Buffy, She Bloggo: 1x09 - "The Puppet Show"

A horny puppet's

also a demon hunter.

Um, wiggins indeed.

--

The first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer is chockablock with ridiculata, from preying mantis teachers to principal-devouring hyena cliques to cyber-dating book demons.  “The Puppet Show” is little different, featuring a sentient dummy who’s fighting against an organ-harvesting demon hiding amidst the cast of a high school talent show.  It’s a lot to take in - and take seriously.  Because unlike the previous endeavors of the outlandish, “The Puppet Show” doesn’t quite elevate itself out of the bizarre.

The main issue with “The Puppet Show” is, frankly, the puppet himself.  While it’s a worthwhile twist to make him friend instead of foe, it doesn’t exactly shift him into actual hero territory.  The problem?  It’s near impossible to empathize with a puppet, even if we know his tragic back story.  (He used to be human, and was cursed to live the rest of his days as a puppet.  If he kills the final demon, he’s free, and by free, we mean dead.  See?  Plenty tragic.  But it means well nothing when the face emoting it is wooden.  Literally.)  The fact that Sid the Puppet was also a weird 30s-era gangster film stereotype - complete with sexist overtones - didn’t help make him any more likeable.  Add this to the fact that Sarah Michelle Gellar is literally grappling with a doll in their fight scenes and it’s way too easy to check out from even TRYING to take it seriously.

But even when Sid was meant to be creepy, the episode somehow missed the mark there as well.  Spooky puppets are a long-established horror trope, and “The Puppet Show” did its best to capitalize on that.  Buffy reasonably had the wiggins, and so did we.  The head turning to look at her, the unsettling noise of something skittering across the floor, Sid’s face appearing in Buffy’s window?  All working hard to be skin-crawlingly awful.  But using those conventions just made everything feel extra campy.  There’s a difference between taking advantage of commonly-held fears and repeating commonly-used beats.  Overdramatic cinematography with heavyhanded music didn’t help, and so the tone of “The Puppet Show” emerged somewhere in the region of horror soap opera.

One thing “The Puppet Show” did reasonably well was delineate its own mystery.  As a “whodunnit,” it succeeds in its twists and turns.  We naturally believe that Sid is the demon, because, well, creepy wiggins puppet, and it turns out he’s actually a demon hunter.  The episode simultaneously introduces the new principal, Snyder, and does a good job making him a plausible suspect.  Even without lurking in the shadows, ears aglow with backlight, Snyder actually poses a real threat to Buffy - he’s got his eye on her.  Where Principal Flutie was basically harmless, Snyder vows to monitor Buffy’s behavior at school, believing her to be delinquent.  There’s even a delicious hint that maybe he knows something of Buffy’s supernatural life, which could be doubly as damning.  “The Puppet Show” does a great job setting up Snyder as a potential problem for Buffy and the Gang.

Other than that, “The Puppet Show” falls a little bit short.  The final act is a bit wacky, as somehow Giles, being of sound mind and able librarian, willingly straps himself into a guillotine contraption and asks WHAT IT DOES minutes after being shown a cleanly bisected melon.  Honestly, Giles, if it weren’t for your meddling kids, you’d be naturally selected right out of the Hellmouth for that one.  This clumsy oversight could possibly be forgiven on account of the clever moment where Buffy pushes Mark the Magician Guy into his disappearance box only to be greeted with a Human-Harvesting Demon when he reemerges.  But then Buffy couldn’t push a chandelier off of her in the same episode as she obliterates a locker dial, so we may be back in the lose column on episode logic.

Anyways, “The Puppet Show” is a weird hour of supernatural television.  That’s really all can be said about it.  Oh!  I feel as well that we should pour one out for dear Morgan, who operated with the aura of a decade-straddling Ben Savage-Michael Cera hybrid, then turned out to not only be completely innocent but also have brain cancer, and then was needlessly slaughtered.  Poor Morgan, man.  That has to be a contender for the coldest incidental death on Buffy.  Except maybe Principal Flutie.  Season 1 goes hard, I guess.

Stray Observations -- 

• Cordelia was working overtime as comedic relief!  You can start to see the writers trying to figure out what to do with her.  This works.  (It will work even better in future muahahaha.) 

• How fitting that Xander play Oedipus opposite Buffy’s Electra?  Awkward. 

• Xander and Willow’s complete stage fright in contrast to Buffy’s case of Over It and Gives No Fucks is hilarious, and actually something worth keeping an eye on in the dynamic.  This rewatch has started me thinking on Xander and Willow’s insecurities, and how those traits manifest in each character as they grow - for better and worse.  It’s an interesting exercise!

Buffy, She Bloggo: 1x08 - "I, Robot... You, Jane"

Hey, Miss Calendar!

Tease Giles and be awesome?

All in a day's work.

---

Last time, on Buffy, I didn't have have much to say, about the introduction of Buffy's major love interest and the reveal that he is, in fact, a vampire.  This time on Buffy, Willow unwittingly cyber-dates an ancient demon that's been uploaded into a computer and chats with teenagers so they'll do his evil bidding - and somehow, I have a lot to talk about.  File under: things I did not expect.

Of course, what's great about "I, Robot... You, Jane" is not the plot.  The entire premise is pretty laughable from start to finish, especially with all the 1997 computer technology on display.  Willow couldn't be online, her phone wasn't busy!  The computer demon could reach anywhere connected to a modem!  That webcam!  That laptop!  But it's not really about the technology, or the premise, or the plot.  It's about what all of those things mean.  The execution on these concepts finds an interesting debate about technology, an allegory about unhealthy love, and still keeps its characters at the foundation of the heightened plot they're enacting.

Obviously, the debate about books vs. computers is meant to be at the forefront of the episode's discussion.  It shakes out in the interactions between Giles, who is firmly in Camp Printed Word, and the computer programming teacher Jenny Calendar, who embraces the benefit of the inevitable digital revolution.  This friction between traditional and progressive houses the main theme of the episode, and creates a timely debate not so much about books and computers but about knowledge, information, and change - which makes it actually quite timeless.  It's easy to forget, after all, that books - and the widespread production of them - were once considered technology.  No coincidence, then, that the flashback showing Moloch the Love Demon's original entrapment was set in 1418 Italy, thirty-two years before the invention of the printing press in the western world.  (China was well on this shit about four hundred years earlier.)

When Johann Gutenberg invented the European-access movable type printing press in 1450, he also gave way to a revolution in communication.  The ability to print material en masse brought information to a wider spread of people, simply because the production of a book took less time, and could therefore ensure a larger effect.  Before this bit of technology, the communication of knowledge was restricted, as the production of books was tedious and time-consuming.  Hand-copied illuminated manuscripts were a painstakingly slow endeavor, usually completed by monks, and therefore written in High Latin.  This was also a barrier to knowledge at the time - if you didn't speak church Latin, you didn't have access to that information.  It's why Dante's The Divine Comedy (ca. 1320) was such a big deal; he used an amalgamation of colloquial Italian dialects to reach more people.  In making his work more accessible to the masses, he helped bring information to the larger culture, instead of making knowledge contingent on the reader making education gains beyond their opportunity and means.

