The artificial mind

5.10: "Into the Woods"
5.12: "Checkpoint"
5.13: "Blood Ties"


Throughout the series the Watcher's Counsel has displayed an unwillingness to actually consider the "big picture" of its own purpose. In some of the in-between episodes that we weren't assigned to watch for class, Faith awakens from her coma and, with one final trinket from the Mayor, switches bodies with Buffy. Of course, "Buffy" creates utter havoc, but when the Watcher's Counsel arrives to take "Faith" away, they do not even listen or entertain the possibility that something extraordinary could have occured. This, the overarching group that is supposed to deal in the supernatural and the paranormal—but time and time again, they show a petty preference for the superficial and the human institution rather than concern for what is meant to be their ultimate goal: the destruction of evil. Like the Initiative, their failure to accept or fully understand the otherwordly nature of what they're dealing with has practically destroyed the organization itself: both Faith and Buffy rejected them, each in her own way.

Unfortunately for the reputation of the Counsel, I actually see a lot of parallels between their behavior and that of Glory's. Since Glory is a "hell god" and is of course immortal, she views the lives of others as having no value and doesn't even blink when the Byzantine knights kill most of her recent minions. Her followers have been as innumerable as the years of her existence, and so are all the same to her. The Counsel also never thinks of itself in terms of the "obsolete" or even "mortal," but as a continuing organization that will continue to exist as long as the world does. They fail to recognize that there cannot truly be the Counsel without the Slayer—that the purpose of one is void without the existence and support of the other—and view her as expendable, as Glory sees the status of her minions.

Never has the intervention of the Watcher's Counsel been less welcome. For one thing, their behavior and expectations are both absolutely ludicrous, as Buffy points out in the episode's final "showdown." One of the Cousel's biggest problems is that they focus so much on evil that they forget to preserve the good: clearly, perhaps because of their counter-productive self-focus, they do not attempt to make any special effort to keep the Slayer alive, whoever she may be.

Moving on the the situation with Dawn, I keep coming back to the movie Blade Runner, in which the Harrison Ford character hunts down rebel replicants. He meets a very convincing female replicant who fully believes herself to be human, as she has been programmed with a collection of memories—and the case of Dawn's creation really reminds me of her. In the robot April, as well, is the same question of whether or not what she does is something that has sprung from her own real purpose or from the overruling purpose of those who made her—aka, the "free will" issue. Clearly this notion of a manmade thing that considers itself "human" and has human actions, interactions, and emotions is an idea that has been repeatedly raised in many facets of popular culture: The Sixth Day, Artificial Intelligence, etc., and is one that apparently fascinates Joss Whedon (also in his new series Dollhouse),

Yes; I like "Helter Skelter."

4.20: "The Yoko Factor"
4.21: "Primeval"
4.22: "Restless"


"God has nothing to do with it," mutters the re-animated demonoid who was formerly Riley's best friend, Forrest. Generally I've learned that when this statement is made, very rarely is it really true. I would say that God has an awful lot to do with it—or a "God complex," at least. Not only does Maggie Walsh re-create and re-animate a living being, Dr. Frankenstein-like, from assorted pieces of dead bodies, she calls him "Adam," just as God called the first man in the book of Genesis. I found this to be both rather presumptious and very unwise, and sure enough: parallel to the way that Adam rebelled against and disobeyed his Creator, from the minute that Dr. Walsh's Adam was brought to life he was going against her will. As it transpired, Dr. Walsh did not even have authority over when Adam was re-animated; he simply stood up, killed her, and said, "Mother," when she wasn't expecting him to be even active yet. "The best-laid plans of mice and men . . ." It really reminded me of the amusing exchange from Jurassic Park: Dr. Malcolm says, "God creates dinosaurs. God destroys dinosaurs. God creates man. Man destroys God. Man creates dinosaurs..." and the female doctor character interjects, "Dinosaurs eat man. Woman inherits the earth."


