Month: January 2015

This is the episode with the dance.

Buffy returns to Sunnydale after a summer away, and finds the vampires are stirring again too. Buffy reconnects with her gang of friends but something is amiss – she is carrying some bad psychology after the events of season one. Finally the vampires trick Buffy into leaving her friends unguarded so they can kill ’em to raise the Master from the dead, but Buffy still turns up in time to save them. The end. The primary focus here is Buffy’s emotional journey: she’s not over the nasty events that closed last season – she accepted her role and her fate, and she died (and got better).

The show, too, seems like it’s not over season one. The episode spends its whole runtime threatening to revive elements of season one that we thought we were done with. The love triangle is explicitly revived, with tension playing out between Willow, Xander and Buffy in pointed emotional setpieces. Buffy’s dad is back along with those family tensions. The Anointed One, minor figure on the villain side last season, is driving the plot as the opposing force. Even the Master is brought back, despite his death, and his return to prominence is threatened. (A nightmare about his return marks the point where Buffy transitions from “unhappy” to “outright unpleasant to be around”.)

This episode is like a mirror image of “Prophecy Girl”. Both episodes are weighted with the narrative of season one. “Prophecy Girl” was threw that narrative on the ground so hard it smashed, but this episode threatens to pick up all those broken pieces and start carrying them again. Essentially this whole episode is about television narrative expectations – that change can never be trusted, that shows find safe story structures and then hide there forever. If television has its way, then season two of Buffy will be much the same as season one. That’s how it works. Buffy Summers will be trapped in reiterations of season one forever.

Buffy, however, gets to push back. (Her name’s in the title after all.) She needs to break out of season one and force this show to allow real change. She’s not happy about it, though. She has no illusions about any of this – the Slayer path promises her misery, and while she made her choice, she still resents it. Given all this, her attempt to break free takes the form of some bad behaviour. And so we get the dance.

The dance. For my dollars, one of the best scenes in the whole run of the show, and probably the cruelest. In one mesmerising turn, Buffy crushes all three of her closest friends. Willow and Angel can only watch as she dances seductively with Xander, but Xander himself gets the worst of it, a nightmarish punishment for his behaviour in season one. But it’s not only her friends she’s destroying. Here, Buffy is destroying herself. She’s directly attacking the version of her that we saw the previous year, and trapping herself in cruelty that she can’t take back. It’s devastating and definitive. As of that moment, season one is dead. There’s no return possible.

But there’s still a whole vampire plotline to resolve of course, and that can’t happen until Buffy is pulled out of her destructive spiral: tearing down the old must eventually give way to rebuilding into a new form. And the tool the show uses to jolt Buffy across the line is, of course, Cordelia. As was established late last season, her role is truthspeaker, and so she is the only one who can call Buffy out for her bad behaviour and give her a new course.

Here the show brings in a second concern – if the show is rebuilding, what form will it take? Specifically, is this a show where a bunch of ordinary people help the Slayer with impunity, or is it a show which takes its threats seriously? (Notably, this also counts as unfinished business from season one – Buffy faced the Master alone, without help from her friends, who had other battles to fight. So does she need her friends helping her at all?)

Buffy goes to fight the vampires alone, telling her friends that they are a burden, and she can’t protect them – the show will kill them if it can. This, of course, is the trap. Buffy cannot do this alone. She needs her friends, so her friends are part of her fight, and yes, she won’t always be able to protect them. That’s the deal she makes – the deal we make – with the show. If we are to have Buffy the Vampire Slayer, then we have to accept this package: real emotions, real threats.

Yes, it’s the problem of Jesse again, emphatically re-emphasised for the start of season two. This is a show where threats are real, and it’s a show where emotions are real. And the risk of holding both those two ideas is that your show will descend into misery – in the same way Buffy descended in this episode. The show accepts this risk, and in the episode’s conclusion it points the way forward. Buffy crushes the Master’s bones into dust, but more importantly, in the next scene Willow and Xander welcome her with friendship despite her behaviour to them. Here the show for the first time presents a possible answer to the problem of Jesse: the past can be overcome, because people love each other.