So, with this history lesson in mind, it's beyond delightful that Jenny Calendar sasses Giles for his library-centric view of knowledge, and advocates for digital information in that it's much more easily spread to those less privileged than well-off white dudes.  After all, isn't the advent of the internet breaking down the same barriers in communication and knowledge that the printing press did in 1450?  The limitations of information spread are less of an issue, as are the geographic barriers separating social and cultural lines.  Obviously, the machine that facilitates this access is not free, but computers are more and more commonplace, and places like libraries are offering use of them for free, to those who may not be able to afford one in their home.

In delineating Miss Calendar's and Giles' idealogical differences this way, "I, Robot... You, Jane" doesn't really take a side in the debate.  When taking the premise at face value - Willow cyber dates a dude who turns out to be bad for her - it'd be awfully easy to jump to a conclusion along the lines of "the internet is evil."  But the episode doesn't even come close to putting forth this basic reaction, simply because books and computers are treated as more or less the same, when it all comes down to it.  Giles gets in his romantic view of book smells, sure, but Moloch came from a book before he went on the internet, so in terms of villainy, we're 1-1 on technology-gone-evil.  Plus, Jenny Calendar's role as a modern techno-pagan is just so cool that the audience can't really help but immediately fall in love with her.  Follow suit, Giles!  She's just like you, except digital.  It's the books-vs-computers debate manifested in human form: they're made of the same stuff, they just use different means.

No, "I, Robot... You, Jane" never condemns the pervasiveness of the internet, but it does warn against something much less newfangled, and much more threatening: the dangers of unhealthy love.  Willow's interactions with Malcolm are not icky because she doesn't know what he looks like, or because he could be lying to her - they're icky because they bear all the hallmarks of emotional manipulation and unhealthy investment.  They're slyly infused with a level of absolutism, and designed to prey on the unempowered.  The promise of Moloch is repeated three times: I can give you everything.  All I want is your love.  The idea that love is a trade and not a benediction speaks volumes.  Not only that, but it's pancaked into vague absolutes - if you love me, you can have everything.  Whatever you want, you can have - only if you love me. 

What's unsettling is that this interpretation of love isn't all that unfamiliar in popular love narratives - especially with teenagers.  Willow's initial description of Malcolm is an insidious giveaway of this sweeping, flat love: "He's romantic, and we agree on everything."  Are these the only necessarily qualifiers for a partner?  We agree on everything runs a neat parallel to I can give you everything if you love me.  Agreeing on everything is hardly a reasonable standard for long-lasting relationships, and implies some level of self-sacrifice to make the partner happy, which can therefore be twisted as a sign of romantic devotion.  I love you so much, I have all the same opinions as you.  Then, the recipient of that gesture owes you big, because you've erased your own identity to replace it with the "love" that benefits them.  That's the payment that Moloch requires, as he turns on both Dave and Willow when they rethink their devotion.  "But I love you.  You are mine."  In other words, you are owed to me because I gave myself to you.

It's creepy, right?  Absolutes and payment and possession wrapped up in generous words that make the recipient feel special.  "You know me better than anyone.  I can't believe how comfortable you make me feel."  It's hard especially for Willow not to respond to that.  "I, Robot... You, Jane" is very smart about keeping their characters' insecurities at the surface, so the audience can both understand why they might get wrapped up in a bad situation, and still feel empathetic to them.  How heartbreaking is Willow's admission that boys don't really chase her, and she's probably not Malcolm's ideal?  (Again with the expectation that love hinges on being perceived as perfect to your partner!)  It makes so much sense that Willow, with her low sense of romantic self-worth, would engage with blind and strings-attached promises of love and connection.  

Xander too demonstrates an interesting (albeit sidecar) display of low-self worth in "I, Robot... You, Jane," as he claims wanting to go to the Bronze to make fun of people who don't talk to him.  Xander's manifests a bit differently than Willow's, though.  Willow's low self-worth makes her vulnerable, gullible even, as she often embodies the "damsel in distress" role in the Buffyverse.  Her disempowerment puts her at risk, and eventually drives her towards witchcraft - which alleviates the issue, since she's damseled far less frequently after that point.  Xander, however, wields his disenfranchised status as both a shield and a weapon.  Self-deprecating to the point of self-loathing, Xander uses humor to keep people from preying on his vulnerabilities, and has no problem dropping a mean comment against others to balance the perceived injustice.  This point of view also hints at Xander being incredibly self-centric, as he's focused mostly on his own suffering at the hands of others.  After all, he reacts to Willow's love interest by saying: "Everyone deserts me."

Anyways, this episode isn't about Xander's insecurities - it's about Willow's.  And naturally, when it comes time for Moloch to be fought off, Willow is allowed an empowered chance to swing a punch at him - or a fire extinguisher, as it were.  What's notable about the moment, though, is that Willow only gets a hit at Moloch when he's a threat to Buffy.  This is also true for the greater episode narrative; Willow only becomes suspicious of Malcolm when he tries to turn Willow on Buffy.  On the one hand, it's great that the general message is that Willow doesn't allow for unhealthy love to isolate her from her loved ones; she still puts Buffy before Malcolm.  But on the flip side of this is the sad realization: Willow also puts Buffy above herself.  She's instigated to fight back only when it's protection over Buffy, which is both endearing and slightly tragic.  Any way you interpret it, though, whether good or bad, it's very telling about Willow's level of self-worth, and the value she places on her association with Buffy, who she sees as a pillar of strength, coolness, and looks.

So, you didn't expect to get all that out of an episode about a lovelorn Windows '97 cyber demon, did you?  Me neither.  But Buffy has a way of mining human interest out of stories about the supernatural, and that point of strength is what keeps it enshrined as one of my favorite TV shows.  "I, Robot... You, Jane" may be laughable in its premise and plot, but the execution of character, theme, and social commentary is pretty stellar.

Buffy, She Bloggo: 1x07 - "Angel"

Hey, Salty Goodness.

When it comes to Angel's looks,

Cordy's got it right.

---

Okay, so I'm officially BACK with Buffy, She Bloggo, and... I wish I'd left off with another episode other than "Angel."  It's not that I don't like "Angel" (or Angel, for that matter) -- I just... it's all about a Buffy love interest and teen romance feelings, and that's rarely what I find most interesting about any narrative.  More still, "Angel" brings the Master and the Anointed One to the villainous forefront again, which basically feels like a whole lot of wasted screentime (especially knowing how underwhelmingly their opposition plays out).  It's really Darla who does anything of value to create external conflict in the episode, which helps to bring out the real issues in a Buffy-Angel romance.