By making the attempt to replace the spirituality of the universe and everything in it—or the "magic," if you will—with pure science and documentation, Dr. Walsh was rejecting whatever the writers of the show would deem the "Powers that be" and asserting her own will and authority over everything that Buffy represents. Buffy comes from a long line of Slayers and bears their ancient destiny and power. Not only did Dr. Walsh jeopardize her purpose in her attempts to take over her job and subjugate her to the Initiative itself, she even tried to kill her—a direct battle between science/reason and destiny/ancient magic. Her ignorance of Buffy's birthright and strength are her ultimate undoing, because if she had pursued her subject less scientifically and been more accepting of the spiritual/magical part of what she was doing, she probably wouldn't have made something like Adam. She should have realized how dangerous—and kind of crazy—it was to combine demon, computer, and human. At its core, the experiment was incompatible: demons and humans rarely—as Buffy testifies—comfortably co-exist. While computers and humans do manage a creator/created relationship, creating a computer that is physically stronger than you, with powers to reason humanly . . . It's just, in every possible way, a terrible idea. As Guy in Galaxy Quest asks in horror, "Didn't you guys ever watch the show?!"


Order vs. chaos is yet another problem in the Adam equation. What, for Adam, is "order"? Apparently, it is getting his own way and going about his own business. But, at the same time, his will, his desires, seem born from his humanity—the "chaos" of having emotions. It reminds me of when Data in one of the Star Trek: the Next Generation movies gets an emotion chip installed in HIS head so that he can be more "human." Of course, it is a disaster, because the emotions are completely simulated and have no real context; they cannot "jive" with the rest of Data's systems. But, since Adam is both computer ("order") and human ("chaos") (unlike Data who is always completely robotic), the way they work together is more terrifying than Maggie Walsh would have anticipated. He has all the reason and strategic planning of an able and resourceful soldier, with the problem-solving and info-downloading capabilities of a computer, as well as the evil strength and sheer autonomy of a powerful demon—but he has no human discernment and certainly no empathy or compassion. I really do not believe that he had too strong of feelings for Dr. Walsh—although he spoke admiringly of her as a great strategist and planner, his killing of her and re-animating her so that he can dominate and keep her as a servant smacks of the most primitive survivialist instinct.

And, as a P.S., I must of course mention how much I love all of references to The Beatles. Naturally. I think also that drawing a parallel between the Charles Manson murders and Adam through his reference of the song "Helter Skelter" was both perfectly and just subtle enough.

And I'm supposed to help you out of the evilness of my heart?

4.12: "A New Man"
4.14: "Goodbye, Iowa"
4.19: "New Moon Rising"


In episode 12, "A New Man," I found several uses of humor common to the show in general to be particularly prevalent. This seems to be a recurring motif: an antagonist stands in the foreground, and ominous music plays as the camera zooms in on his face as he makes some wrathful proclamation—when, lo and behold, something or someone interrupts their monologue and destroys their "cool." It has tended to happen to Spike from his very first appearance. As his situation is undeniably ironic (the big-talking, streetwise vampire who is invariably beaten by the little blonde Slayer), his constant loss of face really helps to hone the humor and define the duality of his character.


In "A New Man," Spike suffers the same fate yet again: while careening around street corners in Giles's ancient sedan to escape the Initiative agents, Spike grins mockingly at the Humvees in the rearview mirror. Immediately after making a particularly insolent boast, he slams the car into a brick wall. (As Buffy herself notes, "That would probably have sounded more convincing if I wasn't wearing my yummy sushi pajamas.") It's the type of laugh-out-loud "surprise" humor that reminds the viewers that the writers like to keep you guessing; it's a fascinating dichotomy. While on the one hand, the show is very detailed in its exploration of emotions, situations, and relationships between characters, on the other hand it acknowledges its own paradoxes, often poking fun at itself, its people, and its plots and conveniences. In "Something Blue" (which was tragic for the class to have skipped), Spike tells Buffy, even in the midst of their accidental engagement, that "Buffy" is an "awful name." I think this is something important to note, in that the very title of the show has actually—to my own personal knowledge—turned many people away from the show. They think that the name is, and I quote, "dumb" and "sounds stupid." However, the title itself is one manifestation of the series' own unusual mixture of humor and seriousness: that a girl with a preppie name like "Buffy" could possibly be the Slayer, the one fighting terrible forces of evil, is both ridiculous and a nice twist.


