A few days ago I read a thought-provoking essay by a law student (and freelance journalist) on Salon.com. His thesis? Spike was BTVS's equivalent of Fonzie, the cool character in leather who ruined a show that used to be about the trials and tribulations of outcasts (the Scooby Gang). The writer went on to give examples of how Spike had ruined the current season, as everything from "Conversations with Dead People" onwards had focused on him.
I don't agree with the author's assessment of Spike as "cool" (does a cool guy trip over gravestones, try to impale himself on a coffee table with a stake, or wax rhapsodic about Buffy's stupid hair? And that's not even mentioning William). I also don't agree that Spike has ruined the show or that it is even ruined at all. I've really enjoyed Season 7. But I do find myself agreeing that the focus has shifted. The show used to be centered solely around Buffy and her journey. However, this season we've had two protagonists, with two journeys. And while I enjoy this development, some may balk at the lack of attention that has been paid to the core Scooby gang. This I understand. While the core Scoobs had some really touching moments (especially Xander and Buffy's conversation in the kitchen), found out some cool information about axes and pagan temples, thanks to the internet (Willow and Giles), and helped Buffy prepare for the endgame (Xander's kidnapping of Dawn), their contributions will, as the final scene of "End of Days" telegraphed to us, not matter as much as the decision of one man, ahem, vampire. For the first time in the show's history, it really is All About Spike. So, even if you were an Angel/Buffy shipper from way back, perhaps you felt a twinge at the last few frames of Doug Petrie and Jane Espenson's episode, "End of Days," particularly if you longed for the time when the core Scoobs were all that mattered.
Before I unpack all the ramifications of the Buffy/Angel snog-a-thon, I want to address the first term in my title: recidivism. In "Touched" everyone connected, on some level at least. But in "End of Days" our two protagonists, the two people who matter most in the world save-age department (Buffy and Spike) may have taken steps backwards. In "Touched" Buffy had a breakthough. She admitted to Spike that she'd cut herself off from people emotionally. She then discarded her armour, just for the night, and allowed Spike in. They shared an intimacy they'd never had before. And then the morning came.
I, like some others, thought Spike's personal journey, his quest for maturity and balance, had come to an end in "Lies My Parents Told Me." He proclaimed that he wasn't under anyone's power, not even Buffy's. He declared his independence from his old Fool for Love ways. But, like Buffy, old habits die hard. He may pay lip service to being his own man, but he isn't. For Spike, it's still All About Buffy. He claims that he doesn't want anything in return, that he's willing to give and give and never receive. But then Buffy lets him in, just a little, and all that nobility begins to crumble.
And this leads to The Conversation, the pivotal moment when things could have been different, but weren't. In this conversation we see recidivism and a failure to connect on both sides. Buffy's armour is back, and so is Spike's defensiveness.
Spike enters the house on Revello Drive that evening, still stinging from the cursory note Buffy left, presumably telling him about her mission to the vineyard. He tries not to show it, but his pain comes through loud and clear. Looking at Axcalibur (whoever coined that is a genius), he declares, "I can see why a girl would ditch a fellow for one of these." Buffy apologizes and Spike tries to diminish the import of what occurred the previous evening. Their intimacy becomes "a glitch. Bit of cold comfort from the cellar dweller. Don't make a thing out of it." Spike's defensiveness hurts Buffy. She responds coldly, "Great. I have work to do." The conversation devolves from there, ending with accusations of "shirtiness."
Surprisingly, Buffy is the one who reaches out to Spike (in her own insult-filled way), making the viewer think that honest communication between these two might be a possibility. Buffy prods Spike to tell the truth about last night. He does, spilling his soul for her, admitting he's "terrified" and that it was the "best night of my life." So Buffy has the affirmation she needs. It meant something to him. And she gives a little back, telling him it meant something to her as well. He may be terrified, but Buffy tells him, "You don't have to be." Spike, however, is not satisfied with this. And this is where things begin to break down again. For all Spike's protestations that his love is a selfless love, now that he sees the possibility that it might be returned, he can't let it go. Hey, the guy isn't a saint! So he pushes. And Buffy shuts down. Spike backs off, Buffy lamely offers that she might tell him more later. Spike tells her to "leave it. We'll go be heroes." Disconnect. This moment was a crucial test and both of them failed. They still have not fully learned their lessons.
And this leads us to the moment in the temple. Buffy has just learned that the Guardians (the women) made Axcalibur as her weapon and hid it from the Shadow Men (the patriarchal Watchers). Grrrrl power! Buffy asks, "Does this mean I can win?" "That's really up to you," the Guardian reveals. "This is a powerful weapon. But you already have weapons."
Buffy's power is within. As I've said before, the final battle won't be won by brute strength or violence. The struggle is internal, against the evil inside, the fear that festers. If Buffy doesn't really connect, really let go of her fears, then she may lose (doubtful, since she's the heroine of the show--she'll catch a clue before the end).
So she battles Caleb with the ax,
with brute strength. Initially, I thought she'd forgotten the lesson she
learned the previous week about thinking outside the box, but then I remembered:
she has Axcalibur now- -mighty girl weapon to designed to slay evil misogynists
with a single, powerful stroke. Angel gallantly shows up, just in time
to knock Caleb down (gee, did Wolfram and Hart give him some additional
strength?). Buffy's pleased to see him and it gives her that extra pep
to "kill" Caleb (I doubt the man's really dead though). Angel watches
admiringly, seemingly angst-free,
even though his love(?), Cordelia, languishes in a coma and Connor, his
beloved son, doesn't even remember his name. Anyway, seeing Buffy get all
fighty obviously makes Angel a bit lusty, and he flirtatiously asks if
she missed him. Buffy smiles warmly and smoochies ensue.
I have no idea what this means for Buffy and Angel. I can't honestly see how they could have a relationship since 1) Buffy's going off the air and Sarah isn't joining the cast of Angel and 2) They haven't seen each other for a couple of years and Angel, last time I checked, was in love with Cordelia (at least that's what the writers on Angel kept telling us). Plus, when Lilah offered him the file and the vial, he didn't seem too keen on visiting Sunnydale, nonchalantly stating, "Buffy can take care of herself."
On the other hand, we know that Buffy still has residual feelings for Angel. She has been emotionally shut down where men are concerned since he left Sunnydale. Riley couldn't get through and neither could Spike. Perhaps this kiss is some sort of catharsis, a final goodbye, an acknowledgement of the deep love she had for Angel.
Even with this fan-wanking, I honestly can't find a plausible organic dramatic reason why Buffy would fall into Angel's arms. There was no real set up for this behaviour. I suppose I'll find out next week what the kissage meant for the B/A ship.
Ultimately, the kiss doesn't matter as much as who sees the kiss. Spike, with impeccably bad timing, arrives to see his worst nightmare played out before his eyes: Angel is still the man Buffy wants. He's still that "cellar dweller" (the demeaning name he gives himself), that no one will ever love. Maybe, if he hadn't just had "the best night of his life," he could take this final rejection. But now, there's the First Evil, Iago-like, whispering in his ear ("That bitch!"). Will Spike play Othello in the finale? Will he do something tragic, choosing the evil inside, rejecting his quest to be a better man? Or will he transcend his Fool for Love status, once and for all?
Here, we have the ultimate test of
Spike's redemption. And the fate of the world (and the conclusion of the
series) depends upon his decision.