In fact, "Angel" effectively manifests an idea that isn't quite so overt until later episodes: feelings are bad.  Feelings are complicated!  Relationships will never be easy on a Joss Whedon show, and "Angel" demonstrates the stirrings of that truth.  Where "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date" showed the difficulty for Buffy to have a normal dating life, "Angel" really solidifies the idea that feelings are pretty much nothing but trouble for these characters in their heightened supernatural circumstances.  Or rather, it signals to the audience that the big sources of conflict will always be tangled up with complicated emotions.

For example: Buffy's feelings for Angel complicate her duty to stake him, and she shoulders the guilt about Joyce's bite.  Angel's feelings for Buffy complicate his ability to protect her from a distance.  And, notably, Darla's feelings for Angel complicate her evil plan, as she's not anticipating that he's going to, well, stake her.  "Angel" also serves up clear reminders that Willow's feelings for Xander and Xander's feelings for Buffy are still simmering beneath the surface, bound to have negative consequences.  Feelings, feelings everywhere!  And they're all doomed.

Speaking of doomed, "Angel" also reveals that Angel is a 240-year-old vampire cursed by gypsies to have his soul intact, left to turmoil between his desire to hunt and his will to keep humanity.  Obviously, this is setup for a huge source of conflict, for Angel himself, as well as Buffy's relationship with him.  Since they have gooey doomed feelings for one another, this can't end well.  Like Willow said - think of the kids!  So, naturally, by the end of the episode, Angel endures a burning cross on his chest, simply because he gets to be close to Buffy.  And the question stands: will they get closer yet, or will the inherent complications in their roles as vampire and Slayer keep them apart?  After all, "Angel" finds Buffy and Angel both making out and physically sparring.  It's not gonna be simple.

Of course, Buffy represents, to Angel, another dichotomy.  It's not just Slayer vs. vampire, it's human vs. demon.  Angel is trapped between worlds; he walks like a man, but he isn't one.  It's a smart device to introduce Darla as an important figure from Angel's past, as she represents his vampire self trying to pull him back from the light.  (Or burn him with it, as it were.)  The core conflict for Angel is on full display in this episode, and it will fuel his existence as long as he's cursed.  Will he stand by his human soul or his demon impulses?  And so, "Angel" externalizes that conflict as Buffy and Darla face off, blonde v. blonde, human v. demon, two women pulling Angel in opposite directions.  But it has to be Angel that stakes Darla, thereby signalling to Buffy and the audience that he's made his choice.  It's Buffy, it's light, it's humanity.  Now kiss!

Something that's jarring about "Angel," having watched the complete series, is the fact that Darla uses guns to go after Buffy.  We don't often see guns on Buffy; the weaponry tends to trade in stakes and crossbows and the occasional hacking device.  Guns don't quite fit in on a supernatural show, and when guns are used, it's done so with an underscore on this point.  Yet Darla uses two guns with seemingly endless ammunition, intending to blow Buffy to pieces and claim Angel as her own again.  Honestly, I don't read too much into it, as "Angel" is still early in the series and the show is still defining its rules and boundaries.  Hell, the episode kills Darla off before she's made completely useful in the narrative, and (spoiler alert) they have to bring her back for story fodder on Angel.  (The series, not the character.  Or episode.  This is confusing.)  So the use of guns appears to be a glitch in the pattern, since the pattern hasn't even been established yet.

To be honest, "Angel" plays now as a somewhat dull episode, thanks to hindsight.  It sets up a lot of future conflict with Angel's backstory, and continues the season 1 arc with the Master and the Anointed, but since we know where these things go, it's not quite entertaining enough to be of rewatching interest.  But it's an important episode in showing the early stirrings of how emotions will always complicate on this show, and further demonstrating that things aren't going to be easy for the inevitable feelings that will happen in a supernatural narrative.

Buffy, She Bloggo: 1x06 - "The Pack"

Sunnydale bullies

are particularly lame.

'Til they're hyenas.

---

"The Pack" is one of those Buffy episodes with a truly bizarre premise that somehow manages to make everything work.  Watching the episode, I was completely engaged, and enjoying it.  Then I took a step back and thought, "Wait.  This is about high schoolers who are possessed by the spirits of hyenas and end up cannibalizing their principal."  How on earth do the Buffy writers manage to sell that?  We're only six episodes into this series, and already launching one of our heroes into the throes of magic hyena curses?    But the writers make it work, and what would be jumping-the-shark material on any other show is wielded with freakish agility on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  There are a few things of note that make "The Pack" work.

1. It takes itself completely seriously.  This is a bit of a surprise, honestly.  Usually I find that it works better when shows are self-aware, and point out the occasional absurdities of their own mythology.  (This stage comes a bit later for Buffy, in the casual references to the demise of poor Principal Flutie.)  But "The Pack" drinks its own Kool-Aid, and then crushes the cup against its own forehead in an attempt to make you understand just how committed it is.  The episode never allows for the audience to have that moment to step back and have that "wait... hyenas?" moment, because it's too busy demonstrating how sick and twisted The Pack is, and giving them a slow-motion badass montage to a pretty awesome rock song.  I absolutely love that sequence, because it is so drawn-out, and dark, and stylized.   It's self-indulgent and exaggerated, and yet it works.  

2. Actually, the key to #1 lies here: this episode would fall to pieces without the high school drama behind it.  We would not care one iota about hyena bullies if not for two reasons.  One, Xander is among them and he's behaving uncharacteristically.  We want to save him.  Two, Xander's behavior is negatively affecting Willow.  As an audience, we know that Willow likes Xander and Xander likes Buffy - but it's mostly been languishing under the surface, thanks to human inhibitions.  But when Xander basically becomes an animal who operates only on instincts?  That all comes out - and it hurts.  We see his attraction to Buffy, his dismissal of Willow, and worse yet, so do Buffy, and so does Willow.  It's all out in the open for all to see, and we care a lot about how that hurts Willow.  The moment when Xander carelessly pegs Willow with the dodgeball is seriously heartbreaking, as is the scene where Willow tearfully expresses to Buffy that Xander's clearly only picking on her - and there must be a reason why.  Don't cry, Alyson Hannigan!  (Seriously, when Alyson Hannigan cries?  I cry.)

Not only that, but "The Pack" successfully creates a parallel between teenaged bullies and a group of scavengers banded together.  It does more than say "bullies are mean and so are hyena spirits."  It communicates the idea that there's strength and security in numbers, and that the power of "belonging" to a group is everything to high school mean kids.  The very first moments of the episode show the bully group approaching Buffy and taunting her for not being surrounded by friends.  Because in a pack, you're cool and popular.  In a pack, you're untouchable.  And in a pack, you have the power to keep kids like Xander or Willow underfoot.  This was perfectly delineated in the dodgeball scene - a perfect setting of "high school torture" to make it relatable.  During gym class, the pack banded together to pick off a dorkier individual student.  So by making high school meanies pack animals - instead of animals bigger or stronger or more ferocious - this episode offers more than just your standard "tough kid picks on the weak" bully storyline and endeavors to explore psychologically.  The casting was even strong on this idea: the bullies don't look like the stereotypical bullies of most mainstream media; they weren't all football jocks or cheerleaders or even conventionally aligned with polished Barbie-and-Ken looks.  They didn't have any identities at all; there was nothing specific that united them.  They were simply a group of randoms who chose to ally themselves for the sake of their popularity.  

