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Season of the Witch, Season of the Bitch

By The Deadly Hook

(Revised June 2004, from a combination of two original essays posted September 2002)

This essay is a composite of two previous versions of this overview, one written before the Season 7 opener aired and one written after. I wanted to revise this piece in light of the end of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series, as a precursor to writing up my impressions of the final season, and that of the final season of Angel as well... and oddly enough, in reviewing the material, it was the earliest version of the essay I ended up coming back to. I can't help but think about that old saying about "first impressions" usually being the right ones...

Now, I could (and probably still will) write reams of material on the character/relationship issues brought up in BtVS Season 6... but from what we actually saw onscreen, S6 was really all about trust. Unfortunately, this theme wasn't merely restricted to the events in the program - it spilled over onto the show's audience as well. If the point of S6 was to show how little trust there was between the characters, then the corallary of that theme was the lack of trust for the viewers shown by the show's creators. For often as not, the fascinating issues raised were not resolved or continued in the following season.

Life's Not a Song...
Season 6 was ambitious - it tackled the interesting question of what do you do as a followup when the heroine of your series has died to save the world? The answer given, however, was confusing and ambiguous. Invisibility and memory-loss gimmicks aside, this was an unrelentingly grim run of episodes, centered around the main character's depression at being brought back from the dead. Buffy in S6 is not a happy hero - granted, she never really was - but this year, the reasons for her unhappiness become far less cut and dried. For the first time, we see Buffy creating her own misery rather than having it foisted on her from cruel, miserable circumstance, raising any number of questions about the world in which we live. How much of "evil" in this world comes from situations like these?

So while the starting premise of the season was interesting and thought-provoking, it unfortunately often fell down in execution. The writing tended toward the uneven - the poignant and even romantic tone of the season's first third gradually gave way to a torturous descent into continuous pain that by the end was difficult to watch at best. Characters became warped out of recognizable shape, for the most part with unpleasant effects. Worse, there was an air of pointlessness about this exercise - intense and promising plotlines were abruptly short-circuited (e.g., Willow's growing misuse of magic detoured off into a story of addiction; the summary dismissal, via cliche female victimhood, of the interesting issue of Buffy's penchant for violent sex). Mood and tone could shift wildly, from funny to stomach-wrenchingly horrible, frequently within the same episode. And all of this moves quite slowly too - watching S6 often has the effect of experiencing a painful, depressive period in real time, giving the impression of nothing so much as slowing down to look at a gruesome traffic wreck.

...but then again, this is a show about a girl whose destiny it is to kill things. Why should we be expecting sweetness and light? Wasn't that always an unrealistic goal? If you take the staff proclamation that "oh, grow up!" was meant to be the overarching theme of the season seriously, then you're faced with the uncomfortable thought that this message was aimed less at the show's characters than at us, the viewers, for ever considering the life of the Slayer as light material. Ouch.

So then, maybe "Normal Again," where Buffy began to question if anything in the world around her was real, was actually the defining episode of the entire season. But if that's the case... what is real, as far as the BtVS story goes? Was there a point to all this beyond simple viewer torture? What's the real "message" of Season 6?

Going Through the Motions
S6 contained some seriously provocative TV, far beyond the usual standard for BtVS. Fantasy monsters? Forget that. This was the year the show got hardcore, with real-world violence (murder, rape, torture, car wrecks, child endangerment) and R-rated sex. There wasn't much time or patience for the kind of kidding around that used to be the series stock-in-trade.

Which in retrospect makes sense - after all, the season's key villains, the geek "Trio," were citizens of just this type of fantasy world, a comic book universe where Superman fights Lex Luthor but neither of them ever die, and Spider-Man has time to crack jokes between the kicks and punches. S6 BtVS pointedly stepped out of that world. Everything that used to be punctuated with a cute quip in the series - from Xander and Willow's insecurities to Buffy's monster punch-ups and casual ultraviolence - just wasn't so funny anymore. "Still making jokes," DarkWillow grimly notes of Xander in "Grave." By that point, she wasn't the only one wincing.

So the unrelentingly grim tone of S6 was intentional. Buffy's friends did not bring her back to a happy, shiny fantasy world. They brought her back to the real world, the one with debts and deadbeat dads, depression and soul-sucking employment. This wasn't a fun lesson to absorb, nor was it all that fun to watch. The overall lack of "post-post-mortem humor" - and your own awareness of how inappropriate it suddenly seemed - had the side effect of making you realize how much you were coming to dislike people you'd previously quite enjoyed. It used to be kind of funny when Buffy punched Spike. There was nothing funny about her vicious beating of him in "Dead Things." Xander used to be able to put a humorous spin on anything. There was no lighter side to his walkout on the wedding, or his hateful rant in "Entropy." Willow's witchly misadventures used to be good for a larf. Now, her spells gone wrong end up in tearful breakups, broken arms and.. hey, end of the world! This was, unreservedly, a season in hell... for all of us.