It’s good they have an answer in mind, because this season is going to get rough.

Other thoughts:
* Buffy’s dance as an act of self-destruction jibes nicely with the tendency towards martyrdom that Pearce has identified in his rewatch, and also feeds into the discussion between Alasdair and myself about whether Buffy in Prophecy Girl was choosing life or choosing death… All in the comments on the “Prophecy Girl” entry. I’ve been getting some great comments on these posts you guys, well worth trawling back through and reading them.
* Part of Buffy’s brand is making pop culture references (itself a bit of a 90s phenomenon) – reinforced by the cheeky decision to open season two with two characters playing a film-quote game.
* Speaking of which, check out the sheer confidence it takes to launch your second season with a whole episode of your lead character as an unappealing bitch. This is the show’s gambit to win over new viewers? I’m not sure how exactly Whedon is doing it, but he’s making unsafe choices and getting them past head office, and it’s exciting to watch.
* Jenny Calendar is back! Her character gets rounded out with a view little dialogue bits – imagining her at Burning Man sure puts her claim of being a “technopagan” into context! But I like the subtle moment where she says “Hey kids”, a phrase Giles would never utter, giving her relationship to the others a different flavour without compromising her status as a senior figure.
* “We got to wear robes” says Willow about the burial of the Master’s bones. I love it.
* Following what Ben has suggested in comments, I intend to track writers during season two and see if anything interesting (to me) emerges. This episode was written by Joss Whedon. Ok then.

Joss Whedon has spoken about the origins of Buffy the Vampire Slayer many times: “I had seen a lot of horror movies, which I love very much, with blond girls getting killed in dark alleys, and I just germinated this idea about how much I would like to see a blond girl go into a dark alley, get attacked by a monster and then kill it.” (source)

That reversal of expectations, where the victim is revealed to be anything but, isn’t in the TV show. In “Welcome to the Hellmouth” Buffy’s true nature is introduced piecemeal, dropping clues to the audience then revealing the truth in dialogue, but not actually showing her in action until the back half of the episode. Instead the episode begins with a swerve on that originating set-piece, a reversal of the reversal: the boy goes into the dark place with the weak, vulnerable blonde girl, but it turns out she is not the victim, nor the slayer, but in fact she is the monster. These choices seem odd to me – Whedon had the chance to bring this potent scene to life, and passed it over. I can see why, primarily because the character arc here is Buffy figuring out that her Slayer life has followed her to Sunnydale, and it’s hard to tell that story if she fights a vampire in the precredits sequence. Still, there are ways to square that circle, and I think this stands as one of the show’s biggest missed opportunities.

As I’ve worked through season one, I’ve usually referred to the creative force behind Buffy the Vampire Slayer simply as “the show”: “the show is trying to do this”, “the show did that”, etc etc. I’m deliberately murking up the relationship between showrunner Joss Whedon and the final content we see on our screens. There are lots of complications and compromises and improvisations involved in the journey from vision to final form, and a large team is needed to make a TV show possible. In fact, I feel like pretending that the show itself has creative agency is quite truthful – large collaborative projects take on their own shape under the accumulation of conflicting interests, systemic needs and unexpected pressures. Choices emerge from the morass without any obvious author, like a planchette moving across a ouija board. You can still see the forceful vision of the showrunner, the distinctive rhythms of the director, the unique choices of the screenwriter, but these are just ingredients in the whole.

I was curious, then, to take a look at the first takes on the concept of Buffy, which are relatively undiluted Joss Whedon. Buffy originated as a screenplay that long-haired Whedon shopped around for a while before some producers took it up. His dissatisfaction with the final film is well-known, but that original script could tell us something about what he saw in this concept.

There are plenty of places to find it online – here’s the one I referenced. It’s an interesting read. It obviously isn’t the TV show, because the structural demands of film force it to resolve things that you don’t close off if you’re going to make a TV series out of it. It also doesn’t quite fit the TV show’s backstory – Buffy is older and not a virgin, and she doesn’t burn down the gymnasium. However, it does show some of what we’ve been told to expect. Buffy starts out as a Cordelia-type popular girl dating a jock and screwing up her nose at the weirdo social outcasts, and she discovers she can sense vampires and she has the strength and speed to fight them, but it’s pretty devastating for her social life.