Another aspect of the show that is becoming much more well-defined (especially since the introduction of Riley) is the fact that, with the monsters, there are "gray areas." This is a constant theme of the blurring of the lines between good and evil: Angel is a vampire—but good, because he has a soul. Now Spike, also a vampire, remains "bad," but thanks to the Initiative has been rendered unable to harm the "good" and so can no longer act on his evil instincts; does this make him, also, like Angel, "good"? Most people agree that "talk is cheap": it is not our words but our actions that define who and what we are, as well as where our hearts lie—but as Spike says, if he could, he would most certainly kill Buffy and the entire "Scooby gang," and judging by his past actions, that is the case. Of course, even if he could attack humans again, Buffy still might stymie him; that seems to be the story of his life, the poor blighter.


But as Riley comes to realize in "New Moon Rising," the lines are less definite than he had previously understood in his "soldierly" way of not asking questions. Once he has been exposed to more one-on-one interaction with the creatures of darkness to which Buffy and her friends have long been accustomed, he comes to his own conclusions and does exactly what Buffy would have done—and actually, what she did when she saved Angel's life and quit the Watcher's Council. Giles also showed behavioral signs similar to these when Wesley showed up to be Buffy's new Watcher; once Riley is completely free of the totalitarian authority of the Initiative, his and Buffy's understanding of one another's character will deepen, and they will certainly come to trust one another more.

You've been . . . initiative-ed?

4.7: "The Initiative"

4.10: "Hush"

4.11: "Doomed"

4.13: "The 'I' in Team"

Many peoples' greatest fear in life is being used. Being taken advantage of is so prevalent in society at large, in everyday dealings with other people, that it is practically inescapable. It always tears down one's pride, only to rebuilds shame in its place. For Buffy, not only did Parker hurt her feelings, he also dealt a major blow to her pride. As Willow points out in "Beer Bad," Buffy shared something very intimate with him—and now that he has shared that with her and thrown her aside, she is not only suffering the pain of rejection but also the shame that everyone experiences after the realization that one has made a mistake. Though she is the Slayer and in many ways superhuman, her weaknesses are "nothing that is not common to man."

Going further into the concept of "being had," as people say, the entire "Initiative" organization is operating with a purpose that is hidden even from Riley, their main team leader. While Riley's refusal to question his orders at first causes Buffy (and everyone else) to admire his loyalty, it is the ignorance underpinning his trust that ultimately betrays him. He had been a member of the Initiative for quite a while without being too curious about its behind-the-scenes goings-on without any good reason to be suspicious about its (or even his own) activities, but he had also by definition had his eyes shut quite tightly.

Buffy has really been able to reflect on her history with Angel, especially in the wan light of the Parker episode. She was hoping for her relationship with Parker to be more similar to her previous one with Angel—and clearly, what became of that was less than what she was expecting. One of the interesting twists that the writers always include in the episodes that I particularly enjoy is wordplay between episodes and their titles. For example, in "Doomed," the word applies not only to the impending apocalypse but also to Buffy's ideas about the future of her relationship with Riley.

Bob Parr (aka Mr. Incredible) says that he "makes it a point to know who he's working for," and perhaps that would have been helpful for everyone involved in The Initiative. Of course, here we have yet another case of adults/authority figures who are, in fact, in error: Professor Walsh is A) a well-respected, published physcology teacher and B) in charge of the Initiative's underground base and operations. However, the trappings of "helping" or "protecting" people by capturing these creatures of darkness are eclipsed by the "314" unknown project she has going simultaneously. Also, her plot to trap and kill Buffy (even though it was a failure) is egregious and complete anathema to the outer shell of the organization. Interestingly, she even seems to have either a mother or, possibly, a romantic complex with Riley: she calls him by his first name on a regular basis and corrects herself, referring to him instead as "Agent Finn." She is convinced that, given time, he will come to see things from her point of view—in very much the same way that Parker is convinced that Buffy is overreacting and ought to come view what they had as plain old "casual sex."