Finding the Center
Part of the reason for all this misery was, ironically, Buffy's central nature to her group. The BtVS series is, after all, Buffy's journey. She is the legendary figure whose tale we are hearing around the campfire. And S6 is where we see that while Buffy's idol status may be inspiring on one hand, it has its downside as well.

It's been pointed out that it's because of her friends that Buffy is a stronger Slayer than her predecessors. Her friends and family keep her connected to the world, give her reasons to continue fighting beyond simple duty and obligation. In return, she gives back to them, something precious and intangible - an example. "She's a hero, you see. Not like us," Giles explained in "The Gift." But what happens when Buffy fails to hold up her end of that bargain, when she fails to be a hero?

Season 4 was the first time that the tight high school group began to lose its cohesion. After a brief spate of new-school insecurity, Buffy channeled all her energy into her new relationship with Riley, generally ignoring her old friends. The tensions over this came to a head in "The Yoko Factor," which spelled out their frustrations with each other in no uncertain terms: Willow identifies both Buffy and Xander as "judgmental"; Xander points out that Buffy sees herself as "superior"; Buffy pretty much confirms this read by going into a rant that includes the gem, "If I was any more open-minded about the choices you two make my whole brain would fall out" (a serious criticism of Xander's relationship with Anya is strongly implied), plus an extended sarcastic sneer wondering how they could "possibly help"... a sentiment echoed at the end of S6 when Buffy tells Willow, "Being a Slayer means something you can't even conceive of." Conceited much?

Buffy didn't get this inflated self-image out of nowhere, though - the dreams of "Restless" revealed that Willow, Xander, and Giles to a large part define themselves by how they relate to Buffy, how they fit into her circle. In contrast, their insecurities are rooted in their own individual doubts about themselves, and their suspicions about how they appear through her eyes. Willow sees Buffy as someone who can spot the geek under her "cool" disguise ("You're still in costume. Take if off!"). To Xander, Buffy is still remote, inexplicable, even as she calls him "brother." To Giles, Buffy is the daughter he never had... but it's a responsibility he's not sure what to do with.

The following year, however, seemed to bring balance. With the largest threat ever facing them, the Scoobies seemed to overcome their insecurities. Even Spike, who in Season 5 began his own flailing search for a new identity, reached a kind of heroic high point. As a team, all were finally worth more than the sum of their individual parts.

But in S6 all the self-doubt of Season 4 came back in force. Buffy's final fight and death had drawn the group closer together. Her return ironically upsets this balance. "You won't even disturb the air when you go," the vengeful spirit of "Afterlife" claimed as it tries to return Buffy to the cosmos, but it was wrong - Buffy is too huge a force in the Scoobies' lives not to have an effect... either in presence or absence. This is most clearly spelled out in "Bargaining," where the presence of the Buffybot casts a long shadow, and the group seems oddly obsessed with it, making sure it functions properly, that it speaks as it should and only to the right people. Buffy is needed for more than just slaying vampires and demons.

Unrealistic Expectations
The Buffybot is an interesting character from this perspective. In "Bargaining," the Scoobies interact with it as if speaking to their own inner versions of Buffy herself; the robot as oracle. Giles waits for the robot's permission to leave Sunnydale. Dawn sees it as both embarrasing yet somehow comforting. Willow reprograms it to seek her out for repairs when damaged, and mentors the naive machine like an older sister explaining the mysteries of life.

This dynamic between Willow and the robot is the audience's first alert that the end of the season will contain a falling out between the two best friends. Willow rose to elected leader in Buffy's absence, and selflessly relinquished that power upon her return... but the power-mad DarkWillow lets us know that the Willow/robot interaction was emotionally closer to the truth. Willow has never gotten either the recognition nor attention she deserved for her "best friend" role in Buffy's life, something that's been repeatedly called out as uncomfortable spot between them (in S4's "Fear, Itself," in the Faith storyline, in "Dead Man's Party," etc.). "You've never stopped coming through for me," Buffy admits in "Normal Again." The DarkWillow arc shows us what happens when Buffy's "big gun" finally does stop "coming through" - Buffy is quick to get "judgmental," seeing Willow's fall from grace as the-line-she-cannot-cross, a.k.a. my-way-or-the-highway. Buffy, in the final three episodes of S6, basically proves herself to be a pretty rotten friend. She's a hell of a lot better at taking help than giving it.