3. Nicholas Brendon does a damn good job acting.  I automatically love any Buffy episode that involves a body or personality swap of some kind, simply because it's exciting to watch the actors deal with the challenge.  "The Pack" is the first foray into that example, and Nicholas Brendon handles it brilliantly.  Like the episode itself, his Hyena Xander takes himself completely seriously, and commits wholeheartedly to the construction.  There's absolutely no warmth behind the eyes, and Xander's usually-endearing smirk turns mocking and sinister.  It's a great performance of doing so much with so little, and being confident that it's enough.

So, even though "The Pack" can be casually referred to as the time demon hyena spirits caused students to eat the school principal alive, the episode is still pretty solid.  Dark and serious in tone, with relatable high school emotions supplying the content and a great performance shading between the lines, "The Pack" transcends its goofy and slightly traumatizing premise to be one of Buffy's more memorable hours.

Buffy, She Bloggo: 1x05 - "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date"

Season One hemlines

creep further of Buffy's thighs.

Now that is scary.

---

Admittedly, I don't have much to say about "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date."  It's an episode that I find ultimately necessary in the conflict it presents to Buffy, but also a bit rote, simply because we know exactly how it's all going to play out.  Buffy struggles to exert her own choice to be a normal teenage girl over her Slayerly duties, and in doing so, puts some people in danger.  She realizes the complication and risks aren't worth it, and devotes herself to the unfortunate responsibility of her position.  While we're waiting for her to get there, Giles protests just enough, Buffy fights back just enough, and we know that they'll meet in the middle at hour's end.  There's a cute but dull boy we know won't be sticking around, but that we like enough to sit through Buffy's interest in him.  Cordelia's there to provide romantic opposition and basic conflict, but doesn't pan out to much consequence.  In short, we know exactly how the episode goes, and the Buffy writers do their best to make it at least quippy, interesting, and authentically emotional for Buffy.

The main thing that succeeds in transcending the premise is Buffy's relationship with Giles.  This is the true establishment of Giles and Buffy's father-daughter dynamic, completely fleshed out in one hour.  They are slightly alienated to one another by age and personality contrast - and job description, in that Buffy is the doer and Giles the thinker.  As such, they are no strangers to the power struggle, both wielding generation-specific sarcasm to the best of their ability.  They butt heads over Buffy's duties, but ultimately Giles relents in an effort to give Buffy what she wants, and when he gets in trouble, Buffy is there to save him.  Their differences are ultimately set aside at the end of the episode when Buffy blames herself for Giles' endangerment, only to be met with sympathy and praise from her oft-critical Watcher.  The coming-together is embodied nicely with Giles literally relating to Buffy's inner conflict: he wanted to be a fighter pilot (or a grocer) when he was younger, but unfortunately, his familial duty came knocking, and so a Watcher he became.  In other words, he knows how hard it is to choose devotion over personal choice.

(Sidenote: is anyone else super-intrigued by Giles' grandmother Watcher?  And, furthermore, is this mythology explored at all in further episodes?  I suppose the existence of the Watcher's Council means that not all Watchers are tasked with curating a Slayer one-on-one... but the idea that Watcher tradition runs through families seems a bit incongruous to what we learn later.  Which is kind of a shame, because I really want to know about Grandma Giles.  I would have liked to know more female watchers in general, frankly.  It would help assuage the slightly disturbing patriarchy of the Slayer tradition.)

Beyond the establishment of Giles and Buffy's dynamic, the main draw for the episode lies with the decision Buffy makes at the end of it.  In "Welcome to the Hellmouth," Buffy is set up as a reluctant hero, and so "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date" serves to officially reverse that decision: Buffy makes a choice, at hour's end, to honor her Slayer duties instead of attempting to maintain social normalcy.  A reluctant hero no longer, Buffy is now imbued with the intrinsic conflict of being a teenage girl and superhero: how can you be both people at once?  This duality was demonstrated well, if a bit predictably, in the episode.  Owen picks up on the seemingly divergent Buffys, and Buffy herself uses the concept to explain to him why she has to ditch their date so suddenly.

What's even more interesting about this duality is the choices the wardrobe department makes for the episode.  Let me speak for a moment about the haiku.  (I especially wanted to explain so I don't seem like a big ol' slut-shamer.)  It was evident to me, even when I wrote the above haiku three years ago, that this episode dresses Buffy in very short dresses.  At first I thought, how impractical for hand-to-hand combat!  Then, I simply hand-waved it away as Season 1 trying a bit too hard to make their point that Buffy is a normal teenage girl who happens to be the appointed as the one person standing between the world and supernatural calamity.  After all, this season is very much about establishing the subversion of construct: Buffy is a peppy teenager who likes boys and cheerleading, but who was chosen for something much more cosmically eminent.  So, this season tends to dress Buffy in mini-skirts, halter tops, and platform heels, in popular style.  Femininity and Slaying are not mutually exclusive!  Which, as a message, I quite like.

Before long, we start to see Buffy's wardrobe match "hard" or "masculine" fashion with "soft" or "feminine" fashion, representing her "dual" identity as a young woman action hero.  It's a commentary on the merging of two traditionally opposite concepts - and it's why we see, in "Prophecy Girl," Buffy dressed in a fluffy white dress (feminine, for the "normal" school dance) with a leather jacket over it (masculine, for the practical purposes of slaying).  It's an embodiment of this character's construction, communicated in clothing language.  These were choices carefully made, for this character, her internal conflict, and her place in the narrative.  The decisions extend to "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date."  Buffy wears traditionally feminine clothing for much of the episode, in an effort to exert her identity as a "normal teenage girl."  The clothing helps identify that Buffy's pushing really hard to have this lifestyle, even though it's perhaps a fruitless endeavor.

But at the end of the episode?  Buffy makes her choice.  She carries with her the inherent friction of her double life, her two personas, and that will ultimately reflect in the clothing.  She'll wear leather jackets, and boots, and structured blazers, which all code as "masculine."  But "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date" shows Buffy trying to be one thing, not the other, and so we have very short hemlines and some pretty great 90s sartorial gems.  (I feel like that could easily be the actual explanation for Buffy's S1 wardrobe.  It was just the 90s - the 1990s, in point of fact, to quote Miss Summers herself.  90s fashion looks terrible to the new century's eyes.  Why did we ever wear that?)