"So are they all, all honorable men . . ."

4.4: Living Conditions
4.5: The Harsh Light of Day
4.6: Fear, Itself


There are several important points throughout the show at which Buffy is portrayed as vulnerable. In the episode "Innocence" of Season 2, after Buffy and Angel consummated their relationship, she confusedly searches for Angel only to find him using careless language about their night together. She stands speechless, her forehead wrinkled in consternation as he mocks her lack of experience and jibes her youth and ignorance. While this is clearly a result of his having lost his soul, she has not yet discovered that fact and is distraught, thinking that it was something specific she did (or did wrong) that has contributed to his change of heart. The insecurities she seems to have always had concerning her relationship with Angel had been fully confirmed—everything she had feared had become real, even more distinctly than happens in the episode "Fear, Itself." How she can ever again trust anyone to that point of a romantic relationship is incredible.

Which is why I was a little shocked when, after a mere couple of dates, Buffy made her choice to spend the night with Parker. I thought one possible explanation, however slight, was that she saw a reflection of her former (younger) self in his attitude—after all, in the very first episode of the very first season, she flippantly told Willow that she believed in "seizing the moment." Even so, she doesn't ever really seem to embrace this philosophy in any area of her life, school, social life, or "work." She was shown vividly to be separate from this mindset especially when she ran into Faith, whose nonchalance and diregard for real responsibility upset and annoy Buffy rather than cause her to identify with her. Besides, Parker seemed like a good bet—steady, considerate, and cautious—even nervous about moving forward in their relationship (example: when he pretended like he was "too scared" to ask her to the frat party the next night). His pretences are only kept up until after they have slept together, and—just like Angel—he demeans her expectations and laughs off her expression of emotions. Buffy shudders under the weight of the déja-vu, practically breaking: she takes her time recovering because she simply does not want to "cope." Vulnerablility #3—as, when Buffy first comes to the University of California at Sunnydale, her sense of being out of her element was Vulnerability #2.


Of course, Parker's behavior is not because he has lost his soul, which makes him fully responsible for his actions—and also a pathetic excuse for a human being and should be thrown into the river with a millstone around his miserable neck. Parker is a plain and simple scoundrel, a blackguard, a varlet, and all of those wonderful words that people use but rarely in today's society. Willow's nomination of him as a "poophead" also covers the bases (though I always thought that "The Poophead Principle" was the inexplicable sense of satisfaction that a more mature person invariably derives from the expressing of grown-up feelings with a childish vocabulary).


From the onset, of course, Parker certainly did seem like a nice guy—but as Shakespeare said, "one may smile and smile and be a villain." As we discussed in class, Buffy's being hoodwinked into believing every word that Parker said is not that surprising: his deportment, choice of words, and body language would not have led anyone to the conclusion that he was the "love 'em and leave 'em" type. Of course, Buffy DID "make the choice," which makes her responsible, but it doesn't make Parker any less of a scoundrel.


Clearly, Buffy's relationship with Riley is going to become more important as the season progresses. I know this both by my sense of foresight . . . and by my accidentally reading a summary of some later episode. But it is interesting to see Buffy's progression in relationships: from Angel, an "older" man, someone with maturity who can look out not only for himself but for Buffy as well—to Parker, much more of a peer, not that far ahead in school or age with something of the vulnerable (and deceitful) about him—to Riley, from whom intelligence and experience seem to emenate. The good thing about Riley (thus far) is that, rather than pursuing or being actively pursued, they are allowing their relationship to develop normally, outside of any established boundaries of the "romantic." Whether they were to actually become involved or not (even though they do), it will surely be a much healthier development for Buffy—her relationship with Parker was, overall, romantic and, unfortunately for Buffy, wound up being merely sexual.

I want you so bad . . .