It’s a fun expression of the bimbo vampire slayer concept, but I think the script does have one major flaw: the female characters are pretty empty. Buffy’s mother (who bears zero resemblance to the TV show’s harried but engaged version) and her popular-girl friends have nothing much to say, and nothing much going on beneath the surface. Obviously the point is that Buffy acquires new dimensions when she engages with the unpopular vampire-slayage path, but it’s unfortunate that her friends are depicted as such empty caricatures of people.

In fact, for a film with such a central interest in female power, there is a notable lack of interest in female relationships. Buffy’s important relationships are all with men – with her jock boyfriend, with her burner love interest, with her mysterious watcher, with her vampiric nemesis. Even the school principal has a more meaningful and multi-dimensional relationship with her than her mother and friends.

All of which makes me think about vampires. Buffy is conceived as a vampire slayer, and though the show expands to imagine many other kinds of critter, they are the iconic monster against which Buffy stands. The show was always aware of the metaphorical dimension of its monsters, but it was never entirely clear what vampires stood for. Partly this was because they weren’t meant to have just one meaning – different vampires could be used to represent different concepts (or just to provide an action sequence in an otherwise quiet episode, for that matter). However, the film script really points the concept of Buffy at one reading above others: that vampires are a metaphor for the sexualised power of men, which is to say, vampires are rape culture.

The film isn’t a strong coherent feminist statement of course. For example, Buffy’s internal journey is expressed primarily through realising that her current boyfriend is a sexist jerk and she should switch to a new boyfriend who is not a sexist jerk. Still, throughout the film it’s clear that the physical threat of the vampires is being mirrored by social threats from society in general: “She’s had sex!” says the random younger student at the football game when he sees Merrick is watching Buffy; “You’re a dyke!” says the motorcyclist whose come-on is rejected and whose bike is commandeered; “I’ve always wanted you!” says the vampire footballer as he prepares his killing blow. Men watching and desiring Buffy and conceiving of her in sexual terms is presented, over and over again, as an oppressive force that is threatened by Buffy’s power. The two sides come together in Lothos, the vampiric big bad, who uses the same kind of language to speak of the Slayers he has killed in the past: “The names, the faces, they all melt together. After a time, there really is no difference. One more pathetic bitch, begging for me to suck on her clotted heart.” Lothos is a big speechifying dick, basically.

I think this take on vampires-as-rape-culture makes a lot of sense in thinking about the TV show, and indeed, I am hardly the first person to frame it in this way. It’s one more point of reference I’ll try to keep in mind as I keep watching, anyway. I don’t think it was ever a deliberate interpretation but it doesn’t need to be – the nature of vampires and their associated imagery is such a good fit for the pervasive harms of rape culture that the linkage comes through regardless. TV shows are cultural products and reproduce that culture, even (especially) when they want to interrogate it. Rape culture sits under the whole series, like the spirit at the seance, slowly spelling out its name.

Other thoughts:
* Movie Buffy can sense vampires through menstrual cramps. It’s a vivid, interesting idea, but I honestly can’t tell if it’s a good idea or not.
* There’s a great Whedon 3/4 swerve in the death of Merrick the Watcher. You know it’s coming – the setup is exactly like the death of Obi-Wan in Star Wars! But how it plays out is a definite surprise.
* The weird slang that became known as Whedon-speak makes sense here. It’s the same valley girl caricature depicted in Clueless. Buffy transitions out of it as the movie goes on, to the point of saying to her friends “what language are you speaking?” – but Whedon obviously liked the rhythm of this hyper-stylised form of expression, and Buffy in the TV series keeps using it.
* The other pure-Whedon thing to look at is the original pilot for the TV series. Easily findable on Youtube (such as here) but I didn’t find much to say about it. Although it is interesting to imagine an alternative universe where Riff Regan carried on as Willow.)
* Two links relating to Buffy & rape culture, but both of them are about stuff much later on in the series – Gem told me about this episode of the F word podcast analysing the season 6 episode “Seeing Red” which has a controversial plot development; and Phil Sandifer writing cogently on the same subject. Phil’s epic Doctor Who analysis, the TARDIS Eruditorium, is transparently an influence on these Buffy posts. He’s deep into some fascinating stuff on Alan Moore and Grant Morrison in the comics world, too – basically, I strongly encourage you to check out his work.