Beyond these highlights, the rest of the episode is a bit lackluster, for me.  Cordelia as a romantic villain is tiresome, and I honestly didn't care about Owen (or Buffy's interest in him) all that much.  His purpose in the episode is entirely predictable, though I definitely felt for Buffy's plight on principle.  The introduction of The Anointed is exciting in theory, but knowing how it pans out puts a damper on the supposed looming danger that's predicted for the Slayer.  In all, "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date" is an episode perhaps necessary only in its devotion to delineating the virtual impossibility of Buffy maintaining a personal life.  It's a bit burdened by this necessity, as well as with the necessity of introducing and jumpstarting the season-long Big Bad.  So, I just aww'd at Giles and Buffy's relationship, and thought way too much about what Buffy was wearing.

Buffy, She Bloggo: 1x04 - "Teacher's Pet"

Angel, a stalker?

No, Buff, just your love int'rest.

(He'll grow on you soon.)

---

"Teacher's Pet" is one of those episodes that you watch once, find delightfully goofy, and put back on the shelf in favor of other, more memorable episodes.  In fact, my reaction at learning this was what I would be watching after the joy of "Witch" was something along the lines of "...oh."  I didn't even have a haiku for this one!  I skipped clear over it - the above selection is actually excised from Buffy's first interaction with Angel.  (Okay, so I cheated.  Shhhh.)  But upon second look, "Teacher's Pet," despite its hokey premise, offers a few points of interest in the choices made for the main characters at play and the "Monster of the Week" they interact with.

"Teacher's Pet" is basically centered around Xander's experience as a teenage boy struggling with the expectations and assumptions people make about teenage boys.  Of course, Xander's status as a teenage boy is made complicated by his friendship with - and crush on - Buffy, who is supernaturally powerful and therefore self-reliant.  Her entire existence rejects the male fantasy of being the "knight in shining armor."  So, in that Buffy, as a character, is a commentary on the damsel in distress, Xander's relationship with Buffy is meant to highlight that subversion.  After all, you can't exactly subvert expectation without making it clear what that expectation is.  So, early on, we see Xander's fantasy play out: he saves Buffy from vampires, in the narrative tradition of superheroes and cowboys, with Buffy playing the role of damsel in distress.  Xander's smoldering and serious, the classic portrait of masculinity, with a hint of bad boy rockstar allure.  Buffy swoons.

Of course, this is just a fantasy.  In reality, this entire episode plays in contrast to Xander's fantasy, as Xander himself carries out the role of damsel: Buffy must come to his rescue.  Ah, here's the subversion!  And because this is Buffy, even the particulars of the "Monster of the Week" rest on a gender-swapped notion.  Instead of a purity sacrifice in the form of female virgins, as most of Giles' listed examples indicates, the She-Mantis is in fact a female, preying on male virgins!  What a twist.  Of course, male virginity opens up a whole cultural can of worms.  Female virginity is simple: if you are a female virgin, you are either cold and uptight, or wholesome and pure.  If you are a female but not a virgin, you are a whore.  Thanks for playing!  Male virginity, however, makes an audience uncomfortable, because we have been trained to believe that men shouldn't be virgins, somehow.  We feel badly for a guy who is a virgin, because society has taught us that all guys like sex and want sex and have sex, and they like it and want it and have it as soon as puberty hits.  Male virginity implies a lack of masculinity, something most teenage boys struggle with, and Xander?  Xander more than most.

This notion made itself apparent early in the episode, when Xander arrived to the Bronze and ran into Blaine, a football jock who questions his masculinity by asking Xander just how many girls Xander's been with.  Xander awkwardly sidesteps the question, fibs, and uses Willow and Buffy to help him out of the situation.  He receives the same question from Miss French, although she has the opposite stance on male virgins owing to the fact that she likes to, well, feast on them.  Even when the issue comes up with Buffy, Willow, and Giles, Buffy immediately assumes Xander's had sex, for no real reason whatsoever.  She just assumes, because... well, don't all teenage boys have sex?  Willow knows the truth, though: Xander is prime mantis-bait.  (But, it turns out, so is Blaine, the football jock who boasted about picking up chicks and tried to make Xander feel less than manly for his lack of sexual experience.  Clearly, he really doesn't want you to know about it.)

Xander's behavior towards Angel is further evidence of him feeling threatened in his perceived place as "the man" in Buffy's life.  Angel is the picture of masculinity, with his leather jacket, chiseled good looks, and tough guy mystery.  Angel is the embodiment of what Xander fantasized for himself at episode's beginning, and Xander sees Buffy swoon for Angel the way he wished she'd swoon for him. (I mean.  In as much as Buffy ever swoons.)  Xander even lashes out at Buffy over her relationship with Angel, as well as her place as his "protector."  Buffy tries to warn Xander about Miss French, but he bites back and accuses her of being jealous.  He immediately acts as though the conversation they're having has something to do with romantic or sexual attraction.  Yet again, Xander's trying to put Buffy, and his relationship with Buffy, into a fantasy that, unfortunately for Xander's ego, just doesn't align with reality.

What's really interesting about "Teacher's Pet," though, is that the episode doesn't attempt to pay off Xander's masculinity issues.  They're definitely present in the construction of the episode, as a theme and a character point.  But they have nothing to do with the emotional resolution of the hour.  "Teacher's Pet" actually brings Xander to apology.  He tells Buffy's he's acting like an idiot and thanks her for saving him.  Most other television shows, with more basic storytelling, would take a plot arc about a character's deflated sense of masculinity and find some way to mollify that.  Other TV shows would give Xander a leather jacket, and a chance to save the girl, and an outlet for potential rockstar image.  But this is Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  That male fantasy isn't the world we're living in.  Actually, the writers even twist that knife a bit.  They give Xander some sense of masculinity in the form of Miss French's assumed attraction, but it comes with a twist: she's a preying mantis that's going to kill him.  (Kind of a dealbreaker.)  Then Buffy has to save him anyways.  So the whole message amounts to, "Sorry, bub.  We know this sucks, but you just have to get used to it."  The writers did let him hack at a whole nest of eggs, though, so that was at least cathartic.

Instead, the emotional throughline of "Teacher's Pet" actually went to Buffy, and her brief but meaningful interaction with the doomed Dr. Gregory.  In a continuation of Our Lady Hero being scripted as specifically compassionate towards the victims of Sunnydale's shenanigans, "Teacher's Pet" purposefully gives Buffy a connection to the ill-fated first casualty of the She-Mantis.  Dr. Gregory is Buffy's teacher, and at this point, we've seen school to be kind of an nuisance to Buffy.  She's the Slayer, with worldly duties, and pesky homework gets in the way.  She has a permanent record marred with juvenile delinquency, and also that pesky incident where she burned down the gym.  School is not Buffy's sphere, and Buffy knows it - what's worse, so do the members of the academic sphere. 

