance personified, expecting unilateral support, regardless of reason or cost. It's fairly stunning how neatly this little metaphor drops into place, and how well it lines up with the class issues that have been underpinning the entire season. Buffy honestly does believe she is above her friends. That Anya is the one to finally say this is especially appropriate. Objectively, the ex-demon has been invaluable to the gang over the years - it's likely that none of them would still be alive were it not for her help. Anya's encyclopedic knowledge of demons - from the Gnarl who nearly skinned Willow alive in "Same Time, Same Place" to the demons of "Dead Things" and "Normal Again" - has proven priceless; she provided crucial information on the mayor's Ascension in Season 3, came up with nearly every worthwhile facet of the plan to defeat Glory in Season 5 (the Dagon Sphere, the Troll Hammer, the Buffybot), and supplied counterspells and tactical support against Willow in Season 6, even after her return to Vengeance Demon status. But somehow, none of this counted at all in her favor in "Selfless," when Buffy laid out her credo as the Judge Dredd tagline, "I am the law." Buffy's narrow job description, where only she is allowed to make "the hard decisions," doesn't hold up under close examination. Her judgment is not always fair. This argument also draws attention to Buffy's attitude toward the contributions of her gang of "Slayerettes." That Buffy's true strength has always come from her "ties to the world" has been called out repeatedly in the series - by herself in "Restless," by Spike in "Fool For Love," by Xander in "Seeing Red." It's absolutely true that Buffy has never faced a major threat alone and won. She only went into the field completely alone against The Master, in Season 1... and died. Her Slayerettes and even Spike helped her against Angel in Season 2; the entire high school helped defeat the mayor in Season 3; the core gang merged to assist her against Adam via spell in Season 4; and a unified Scooby army went up against Glory in Season 5. Without such support, Buffy's effectiveness drops radically - Season 6's climax featured a fractured gang, and significantly, Buffy's part in it was negligible. Buffy really is not that much good without her friends. And yet somehow, she's come to take the contributions of those around her for granted. Especially since much of her friends' assistance takes place behind the scenes, in support positions (such as Xander's rescue of Giles in the Season 2 finale), Buffy has developed a sort of contempt for her staunchest allies. As we saw from her manifesto in "Get It Done," Buffy does see herself as better, stronger than the others, like a demigod surrounded by lesser mortals. She counts on them and ignores them at the same time, leaving herself free to obsess over her own issues. This tendency of Buffy's was an especially large backburner item in Season 6 - even while pointedly avoiding her friends and wallowing in her depression, Buffy took their constant support as a given; she was honestly surprised that she couldn't rely on them to take care of all her basic needs while she concentrated on the single task of keeping the Sunnydale demon population down. Even now, she doesn't see the wisdom in trying to work with people instead of bossing them around like palace servants. She simply doesn't know how. Well, that's not entirely true - she does, but not in a flattering way. When the idea comes up of taking a vote "to see who wants Faith to have a turn in charge," Buffy says sarcastically, "No, you don't get to vote until I've had my chance to pal around, you know, get everybody drunk. See, I didn't get this was a popularity contest. I should have equal time to bake them cookies, braid their hair..." This brings up uncomfortable memories of Buffy's cutthroat competition with Cordelia for Homecoming Queen, in which the students of Sunnydale High were just props in Buffy's quest to register briefly on the popularity parade. She baked cookies for them, too. Devastated, Buffy leaves the house, ordered out by her own sister as the one dissenting voice they can't afford. "Don't be afraid to lead them... protect them," she tearfully tells Faith, who rushes after her to apologize for the mutiny, insisting that it wasn't her idea. As Buffy moves down the street in shock, Faith stares after her, the ramifications of her new role sinking in. So the gang is once again unified, but Buffy herself is now isolated... and it's really her own damn fault. This may play into the gang's favor - could The First have miscalculated, like Adam did, in hingeing so much of its plan on Buffy's leadership ("the big strong slayer goes back to those girls... she's just so ready to walk them right into it," as Caleb gloats), or will her shunning now play directly into its hands? Slain Potentials aside, The First's attacks do seem to have been designed to "make her weak" - the "her" being Buffy, and the "weak" being emotionally. But we have yet to see what connects The First's torments of Angel in "Amends," its torture of Spike, and its overall assault on the Slayer line. Does it really all go back to Buffy - is she really the cause? And if so, does that mean only she can she stop it? We get one more piece of information with this episode - at the mission, Spike and Andrew are shown an inscription that reads: "It is not for thee. It is for her alone to wield." Would "her alone" be Buffy? And if this writing refers to a weapon to wield, what kind of weapon would it be?
|
|