Blocking gets tricky when you have 7 cast members and you’re shooting in 4:3

The scene that sticks with me is the conversation Xander has with Willow after Buffy turns him down:

Xander: Hey, I know what we’ll do! We can go! Be my date! We’ll, we’ll have a great time! We’ll dance, we’ll go wild… Whadaya say?
Willow: No.
Xander: Good! What?
Willow: There’s no way.
Xander: (exhales) Willow, come on!
Willow: You think I wanna go to the dance with you and watch you wish you were at the dance with her? You think that’s my idea of hijinks? You should know better.
Xander: (exhales) I didn’t think.
Willow: I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you. I’ll see you on Monday.

It’s the “you should know better” that stings the most, because it’s aiming not just at Xander, but also at us, the viewers. You think this works like television, where my emotions don’t function? No. Welcome to the real world.

Well, not exactly the real world. The extremely-stylised and artificial world of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which is nonetheless a world in which people have real emotions. This is it, the final part of the show’s formula, showing up for the last dance. Right at the start I talked about the problem of Jesse, which is the challenge of combining real threat and real emotion without destroying the show in the process. There was some hesitation in that discussion, though, because the “real emotion” part of that equation wasn’t yet in place. Across the season, you saw a few flashes of the show’s emerging commitment to real emotion: the scene with Buffy and her father in Nightmares, some of the Buffy/Angel stuff in Angel, some of the Willow/Xander stuff in The Pack. But here it all comes together in what is a mission statement for the show: our characters feel every punch. And to emphasise the point, it punches them, over and over again.

The punches land because of the other part of that formula: real threat. Again, real threat has turned up a few times this season: the pack hunting Willow, Darla biting Joyce – but in this episode the show makes it stick, most notably when vampires kill Cordelia’s boyfriend on the school grounds, and when the prophecy demands that Buffy die. There are plenty of lesser threats in there too, such as upset in the unspoken love triangle between Xander, Willow and Buffy.

It turns out that real emotions require real threats. Without threat, emotion doesn’t have enough provocation, nor enough consequence, to feel significant for storytelling. And conversely, without emotion, threat doesn’t ever really matter to us – if we don’t have a chance to feel the effects through the characters, then it just can’t hurt us. It isn’t balancing threats and emotions that threatens the funny, fizzy tone of the show – it’s their mere existence. Real threats and real emotions are intertwined, and they inevitably drag a narrative towards misery.

How can you weight a TV show with these burdens and still try and be funny and fun? This is the fundamental question at the heart of this show, its core ambition. For that matter – why would you even try? This was clearly Joss Whedon’s vision for Buffy, but did he just not realise going in how hard it would be? And when the difficulty did become clear, why didn’t he change course? The problem of Jesse, in the end, illuminates the purpose of this show. Buffy is saying something about life beyond “high school is pretty rough you guys”, and the high school setting is just a convenient microcosm to talk about bigger questions. It will take a while for the show to articulate this question properly and give a clear answer, but there is a sense of it right in this episode: life will try to harm you, and you will be hurt and scared, but the right response is to stand up and keep fighting and keep making jokes and keep loving your friends. In the face of misery, that funny and fizzy tone isn’t ignorance – it is defiance.

So, the episode. Buffy faces down the Master, the Hellmouth opens and tentacles come out, everyone stands together to fight them, Buffy dies (3/4 swerve!) but is revived, the Master gets killed in the library. Plenty happens. The episode makes a point of using every one of its assets to the fullest. Sarah Michelle Gellar gets two knockout sequences. First in the achingly awkward scene where she tells Xander she’s not interested in him romantically – this is the longest scene in the episode and Gellar just nails every aspect of it, using her ability to communicate what’s going on inside her head to take you through every moment of her discomfort. Then, even more so, in the scene where Buffy discovers she’s fated to die that night, and where she has the entirely natural reaction of throwing it all in and walking away.