3.21: Graduation Day, Pt. 1
3.22: Graduation Day, Pt. 2
4.1: The Freshman


Irony does seem to haunt Sunnydale, not only within the show's context in modern culture, but also within the overall arc of the story—the "Buffyverse." In the middle of Season 1, Principal Snyder sneered at former Principal Flutie's views: "'Kids need understanding. Kids are human beings.' That's the kind of wooly-headed liberal thinking that leads to being eaten." Amusingly, Snyder suffered the same fate—not at the jaws of a pack of hyena-students, but at those of an ascending snake demon. (At least, it was amusing for everyone else. And, since he WAS such an officious rodent who hated both fun and young people—though not as much as the two combined—no one will miss him terribly.) Things like this within the show make Giles's comments about the "certain dramatic irony" and "synchronicity that borders on predestination" doubly ironic, since even the characters take note of and comment on the underlying forces at work. I heard somewhere that, in film writing, that's called "hanging a lantern" on a character or a concept, but perhaps more subtly.


In response to some of the questions from Dr. Rose:

"Do other characters [besides Faith] blur the boundaries between sex and violence?" It is impossible not to realize that the blurring of that particular border is practically the definition of the vampire itself. I think it was Katie Moore who was pointing out how the concept of "the vampire" has its origins in the most sexually-active stereotype imaginable. I have read essays on how being infected by a vampire is analogous to a venereal disease (in a recent movie version of Dracula they pushed this idea to its limit, adding to the story by giving Lucy's husband Arthur hereditary syphilis—an interesting facet, but one that didn't really work). Since the change from "3 bites, you're out" slower routine and the "new, American vampire" mere blood exchange between Dracula and the Buffyverse, the analogy should perhaps change from venereal disease to flat-out rape.

Everything about the vampire (particularly the "European" model) is suggestive of sexual intercourse: their inextricable correlation with blood, their predation of the weak and often opposite in gender (especially historically), even their physical position in relation to their victims. This came across very strongly at the beginning of "Graduation Day, Pt. 2" when Buffy had to force Angel to drink her blood to survive: she provoked him to a frenzy by punching him in the face so that his violent soulless nature would take precedence over even his feelings for her, and when she had succeeded, he fell on her with what seemed to be an uncontrollable and unstoppable hunger. While their earlier physical relations were born of their love for one another and were represented as tender and unhurried, with something of the sacred about them, the mixture of demonic bloodlust and actual human desire had not been so vividly displayed before this point.


Completely outside of the show and its inner workings, I really appreciated Willow and Buffy's discussion of classes at the beginning of "The Freshman":

Willow: 'Images of Pop Culture.' This is good. They watch movies, TV shows, even commercials!
Buffy: For credit?
Willow: Isn't college cool?

I just found this also perfectly ironic and charming, given our class's particular persuasion, and I must agree with Willow: college is all the more cool for taking an academic angle on pop culture.

"Du Doppelgänger! Du bleicher Geselle!" (and the internet and power are back!)

3.16: "Doppelgangland"

3.17: "Enemies"

3.18: "Earshot"

According to dictionary.com, a Doppelgänger is "a ghostly double of a living person, especially one that haunts its fleshly counterpart." The episode "Doppelgangland" refers back to the events and alternate reality of episode 9, "The Wish": the plot revolves around demon Anyanka, the "patron saint of scorned women" known to those at Sunnydale High as Anya.


In "The Wish," she hears Cordelia (recent victim of a painful break-up with Xander) exclaim, "I wish Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale!" Naturally, Vengeance Demon Anya grants the angry desire, and immediately Cordelia is transported into an alternate reality in which Buffy moved to Cleveland rather than Sunnydale. At first, Cordelia relishes her near-celebrity status at the gloomy high school, but quickly learns that something is very wrong, and that not all of the changes are for her or anyone else's good. All the things that were really important to her have been lost or destroyed. Everyone dresses in blacks, browns, and grays, avoiding the brighter hues that were so trendy in her former life, and no one has fun anymore; the Bronze is off-limits, and half her classmates are dead (or worse). The reasons become clear: the vampires succeeded in take over the Bronze and releasing the Master, as they attempted to do in Season 1, and it is clear that Sunnydale will never recover. Since Buffy never came, Angel has been imprisoned by the Master, and only Giles and a small band of students (including Oz), the "White Hats," have managed to gain any ground against the forces of evil. Xander and Willow have both been turned, and not only are they now at the Master's beck and call, they are two of his most destructive and cruel accomplices. The vampire Willow is particularly disturbing, because her demeanor as she heartlessly tortures Angel or complains that killing helpless humans isn't "fun" is just as calm and straightforward as the old, normal Willow who was Buffy's best friend.