Not that her friends were doing all that much better - all proved themselves to be self-centered whiners to a disppointing degree, and given an opportunity to ditch them in favor of a distracting new relationship - just like in S4 - Buffy takes it.

Make Me Complete
The Buffy/Spike relationship, as S6's single largest element, is important on multiple levels. Early in the season, their new affinity plays very much as a - gasp! - love story. Seriously. Romance novel readers should have no problem recognizing the brash-rogue-changed-by-love-of-good-woman dynamic, as well as the uppity-vixen-who-finally-recognizes-her-true-desire-in-said-brash-rogue trope. All that was missing from this portrait of a romance was for Buffy to discover Spike's poetry-writing past - remember the poetry class Buffy had to drop out of in "Tough Love"? ("I wanted to tell you how much I loved this class... I really like poetry... I wish I had time for it.").

But romance was very much the road not taken here: the relationship we got instead was a complicated mix of power issues that by the end encompassed sexual violence, emotional violence, and just plain violence. This was not a relationship built on, as "Randy" states in "Tabula Rasa," "utter trust."

What it was built on was an amazingly long-standing sexual tension, a mutual history that's now impossible to see as anything but four years of foreplay. This chemistry was obvious enough that even disinterested third parties picked up on it: from S4 on, Spike and Buffy are constantly mistaken for a couple: by college jerk Parker in "Harsh Light of Day" ("Did you and he used to, like, go out?"); by Glory, in "Blood Ties"; by caseworker Doris in "Gone." "He is not my boyfriend!" Buffy explains repeatedly. Spike is far from alone in his belief that there is "something" between them.

That said, the Buffy/Spike relationship in S6 was less about attraction than misconceptions about such. Spike's fantasy version of Buffy had been carefully detailed in S5, most notably by the Buffybot, who brought his dream to life in animatronic 3D. His wish was for a passionate and eager lover... interestingly with her superior moral code still intact. "Darn your sinister attraction!" the robot chirps. His reading of the Slayer as "drawn to darkness" is spelled out clearly in the robot's programming. "You're evil," the 'bot bubbles to him, "it excites me, it terrifies me. I try so hard to resist you, and I can't."

Given that S6 then goes on to prove that this theory, or something like it, is true beyond the shadow of a doubt, it's nearly pointless to base an analysis of the season on Buffy's feelings, or lack thereof, for Spike in this new sexual context. What's really significant about S6 is that we don't know what she feels.

Historically, our only peek into Buffy's real thoughts and emotions have been her girl-talk sessions with Willow, which the season pointedly did not feature. She talks to Spike instead... at first, and then stops once they begin having sex. Post-resurrection Buffy is a whole new character, a damaged phoenix rebuilt from the ashes of the Buffy we used to know. She's secretive and evasive, she lies to her friends. She's insincere and flaky. Her emotions range from false-cheery to suicidally depressed - a head-scratching combination that makes you question nearly everything she says and does. This is, of course, the point - the characters and viewers alike are forced to divine Buffy's real feelings via mental crystal ball.

In S6, we're forced to ponder the catacylsmic effect Buffy's cryptic, black box status has on all her relationships. Her silence makes it easy for her friends to avoid dealing with her depression, pretend that she's the same girl she ever was. On the other hand, we see Spike, the confessor and lover who keeps her secrets, who knows how much of her facade is false, being faced with the paradox of a Buffy who insists that "nothing's changed."

This continual divination of the mystery that is Buffy brings us to the other main theme of the season: the gulf between fantasy and reality.

Flesh for Fantasy
The season's main villains, the "Trio," live in a sci-fi world of comics, movies, and action figures. Their manifesto - "wanna team up and take over Sunnydale?" - is to bring this fantasy to life in a revenge-of-the-nerds scenario involving power trips ("god, I thought I'd never stop crying," Warren reminds a high school bully in "Seeing Red" right before wiping the floor with him), sexual domination ("We could hypnotize her. Make her our willing sex bunny"), and riches. Until Katrina's murder, the troika saw the world and the people in it in video game terms, as toys to be played with, unreal, without consequences. "This isn't some fantasy, you freaks! This is rape!" Katrina screams, throwing the issue into sharp relief. It's no accident that the Buffy/Spike relationship plays the same way - as a fantasy that spiraled out of control, their sexual games of dominance and role-playing ending up in exactly the same place.