Nick Brendan’s Xander channels all his flop-sweat hopefulness into that long, long scene with Gellar, and it kind of makes sense of the character’s behaviour all season, his awful teen boy behaviour feels much less odious when you know this sharp lesson is ahead of him. Alyson Hannigan’s Willow does her full big-eyed emotion to give us a snap between the eyes at the deaths at the school, ensuring we can’t dodge this awful intrusion. And Anthony Stewart Head gets to do every part of Giles, enriching and deepening his character and showing that being the grown-up can mean many different things.

Plus, Cordy is right in the mix, and the very appealing Jenny Calendar makes a reappearance and is more or less inducted into the core cast.

But that’s not all! Lots of things get resolved. Among them:

• The love triangle. Xander admits his feelings for Buffy and asks her out; she refuses. Willow acknowledges her feelings for Xander but accepts they aren’t returned. After just twelve episodes, the show is done with the love triangle and ready to move on.
• Cordelia’s opposition to the gang. Most of this change happened last episode, but it is brought into a wider context here. Cordelia is friendly with Willow and ends up fully involved in the climax. She’s still an outside element, but she’s no longer in opposition to them.
• Buffy’s core issue this season, balancing her desire for a normal high school life with her Slayer responsibilities. The choice is made brutally stark: if she chooses to be a Slayer, she’ll die tonight. She chooses to be Slayer anyway. This question is resolved.
• Giles’s relationship with Buffy – is he the cool and distant Watcher, using her like a pawn on a chessboard, or a father figure, concerned about her welfare and seeking to keep her safe? Here Giles defies his own rules and indeed prophecy itself, trying to keep Buffy safe. Their relationship is now much more equal, and much more emotionally complete.

Each of these is a prominent part of season one. The show tosses all of them away. This is a show committed to reinvention. It’s the flipside of the problem of Jesse – real change is possible, too. It’s an interesting move for a show with a future – they throw out the moves that work for them so they don’t get stale. But they have to trust they’ll find new moves that also work. I understand Whedon and his team having that confidence, but they’re not the only ones calling the shots. If this was a bigger show, I doubt they’d get permission from higher-ups to make such radical changes.

Luckily, Buffy wasn’t big. It was small. Very small, with a name people couldn’t take seriously. People underestimated it, never guessing just how hard it could punch.

Hmmm. That description reminds me of someone.

Other notes:
* You know, it strikes me that this would actually be a perfectly effective first episode. Is the rest of season one redundant?
* To my eyes, the opening fight scene is shot differently to previous fight scenes. Buffy comes into her own fully here. She is fierce, dominant, tough: the Slayer, fully-formed.
* Willow talks about being in “the club”, which is better than “the Slayerettes”. The definitive nickname for the Slaying gang is still a while away!
* The show has a nice nudge at the audience where it leads you to expect the big climax at the Bronze, one of the show’s two standing sets. Then it reveals, no, the big climax is at the Library, the same boring place you’ve been in all season!
* That Anointed One kid turns out to have been a bit of a waste of time, huh? The perils of making story as you go – sometimes you realise that gun on the mantelpiece doesn’t actually need to get fired, oh well.
* Cordelia’s troubled driving is a callback to her driving lesson way back in episode three.
* Angel’s not having breath is funny given he can speak, and will thereafter be completely ignored by the show. Nevertheless it gives Xander a suitably downbeat moment of heroism – building on his courage in Nightmares, where (as Maire pointed out to me) we saw Xander willingly face his greatest fear for his friends.
* After Buffy’s resuscitation she says something like “I feel strong, I feel different”. This is interesting – and something the show doesn’t make much of thereafter. Still, the implication is clear, that she becomes at this moment “slayer plus”, something other than she was before. This could be read as an escape from patriarchical control – but all of that subtext is some way from being developed. As it is, this is just an intriguing dangling thread.