But the writers created a lovely little emotional nuance for Buffy in "Teacher's Pet," which actually takes the episode's title seriously.  After class, Dr. Gregory pulls Buffy aside to give her a talking-to.  And no, not the kind of talking-to that she's gotten from Principal Flutie, or Joyce, or even Giles.  Dr. Gregory encourages her.  He actually believes in Buffy as a student, and he tells her as much.  He knows she's smart, and he expects good things from her, even though everyone keeps fixating on her record.  Don't listen to the negative opinions, he tells her, and in that moment, you realize this might be the first time that a teacher's reached out to Buffy academically.  This might even be the first time an adult figure has said to Buffy, "You got this," and she's believed them, and wanted to prove them right.  Obviously Giles and Joyce, as adults in Buffy's life, are supportive and encouraging of Buffy, but there's something about Dr. Gregory's attitude that sets him apart.  The problem is not Buffy's lack of focus, or choice of peer group, or disregard for rules, or perceived delinquency.  No, the problem is that Buffy simply doesn't try.  Dr. Gregory tells Buffy that all she has to do is try.  Just do the homework, and show everybody how great a student you are.  That's it.

And, bless her, this makes Buffy want to try.  Call me a nerd, but I can't help but love seeing Buffy try and do well at school, something that usually takes a serious backseat to her Slayer duties.  There's a part of me as well that enjoys seeing Buffy, the reluctant hero, being encouraged to try at all, at anything.  All you have to do is try, Buffy. You can do it.  Of course, keeping up with her homework is a tall order with the weight of the world on her shoulders, so it's really in just this one episode that Buffy can foist the mantle of academia as well.  But, bless the writers, they let her do so.  Buffy insists on doing her homework, and uses the research to solve the mystery of the She-Mantis.  She even calls upon her knowledge to come up with a solution: using bat sonar will destroy the mantis' nervous system.  

This is all particularly touching when you consider that Dr. Gregory's last act was one of encouragement to Buffy, and in carrying out his wish for her, she's honoring his memory.  There's even a cap to it, where Buffy lovingly places Dr. Gregory's forgotten glasses in the pocket of his lab coat.  This whole concept is a lovely little conceit for the episode itself, and one that's unexpected for one in which Buffy is meant to play the role of Superheroine in contrast to Xander's masculinity issues.  Again, this is noteworthy: wouldn't it be easier to make Buffy the clear brawn of the operation, to highlight that Xander isn't?  But "Teacher's Pet" spends its time making Buffy the brains, too.  You could argue that it's thematically dissonant, but I for one love the nuance given there.  

In all, "Teacher's Pet" is actually worth a second look, in that it makes unexpected decisions with its themes of masculinity and heroism.  Sure, there's silly horror-esque moments, and I still cringe at Miss French's seduction of male students, but there's some good content lurking in the shadows.  It's a good sign of things to come for Buffy: even a "creature feature" episode will provide character insight and subverted expectations, and even a poignant moment here and there.

Buffy, She Bloggo: 1x03 - "Witch"

The Scoobies are born:

debuting the Slayerettes

and Watcher sidekick!

---

If I remember correctly, when I first watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "Witch" is the episode that hooked me.  And I think the reason why has to do with its place as the follow-up to what is essentially a two-part pilot.  "Welcome to the Hellmouth" and "Harvest," steeped in vampire lore and apocalypse-preventing, really provided the skeleton for the series, letting us know what to expect in big episodes and season finales.  But "Witch" fills in the muscle, showing us that not all Buffy episodes will deal with vampire slaying; that there is a whole slew of supernatural misconduct happening on the Hellmouth, and that Buffy will inevitably get tied up in the goings-on.  Not only that, but "Witch" sets a  tone in storytelling that is not only structured smartly for maximum audience enjoyment, but that lets us know what to expect for the rest of the series.

It's perhaps a bit dorky of me, but I honestly wonder what it was like to break the story for episode 3 of a show called Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  Where to go from the first two episodes of setup?  The writers created a basic plot about witchcraft, and then made the genius - and necessary - decision to tether it to the characters we already care about.  The main conflict of "Witch" was character vs. character, Amy vs. Amy's mom.  The only issue is that we've never met Amy before.  So, how to make us care?  Make Buffy care.  This construct falls into pattern with Buffy and Willow's dynamic from "Welcome to the Hellmouth."  Buffy sympathizes with Amy, just as she sympathized with Willow, and suddenly as an audience we care about Amy's story.  Double bonus points: we care even more about Buffy, because she's once again demonstrating compassion where not every main character would.  

The writing went one step further, and created a loose parallel between Amy and her mom, and Buffy and Joyce.  While Joyce is not an embittered youth-stealing ex-cheerleader cauldron user, there's still an element of alienation between mother and teenage daughter - especially when they are the only two in their family unit.  What could be a little "out there" for an audience to relate to (a mom using witchcraft against her kid so she could reclaim her youth) is tethered back to characters we're familiar with.  Basically, it's as if the writers are translating for us, making sure we understand what's being said by interpreting it to a level we fundamentally get.  But they're not dumbing it down for us!  It's a subtle decision threaded through the episode's construction, and it minimizes having to do that "translating" in more awkward areas, like dialogue or individual scenes.

"Witch" makes the most of the mother-daughter motif, and capitalizes on the fact that they're suggesting a parallel where there truly isn't one (at least not literally).  Even though Joyce and Buffy have missteps in communication during the episode, ultimately they are not like Amy and her mom, and so the cap on their episode journey is one of harmony.  They connect, even if for just a moment, even if Joyce doesn't know exactly why Buffy's reaching out to her.  It's not even a terribly emotional moment - it's just the right addition of sentiment to conclude their mini-arc and wrap up the parallel that the writers hauled out in the first place.  (It's like children with toys: if you get them out, you have to put them back up!)

With this choice, it's as if the Buffy writers are letting us know: everything is going to tie back to Miss Summers herself.  They even went so far as to put Buffy in danger in "Witch," making the life-threatening peril literally pertinent to Buffy's existence.  Of course, this also gives rise to establishing that Buffy needs people helping her - the Slayerettes, as Willow calls them.  Giles plays the biggest role, administering the spell against Amy's mom and saving Buffy's life.  But both Xander and Willow offer to help Buffy investigate the Mystery of the Burning Cheerleader, and refuse to stay out of it simply because she doesn't want them hurt.  They also both put themselves in harm's way to prevent Amy from getting to Buffy during the pep rally, and even show up again, this time with a baseball bat.  

It's lovely to witness the original Scoobies becoming a team, although I must confess that I'm slightly bewildered by the teenage romance aspects of the triangle.  "Witch" piles on Xander's crush on Buffy, and hints at Willow's crush on Xander.  I'm not terribly engaged in any of these romantic interests, simply because the narrative is already setting them up as unlikely: Buffy refers to Xander as "one of the girls," echoing how Xander earlier referred to Willow as "one of the guys," and on the whole this flirts a bit too closely with teenaged awkwardness for me.  I get further exasperated with Xander's masculinity complex when it comes to Buffy.  His insistence on "saving" Buffy from dangerous situations is really only made tolerable by the fact that Willow is in step with him most of the time.  