But this is also the place where the series' ideas get hopelessly sticky - admittedly, the idea that Buffy actually loves Spike on some level but is unable to admit it (his own theory, as shown in the horrific attempted rape scene in "Seeing Red") is admittedly the most generous reading possible of her motives. In this relationship, we're given a sort of ironic two-for-one of gender-role reversals - Spike's estimation of Buffy's character is a purely romantic one; he doesn't allow room for the idea that she might be capable of using him for Erica Jong-style no-strings-attached sex. Meanwhile, Buffy seems firmly committed to exactly that; like a businessman having an affair with a comely secretary (ironically, the source event behind her parents' divorce), she scoffs at the idea of emotional attachment. "We don't have a thing," she insists. "We just have this." Sex is not a relationship.

It's this lack of honest communication - not the Slayer/vampire issue - that's ultimately the reason the Buffy/Spike relationship crashes and burns (this is a common thread running through all the other relationships of the season as well - Xander and Anya sing that they'll "never tell" each other of their wedding fears; Willow attempts to overwrite Tara's arguments with her "forget" spell). The morning-after discussion in "Wrecked" showcases both at their worst-case-scenario worst, their brief physical connection promptly returning to a dynamic of competition. Buffy promptly launches a nose-in-the-air chastity act, eager to deny all (e.g., referring to the previous night as a "freak show," insisting "it was a mistake!"); his response is a hardly flattering verbal victory dance ("I knew the only thing better than killing a Slayer would be...") and hostile taunts about Buffy's own wanton behaviour. Honesty is a slippery fish throughout their relationship; Buffy acts two-faced and seems to be playing emotional games, playing out erotic fantasies in secret while maintaining a virginal front; Spike comes across as manipulative and lustful, yet emotionally sincere, desperate for real connection. By the end of the season, you're left with the creepy suspicion that his interpretation - that she actually does love him in her own fucked-up way - might even be correct, which is such a picture of self-inflicted misery that it's stomach-turning to even think of.

And this is the hardest aspect of Buffy's character to come to terms with in S6 - no matter what interpretation you put to her feelings, you get an uncomfortable result. Buffy does wretched things - her abusive behaviour toward Spike, her neglect of Dawn - and shows no remorse whatsoever, which is frankly impossible to characterize as heroic. Her sobbing breakdown to Tara in "Dead Things" only revealed that she felt bad about something... but whatever it was, it wasn't bad enough to put a damper on her birthday party a week later. Was she upset at losing her self-image as a good girl? ("I'm not an animal," as she huffs in "Dead Things.") Or because she can't offload the blame for her behaviour on him? ("He's everything I'm supposed to be against.. but the only time I ever feel anything...") You're forced to come to the conclusion that Buffy is, at best, a head case, and at worst, a sadist.... at the very least, a pretty cold bitch. It's hard not to exit S6 wondering if you should really like Buffy at all... or if, in retrospect, you ever have.

Life Lessons of Season 6 Our final sum-up of the season's messages a) It's all about communication b) Honesty is the best policy c) Love is the answer d) Love hurts like hell e) Don't take your friends for granted f) There is no escape from social caste g) All men are beasts, and then they leave h) All dads are deadbeats, even the good ones

Weak and Selfish
Ultimately, it's this - the characters suddenly behaving like people you'd wouldn't want for friends or anything else - that hurts most in a final analysis. Worse, most of these were miserably self-fulfilling prophecies. "I know I'm a monster. But you treat me like a man," Spike told Buffy in "The Gift." In S6, this sentence is pointedly reversed. "You're not a man. You're a thing. An evil, disgusting thing," she hurls at him in "Smashed" - a statement supported by none of his actions at the time. Balance this against the shameless circle of soothing apologies and outright forgetfulness that followed Xander's wedding walkout or musical-demon-summoning, or Willow's magic-crack car wreck and threatening of Giles, and you're forced to conclude that the Scoobies are, at best, an irritating little pack of hypocrites. They're all too willing to take help from shady sources, but not to allow those people to think for a moment that they could ever be accepted into the inner circle. It's almost impossible not to draw an equals sign between the alley scene in "Dead Things" with the Willow/Xander confrontation in "Grave." In one, Willow stops short of ending the world because she can't kill her best friend. In the other, Buffy smashes her lover into the ground and steps over him without a single backward glance.

The final coda, Spike's regaining of his soul, is a bitterly ironic comment on all this. Is a soul a guarantee of good? Guess not, since both Warren and Willow had them. As do Xander and Buffy. Does a soul guarantee anything, other than the possibility of not being automatically treated like a second-class citizen? If so, then we're given a whole new reading on demons in the Buffyverse, which now that I think of, the wedding episode hinted at in its rendering of Anya's "relatives" as "circus freaks."

The text of Spike's soul request read, "give me what I want, so I can give the Slayer what she deserves."

Given what we've seen, it's hard to say what these characters - not just Buffy - "deserve."

 
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