This is the episode where we finally discover more about a Buffy character who’s been there from the beginning but has mostly just come across as a vapid popular girl. At this point in the show’s history, it was impossible to know how important she would later become! Well, the journey from side player to important feature really begins right here. That’s right, this is the episode where we are properly introduced to Harmony Kendall.

Also, Cordelia Chase. We’ll get to her in a moment.

Harmony gets her name in this episode. Oddly enough, she is the longest-running character in the entire Buffy television mythology. She first appeared in the unaired pilot for Buffy, and she was also in the final episode of Angel, the beginning and the end of the Buffy-verse. (If you discount the unaired pilot because it was unaired, then she drops below Angel to second place – by only one episode.) Her longevity tells us a few things about this show – here are three I can think of right off the bat:

• This is a show that loves to hold on to its bit players. (Harmony is not the only background face from the unaired pilot who eventually turns into a significant character.) That’s another sign of the show’s comics-inspired commitment to build a world around the characters and reward loyal and attentive viewers.
• Harmony, or a character like her, is useful for storytelling. Mean, dumb, and popular, Harmony is a great contrast character for the show’s central figures, who repeatedly choose to be kind, smart and unpopular. Her poor judgement and mean streak also mean she’s an easy excuse to make a bad situation worse – always handy for writers who need to hit four climactic moments every episode.
• Harmony, or a character like her, is useful for the theme and tone. This show needs to find laughs, and Harmony is essentially a comedic figure – even in these early episodes where she’s played straight as a mean girl, the show’s stance on such people is essentially that of mockery. Not only that, but she’s a female comedic figure, and when you look at the entire Buffy/Angel mythos, there are precious few of those. For all its limitations and flaws, the Buffyverse tries hard to speak with a female voice, and Harmony is a useful contributor to that goal.

Which brings us to Cordelia. At the start of this episode, Cordelia sits in the mean girl chair that Harmony will later occupy. She was intended to serve the show’s themes and narrative by being Buffy’s dark reflection, the representation of what Buffy might be like if she hadn’t pursued the slayer path. However, Buffy rapidly became a different sort of character and the mean girl just wasn’t so important to the stories the show pursued. So this episode, the show makes the moves it needs to make Cordelia relevant again.

A change like this isn’t easy. You need to take an audience from one view of a character at the beginning to a completely different view by the end. To set up the change, the episode revisits the relationship between Buffy and Cordelia. Buffy has a clumsy moment, spilling her weapons on the floor in front of Cordelia, exactly the same move from the pilot. Clumsiness like this is out of character for Buffy by now, but needs must, and it neatly shows the massive status difference between the two.

We also get some deft character work, with one of Buffy‘s increasingly rare classroom scenes. Cordy is intensely insensitive to Shylock’s famous “if you prick us, do we not bleed” speech. This is the kind of move high school shows often makes with the vapid mean girl – the amusingly skewed interpretation of something that shows how self-involved they are. But the show is ahead of the game here, because it upends this cliche by making Cordelia absolutely right. Shylock *is* self-involved, and he should get over himself. But then, before you’ve even realised she’s hit the nail on the head, she seamlessly moves to some actual self-involvement (“I ran over her leg and she thought it was all about her!”), and it’s all the funnier because it comes right after the Shylock bit. Without drawing attention to it, the show is complicating her character, and suddenly giving her a power that she will carry forward: Cordy starts being right far more often than she’s wrong. And if all this complication wasn’t enough, the scene next has Cordelia asking her teacher for academic help. We haven’t seen her asking for help before, and an interest in academic success isn’t a strong feature of the mean girl archetype, so with only a few lines of dialogue Cordelia’s character has irrevocably shifted from how she seemed in every previous appearance.

So with all this at work, we are set up for a bigger swerve in Cordy’s character and role. First, when the bad supernatural trouble kicks off, Cordelia goes to find Buffy to ask for help. Despite the status differences, she acknowledges that Buffy has power in this domain and she isn’t too proud or stupid to ask her for help. And then, building further on this, Buffy and Cordy get to have a heart-to-heart – which, in line with Cordy’s new role as truthspeaker, comes in the form of Cordy pointing out Buffy has misjudged her. It’s a short scene, but perfectly executed to reframe everything about Cordelia. It changes her position in the show. Cordelia is no longer Buffy’s dark reflection, now she’s the one who says what no-one else will say, the outsider perspective, the reminder of the need for humility, the unexpected intrusion that forces reconsideration.

