“Nobody is likely to take this oddball camp exercise seriously…” the New York Times wrote of Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s first season back in 1997, 25 long years ago. This attitude to the horror-comedy-romance-drama, about a teenage girl who is destined to save the world from the forces of darkness, was not uncommon 25 years ago. Most early critics tended to treat Buffy like either an oddity or a joke; Variety deemed it “an uneasy cross between The X-Files and Clueless”. But the show’s poppy, slangy, valley-girl dialogue soon became indicative of everything from low-brow trash to moral bankruptcy; US conservatives used Buffy as moral panic fodder, for apparently depicting witchcraft, occultism and satanism.
These days, Buffy is widely regarded as iconic, a cult favorite that has become a darling of streaming services. Its legacy of her is now confirmed, having spawned egregious “paranormal high school” type shows, inspired a snappier kind of teen speech (“If the apocalypse comes, beep me!”) And slang terms still used today. (“Wigging out” or “What’s the sitch?”) There’s even a much-anticipated reboot coming, rumored for release this year.
But in retrospect, it shouldn’t be surprising that Buffy has lasted the distance for 25 years – it’s a show all about resilience.
The first episode opens with a classic horror scene: a tremulous schoolgirl exploring a high school with a boy at night. The nineties was the peak era of slasher horror, packed with gory teen deaths. Instead, in a typical Buffy inversion, the girl’s face ripples (badly – the early graphics are one thing which didn’t stand the test of time) and we discover that she’s the lurking monster. She’s the danger, but more importantly, she’s the one with the power.
Buffy is a show about strength: who has it, and who doesn’t. Buffy herself is a regular teen girl, concerned with boys and clothes and friends – who also has the superhuman strength to fight vampires. Her high school de ella is literally hell – for the first three seasons, the school squats over a “hellmouth”, or portal to hell, with the majority of supernatural occurrences, vampire attacks, and other calamities happening on campus. It’s a metaphor that obviously appeals to anyone at school, or who can remember the torture of it.
But Buffy’s strength is not just physical, or reserved for defeating vampires – she’s resilient and plucky, useful qualities for getting through something as horrific as high school. Or surviving the literal apocalypse – and not just once. “When I saw you stop the world from, you know, ending, I just assumed that it was a big week for you. It turns out I suddenly find myself needing to know the plural of apocalypse,” says Riley, the dopiest of Buffy’s boyfriends.
None of Buffy’s characters stay the same over the show’s seven seasons. The innocence of the early episodes is stripped away as they are put through multiple world-ending calamities, often brutally. Ella’s one of Buffy’s closest friends, Willow, goes from gawky school girl to a powerful and vengeful witch who literally flays a men’s rights activist, and almost ends the world herself. (She also comes out as a lesbian, which is neither here nor there.) Xander, a rare character with no superpowers, is initially resentful when Buffy rejects his advances from her, but grows up and remains a loyal friend from her. (And then he has his eye gouged out by an evil priest.) But even when Buffy has to murder her own boyfriend of her, or dies twice herself, the show still makes sure to entertain us. There is silliness in Buffy, and a commitment to humour, manifested in the dialogue, that makes it so infinitely re-watchable and comforting, 25 years later.
The comedy is often broad: from ridiculous episodes such as Beer Bad, where a magical beer turns Buffy into a Neanderthal, to more subtle moments of wit interspersed with the horror, drama and action. The infamous musical episode, Once More With Feeling, is not filler or a sign of a tired writers room; every song and dance number, even the hilarious ones, help develop the plot of the narrative arcs of that season. Every witty quip is an expression of a character’s fortitude, every weird scene played for laughs is a moment of release. “If the world doesn’t end,” Buffy’s frenzy Cordelia says, “I’m going to need a note.”
Anyone who grew up watching Buffy must also feel as if they have also gone through multiple apocalypses: since the show began, millennials have lived through all sorts of disasters. But Buffy also showed that apocalypses can be personal; Along with calamities of the supernatural flavour, there’s also the horror of simply being alive, of surviving. One of the show’s most devastating episodes, The Body, sees Buffy’s mum, Joyce, suddenly die of natural causes.
And perhaps it is the show’s depiction of female strength that can explain why so many fans are still sticking with Buffy after the show’s own doomsday, after allegations of bullying and abusive behavior by the show’s creator Joss Whedon towards some of the female actors on set. (Whedon has denied the allegations.) The news was a twist worthy of Buffy itself: the nice guy who could be a monster. For some fans, Whedon’s alleged conduct has soured the show irrevocably, which is understandable. For others, it’s a disappointment they’ll try to live with, maybe just the latest of many. As Buffy says in the final season: “This is how many apocalypses for us now?” “Oh, uh, six at least. Feels like a hundred,” answers Giles.
www.theguardian.com
George is Digismak’s reported cum editor with 13 years of experience in Journalism