Back in normal Sunnydale, this image of Willow becomes twice as disturbing. When Anya deceitfully enlists Willow's help to return to the other dimension, Willow (unused to such dark and powerful magic) accidentally alters the spell so that HER alternate self comes through to their world. Willow's Doppelgänger wanders the streets, lost and perturbed, before she begins to wreak havoc. While there is the plus side that while the human Willow would have been killed by the Mayor's vampires, the vampire Willow has nothing to worry about—though then, of course, she rapidly presses them into her service and organizes an attack on everyone hanging out at the Bronze.


The episode begins with Willow being basically commanded by Principal Snyder to keep Sunnydale High's main basketball star from flunking history. This is closely followed by Buffy greeting her as "Old Reliable," and Xander's insensitivity to her feelings of having been reduced to the role of beleaguered, one-dimensional scholar. Throughout the episode, her resentment at being treated as a mere academic instrument increases before she gains a sense of closure on the subject—thanks to her evil "twin." While the vampire Willow does threaten the security of Sunnydale and its inhabitants, she attacks Percy West (the basketball player) at the Bronze, unwittingly giving the real Willow a major head start in the tutoring department by scaring him into actually doing his assignments. The "good" and "evil" Willows finally meet, and while one is appalled and the other bored, they do manage a sort of unspoken connection by the time Giles sends the vampire and Anyanka back to the alternate reality. The real Willow must briefly pretend to be her evil "twin" (and, dangerously, vice versa) and while she does not dive completely into character, she does use the opportunity to get the "Old Reliable" image out of her head and off her chest. The vampire Willow also projects a twisted sort of childlikeness that is reflective of the human Willow's demeanor. Her coolness and deceptively bemused behavior are unnerving, in that they are both reminiscent of the human Willow and yet, at the same time she is completely lacking in the optimistic innocence and candor that define her real counterpart.



Further on down the line, Buffy's life gets more difficult. (Both "Enemies" and "Earshot" are really fantastic episodes, not only because of the great stories but because they are both so perfectly, almost classically, self-contained. These three episodes have been my favorites this entire season—perhaps even every season thus far.) "Enemies" deals, once again, with Faith, this time focusing on her double agency with the eccentric and loathsome Mayor. Faith's character's femininity is highly emphasized in this episode: the Mayor sicks Faith on Angel, intent on enleashing the monster again by seducing him into that "moment of true happiness" by which he would once again lose his soul. Of course, the plan fails—not because Faith's attempt is particularly lacking, but because of Angel's undying loyalty to Buffy. Even in the episode "Wishes," when the "tougher, meaner" Buffy finally appears in the alternate Sunnydale, Angel was even then aware of Buffy and says her name as he dies. As he tells her in "Helpless," he loved her from the first moment he laid eyes on her, because he could see her heart so clearly. Of course, Faith knows nothing about any of this, and she does her best—only to be completely "owned" (as runs the vernacular).


Buffy's naturally feminine insecurities about her relationship with Angel aren't aided by the sting she, Giles, and Angel set up to bring Faith's duplicity into the light, and are not to be set at a more comfortable rest until the end of "Earshot." While Angel does occasionally take advantage of his charade as the "evil Angelus" (for example, slugging a truly irritating Xander), even his assurance that his acting opposite Faith is not enough. Buffy needs "a break," while still promising him that she'll always be his girl. At the end of "Earshot," Angel explains to Buffy that he had been with bad girls before and is done with that sort of woman; it's a "good girl" who fights on the side of the daylight that he wants; Buffy, to be precise. As he says, "In 243 years, I have loved exactly 1 person."