Cordy’s thank you to Buffy at the end is a moment that’s been earned. This is a significant change in the basic structure of the show. It’s not a big change, Cordy isn’t really a core character despite being in the credits, but it is a clear sign once again that Buffy is not afraid to make changes and to allow its premise to shift and its characters to change and grow (or die). This is priming the audience for the next episode, which doubles down on these kinds of structural change.

The monster in this episode is related to these themes, but unfortunately the links aren’t very strong. Marcie, the villain of the piece, is invisible, and she turned invisible because no-one noticed her. She’s a successful example of the monster-as-metaphor approach Buffy shoots for – her power and her villainous motivation both derive from social exclusion, with Cordelia as the most powerful excluder. (Willow and Xander also implicated, however.) There are obvious connections between Marcie feeling invisible and Cordelia and Buffy feeling that no-one really knows them, but you can’t push this too far – true social isolation is much less pleasant than Cordelia’s and Buffy’s complaint of being misunderstood. It makes Marcie a deeply sympathetic character, as she is presented very much as an innocent.

Turning Marcie into an exciting Buffy episode turned out to be a little bit harder, though, and ultimately the episode decided to throw out that sympathy. Invisible Marcie’s behaviour is simply inexcusable, and probably sociopathic. She uses her invisibility to physically assault and injure unsuspecting victims, which is far beyond any reasonable response to Cordelia’s meanness. I’d be curious about an alternative run at this episode where Marcie’s revenge was more petty and in keeping with the “crimes” against her, and the threat developed not through her aggression and malice but through some other means such as escalating unintended consequences. I think the drama in such an episode would be much more engaging, but the story would obviously be harder to put together, and you’d also lose the hilariously pointed coda where Marcie is recruited by the government.

It’s also possible to read Marcie’s extreme behaviour as the show refusing to abide by the rules for how female power is exercised. If the invisible foe was a male character, would I have taken such exception to his use of violence? Probably not, if I’m honest. And it’s worth noting that the idea for Marcie comes from Joss Whedon’s own feelings and experiences in high school. There is nothing about invisibility that demands the character be female. Marcie could even be seen as closing a loop on gendered stereotypes – she is so profoundly diminished by her feminine meekness and mildness, that she becomes perfectly suited for unfettered masculine violence.

This brings up one of the underlying themes hiding in plain sight in Buffy – girls can punch stuff too! – and it is quite a profound one, a sharp rebuke to the sexist idea that women fight their battles through words, particularly through gossip and verbal cruelty. Which is, I suppose, another reason why the “vapid popular mean girl” is a useful figure in the narrative world Buffy is constructing. Cordelia can’t be that character any more, but narrative abhors a vaccuum, and luckily Harmony was right there waiting to be sucked into position. Welcome to the hellmouth, Harm!

Other thoughts:
* According to wiki, this episode is also known as “Invisible Girl”. That’s how I always think of it. Not sure where that name comes from – early TV listings maybe?
* The comics-style structure of Buffy is again visible in the scene where Angel visits Giles in the library. This scene is entirely there to set up future developments, and it’s done exactly the same way Chris Claremont would introduce an upcoming storyline in an issue of Uncanny X-Men.
* The discussion of non-mystical explanations for Marcie’s invisibility is neat – if perception can become reality, then we have a ready-made mechanism for literalising metaphors. It’s perhaps too easy, though, or it makes the mechanics of the storytelling too obvious, because the show doesn’t really use this kind of explanation again. (At the same time, moving it into the non-mystical realm justifies the intervention of government at the end.)
* The “Be my deputy!” bit is lovely because of Willow and Xander’s goofy delivery. This bit is in the show to reinforce Buffy’s isolation, but to my mind it justifies itself as the only depiction I’ve ever seen of how bizarre an in-joke can be when seen from the outside.