In fact, I'm actually more engaged in Willow's support of Buffy than Xander's simply because it demonstrates breaking out of gender norms, as opposed to reinforcing them.  Even though Xander's and Willow's arcs both are perhaps about empowerment and protecting loved ones from harm, I'm inherently more intrigued by Willow's in that she is actively asserting her own identity and not echoing a society-administered expectation of (masculine) identity.  It's tough, because the narrative does a good job of making Xander sympathetic without ever indicating that Buffy "owes" him something.  Moreover, this series does make it a point to highlight the realities of being a teenager, and unrequited and embarrassing crushes are certainly relevant to that theme.  But at the same time I'm already a little bit over Xander's relationship with the opposite sex.  I'm really just here for Willow busting in to save Buffy while wielding a baseball bat.

Beyond the establishment of both character anchor and the foundation of the Scoobies, "Witch" actually sets a storytelling standard for the rest of Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes through its use of dramatic irony.  If you watch "Witch" with a careful eye for what information is distributed when - and how - it's actually a pretty masterful example of having the audience baited and hooked with every passing scene.  The main genius of this lies with the use of dramatic irony, the principle of filmmaking that allows for the audience to know things that the characters within the narrative do not.  (This is also the principle that allows moviegoers to shout "BEHIND YOU!" at characters onscreen who cannot hear them.)  The beauty of dramatic irony is that we, as an audience, are selectively allowed to anticipate what's next.  We see a cauldron bubbling with potion way before Buffy and Giles ever get to Amy's house.  This is done so that we can actively try and put the clues together; it keeps us engaged.  Can we figure it out before Giles and Buffy do?  We see a Cordelia doll being dropped into the potion before Cordelia comes to school acting weird and gets in a car.  We may not know exactly what will happen, but we know it can't be good.  So when we see Cordy acting weird, we want to shout at Xander and Willow that something's wrong, because no one else knows what we know, and when Cordy gets behind the wheel of a car, we are all the more fearful for imminent danger.  Dramatic irony means that we know things the characters onscreen don't, and that actively involves us in the narrative.  It's even echoed at the end, when we're privy to the knowledge of what happened to Amy's mom: we see the darting eyes in the cheerleader statue after Amy and Buffy have turned their backs.  No one knows what we know.

It's a powerful device, and it can be used not only for good but also trickery (which is also good, in the end).  This trickery results in a glorious storytelling device: the misdirect.  The narrative gives us information others don't know, so we put two and two together, and before we know it we're anticipating - except we're anticipating the wrong thing.  Yank!  The rug is pulled out from underneath us, and we're delighted by the surprise.  It's like a magic trick, a slight of hand you don't see coming until after you know how it was done.  In fact, "Witch," as an episode, fits this description perfectly.  Throughout the whole piece, we're expecting that Amy is engaging in witchcraft to act out against her tyrannical mother, but actually, it's the reverse.  There's an actual body switch, and Amy turns out to be Amy's mom.  Misdirect!  (Sure, there's an eensy plot hole where you have to wonder how Amy's mom in Amy's body only made third alternate when she was a cheerleading champion back in the day, but we can let it slide for the sake of the reveal.)

Buffy even takes the "misdirect" concept down to the most basic building blocks of storytelling: dialogue, and shot placement (editing).  We first see this in "Witch," and we'll see it again and again and again, and I guarantee you'll never actually get tired of it.  It's delightful every time.  This, my friends, is the "cut-to" moment.  It's classic misdirect at the smallest level, and Buffy makes good use of it for any purpose - comedy, horror, suspense, tragedy.  In fact, within the first few minutes it's hauled out for comedy: we see Giles chastising Buffy for besmirching her sacred birthright.  Serious, right?  Cut to: Buffy standing innocently in a cheerleading outfit, wielding pompoms.  You can't tell me you didn't laugh.  I laughed.  I laugh every time.  But you can also use the "cut-to" moment for suspense: Buffy comments to Willow that maybe nothing bad will happen.  Cut to: a shadowy locker room, complete with eerie dripping faucets and a foreboding score.  Something bad seems sure to happen.  And actually, this is a misdirect back-to-back.  Buffy's "famous last words" indicate to us that there is danger, and we're expecting something scary - and supernatural - to come from the shadows and attack Amy.  But cut to: Cordelia slamming Amy's locker shut.  The horror genre "jump" moment is given to Cordy, mere mortal, but who's a monster of a whole other kind.  She threatens Amy, and walks away.  The result we expected was not the result we got.

Ultimately, "Witch" works from the ground up and uses storytelling devices to not only engage and entertain the audience, but to indicate to them what this series is going to be all about.  It's not just vampires and Hellmouth lore.  There's not always going to be the looming threat of apocalypse, or issues concerning Buffy's duty as a Slayer.  The material that's going to carry Buffy the Vampire Slayer through most episodes is going to look a lot like the material in "Witch."  There will be storylines that tether meaningfully back to our core characters, insights into what it's like to be a teenager, and things that go bump in the night.  This content will also be assembled with the intent to engage the audience and keep them hooked.  So in some ways, "Witch" is a promise to its viewers: get ready.  We're taking you on a ride.

Buffy, She Bloggo: 1x01 and 1x02 - "Welcome to the Hellmouth" and "The Harvest"

Friends,

I am doing a Buffy rewatch.  

Now, the particulars of this rewatch are flexible - I am 100% willing to accept feedback on how you might like this to go.  I will say that these reviews will not be exhaustive in dealing with all parts of an episode.  I can guarantee that, as with anything, I'll be looking at Joss Whedon's storytelling choices, as well as the specifics of the character arcs, especially as they pertain to women and feminism.  But there's a lot of Buffy reviewers on Ye Olde Internet, and I'd like to retread as little as possible.  Along those lines, I will also be including a commemorative Buffy the Vampire Slayer haiku at the beginning of each episode review, penned by yours truly!  They are part of a collection, gifted to my dearest best friend, by me, on her birthday three years ago.  They are also collecting dust, and therefore will be paraded out as review companions and also evidence of the nerdiest birthday gift ever created on this planet.  But please don't take the haikus too seriously!  They are for funsies only.

Without further ado...

---

There is one Chosen

in every generation.

Buffy, here we go...

---

1.01: WELCOME TO THE HELLMOUTH

&

1.02: THE HARVEST

It's fairly common knowledge at this point that the construction of Buffy Summers as a hero is a subversion of horror movie tradition.  To quote Joss himself: "The first thing I ever thought of when I thought of 'Buffy: The Movie' was the little blonde girl who goes into a dark alley and gets killed, in every horror movie. The idea of 'Buffy' was to subvert that idea, that image, and create someone who was a hero where she had always been a victim."  But what's great about "Welcome to the Hellmouth" is that it immediately introduces this notion - without even involving Buffy at all.  

"Welcome to the Hellmouth" begins with a horror-style trope: a guy and a girl break onto school grounds at night, to fool around.  There's a sense of danger being communicated, and the natural assumption is that this girl might be in trouble.  The guy's clueless, but the girl is nervous, and the conclusion is this: either this guy is bad news for the girl, or there's third party bad news that this guy is going to be no help fighting off.  Either way, it's not looking good for the girl.  

But Joss deviates from tradition with a purposeful misdirect: as soon as he's sure we think this blondie's gonna bite it, he drops the reveal.  She's the one who's dangerous.  This woman is not unassuming, timid, or nervous.  She's in complete power of the situation.  She has lured this helpless guy into a dark alley.  She's the one who kills.  

Before we even meet Buffy Summers, we get an instant idea what this show is going to be about.  (I mean, besides vampires.)  And what's particularly great about it not involving Buffy is that it's a double dose of feminist action.  Buffy Summers can exist as a feminist character in a not-necessarily feminist narrative.  (For proof, look at nearly every female on Glee.)  But by presenting Darla, a villain, as a subversion of the same trope intended for the hero, we can tell that the whole show is meant to be a commentary - and a casual middle finger - to the expectations audiences have for "typical" female characters.  It's not just Buffy Summers who's meant to break the mold: it's Darla too, and by extension, we can expect the same sort of thing for Willow, and Cordelia, and Joyce - all of whom make significant appearances in the first two episodes.

Of course, this subversion's application to Buffy herself is also fantastic in its own regard.  The character and her presentation not only subvert expectations for a female role, but also for a hero's introduction, regardless of gender.  Most hero narratives begin with a glimpse into the hero's life before their "gift" comes to them.  We get to see the hero lead a normal life, unfettered with worry about saving people and fighting evil.  The thrust of their story is about dealing with the change in lifestyle, and having the audience witness every step of that journey.

But Buffy?  When we meet Buffy, she already knows the deal.  Vampires, Slayers, Chosen One, blah blah blah.  She's got it.  She does not want it.  She had it, for awhile, and things did not go well.  She's trying to retire from it now, and start new.  Unfortunately for Buffy, she just so happened to retire to the Hellmouth, and "starting new" really just means "Slaying with an ensemble" now.  But this approach is really great storytelling for the Pilot because it allows for two things.  One, it enables Buffy to have an interesting back story.  We hear snippets of her past, but never the full story, and it hooks the audience. Why did Buffy get kicked out of her last school?  How exactly did she burn down the gym?  How did she find out she was the Slayer?  There are plenty of questions to ask - all of which help subvert the "cute blonde girl" image - and leave for answering later.

Secondly, it removes the element of "things happening" to Buffy from our screens.  So often in hero narratives, heroes don't want their powers and responsibilities.  It's a burden.  They don't really get a choice in the matter - until they do.  Basically, Joss & Co. have fast-forwarded to the "until they do" part.  Buffy knows the deal.  She doesn't like the deal.  But before she makes the choice to embrace her role, she could be easily classifiable as a victim.  And isn't the whole point of this show to not make Buffy Summers a victim?  She's meant to be a strong female hero, and therefore, it's absolutely genius to ensure that Buffy Summers makes her choice in the very first episodes.  We don't see Buffy as a victim of being chosen - we hear about it, but we don't see it.  We see her make a choice.  Strong characters choose.  Buffy chooses.  

Along those lines, it's easy to wish that there were a stronger moment of choice for Buffy in "Welcome to the Hellmouth" or "The Harvest."  It's almost as though Buffy doesn't choose slaying; slaying chooses Buffy.  Events spiral out of control, and she gets dragged along with them in order to protect people.  But perhaps that is the point - and an issue that's always going to be a central conflict for this character and her place in the story.  She cannot choose her destiny because she is chosen.  The chosen cannot truly choose.  Tapping into that reality right off the bat humanizes Buffy as a reluctant hero, and helps create a gray area in the narrative that many good-vs-evil stories simply make black and white.  From the get-go, Buffy Summers is more compelling a hero than a whole slew of her predecessors.

Even though there's not a specific and glorified moment of choice for Buffy, there is still a turning point in the episode, where her attitude shifts from "not my problem" to "entirely my problem."  That moment happens when Willow Rosenberg leaves The Bronze with a vampire.  It seems like an obvious choice, to put the meekest character in danger, which thereby raises the stakes for the audience.  And you could argue that Willow is a stereotypical character to "damsel," which thereby might weaken the decision.  But there are several implications of the choice to endanger Willow that I actually really love.  Mainly, it necessitates Buffy actually caring about Willow before she's damseled.  The easiest option in this scenario would have been to put a man in danger - any man, doesn't matter who - so that Buffy could save him and swiftly hammer in a "Girl Power!" message.  It's a clear genderswap, and simple for the audience to grasp.  There's no need to build a relationship between Buffy and the person she's saving, as long as he's a man.

But Buffy's a reluctant hero, remember?  At this point, she's not going to just save anybody.  In that the writers chose Willow's endangerment for Buffy's call to action, they also created the need for a Buffy-Willow bond.  Boom.  Female friendship intrinsically built-in, and necessary to advance the story.  What's further fantastic about this choice is the manner in which Buffy and Willow become friends: Buffy walks up and wants to be friends with her.  The writers don't create a scenario to bring these two women together; they just walk Buffy over to Willow and have her say, "Hey.  Let's be friends."  This friendship is not of convenience, or accident, or circumstance.  Buffy chooses it, and the writers even went so far as to have her choose it over friendship with Cordelia.  There was an actual clear choice for Buffy, and Buffy chose Willow.  So when Willow's in danger?  It's more than enough to bring our reluctant hero into action.

Of course, this also introduces the idea that Buffy Summers is a compassionate individual.  Buffy's choice to befriend Willow, as well as the choice to chase after vampires because of Willow, tells us a lot about Buffy's character.  She's known Willow for what, a week?  But try as she might to shirk her duties, Buffy can't because she cares.  One simple storytelling decision - damsel Willow - spawned a positive female friendship, an active choice for the main character, and information we can infer about the main character as a result of that choice.  Genius, right?  

Together, these decisions all add up to paint a portrait of a female lead who subverts stereotype within the narrative but never wanders into exaggeration.  Buffy's introduction to the audience is well-balanced, nuanced, and relatable.  She presents as upbeat and perky, but has a back story that's clearly embittered her.  We have a defined idea of Buffy's strengths as well as the responsibilities that plague her.  We see her make choices, make friends, and make jokes.  The narrative even makes jokes for her - when Giles implores her to use a kind of mystical sixth sense for finding vampires, she instead identifies one based on what he's wearing.  She exists both within the narrative, as well as a construct of it, as a seemingly harmless teenager who also kills vampires for a living.  Or is it a girl who kills vampires for a living who happens to be a seemingly harmless teenager?

Regardless, she's the girl who leads the guy following her into a dark alley and takes him by surprise.  By the end of "The Harvest," Buffy the Vampire Slayer has done its job introducing our lead.  She's not the victim in a horror movie just because she's a cute blonde girl.  She's a hero - and a great character.  In just two episodes, we have a clear picture of feminist lead in a feminist narrative - with gray area and solid character choices to boot.  There's no better way to kick off a story.