On choices, chips, and consequences

Episode 6.9

 

Reviewed by Sanguine

Buffy: You know how we all make choices? And sometimes they're good, and sometimes they're less good?

Last season's Crush, written by David Fury, explored the problematic relationship between Slayer and potential Slayee (Spike) with an unflinching eye. But at the end of the episode, we weren't much closer to understanding Spike's essential nature. The evidence was equivocal. Was he evil? Was he really a monster?

Similarly, in Drew Z. Greenberg's Smashed we also are presented with more questions than answers. The past five years have not left our intrepid Scoobies unscathed. And now Spike is not the only one casting about for his raison d'etre. Both Willow and Buffy are in deep trouble as well.

Smashed, like Tabula Rasa, explores questions of identity. How much of who we are is essential and how much is shaped by external forces? How much do others' perceptions of us shape our behaviour?

Smashed begins in typical Buffy fashion: innocent people are in danger and our heroine intervenes to save the day. Sporting perky pigtails that belie her brittle demeanor, she begins her task--dispatching the human muggers. Nothing supernatural here. Spike then leaps into frame, barreling into the muggers and getting a roaring bad migraine in the process. Obviously, the chip still works. A heated argument ensues and Spike accuses Buffy of being a tease. As she leaves him alone in the alley, Spike bellows accusingly, "It's only a matter of time before you realise I'm the only one for you, pet. You've got no one else."

Identity Crisis #1: Buffy is one confused Slayer. Post-resurrection, she seems to be searching for something to make her feel, and Spike's lips seem to do the trick. But Buffy, like a "good" girl, must resist his sinister attraction. Could it be because she's afraid of what she feels? Afraid that Spike might be right when he says, "You've got no one else"? Is the Peroxided Pest the only one who understands her? And if that's true, what does it say about her? What if her best buddy is a moral reprobate, a card-carrying member of the soulless vampire club? Does that make her bad?

Another member of this dysfunctional Lonely Hearts Club is Willow. Willow has never dealt with the break up of a relationship in a healthy way. When Oz left her she got drunk at the Bronze and wanted to cast a spell to immediately heal the pain (And we all know how well that turned out. Something Blue, anyone?). Moping around her room, she spies Amy in her cage. "What's the matter, Amy? Lonely?" Willow asks the twitching rat. Transference much? Willow, ever into the quick fix (judging from next week's promo, in more ways than one), decides to de-rat her erstwhile friend, providing instant companionship. And just like that, quicker than you can say "hocus pocus," Amy appears on the bed. After discovering that her prom is over--way over--Amy turns angrily to Willow. "How long was I in the cage? How long?" Willow has obviously not learned much about resurrecting her friends from dormancy and/or death. They aren't always happy to be back. Willow's behaviour later in the episode was even more reprehensible, as she and Amy manipulated the Bronzers for their own delight (as the band sings "Something's wrong here"). Willow! Haven't you learned yet? Magic always has consequences. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should. So why does Willow persist in this questionable behaviour?

Identity Crisis #2: Willow is rebelling against her high school self. Quiet, shy, and always ready to do the right thing (except when she was cheating on Oz with Xander), Willow was the paragon of responsibility in high school. She respected her elders! She got great grades! She was a supportive friend! In short, she was an adult before her time. Now, Willow wants to reject all that. She's regressing into the adolescence she never really had. Rebelling. Partying. Casting spells indiscriminately. Being Bad. Not thinking about the consequences. Unfortunately, Amy knows just what to say to make Willow embrace her darkest impulses. When Willow hesitates about going out, Amy sneers, "Maybe you'd rather sit home all night--alone--like in high school." By preying on Willow's insecurities about her coolness, or lack thereof, Amy can easy manipulate her into doing whatever she wants. Willow isn't even putting up much of a fight. As Anya succinctly puts it, "Responsible people are always so concerned with being good all the time that when they finally get a taste of being bad, they can't get enough." And Willow sure can't get enough.

Speaking of those who can't get enough, let's talk about a vamp with a major identity crisis brewing, shall we? Of course, I'm referring to Spike, sultan of sneer, king of the cheekbones, our favourite morally ambiguous monster-man. Spike did not cover himself with glory in Smashed. He starts out OK (not good, mind you, but OK), helping Buffy, trying to get her to open up about their multiple snogfests. He's mildly snarky, but he's still firmly immersed in his role as caring, sensitive sidekick. But that persona is beginning to crack under the weight of Buffy's continual derision. Echoing a line from Crush, Spike once again declares that "a man can change." Buffy cannot accept any part of that statement, so she plays a round of kick the Spike. According to Buffy, 1) Spike is not a man. 2) Spike=soulless vampire, ergo, he is incapable of change. If Buffy acknowledges that he can change, if he can truly love without a soul, then she may have to accept some discomforting truths about her ex. Did Angelus choose to do evil, just as Spike has been choosing to do good? Can soulless vampires possess free will? Buffy is scared by the gray she perceives in Spike, and in typical Buffy fashion, she lashes out. "You're a thing," she tells him. "An evil, disgusting thing." As she walks away, Spike, who she has been beaten into temporary submission, grins. For he knows something Buffy doesn't. The chip isn't working. Buffy thinks he's an evil thing? Well, that's what he'll be. And there's nothing to stop him, or so he thinks.

Spike, the apparently de-chipped, Wanna-Be Big-Bad, follows a woman into an alleyway. Instead of immediately attacking her, he decides to talk her to death. His words are extremely revealing. Not surprisingly, they are all about Buffy. But for Spike, everything is all about Buffy. Therein lies his problem.

The woman screams. "That's right," sneers Spike. "You should scream! Creature of the night here. Some people forget that." I would argue that Spike himself has forgotten that he's a vampire on more than one occasion (grasping the cross in Bargaining, attempting to follow Buffy into the sunlight in After Life, forgetting that he sleeps during the day in Crush, literally forgetting that he's a vampire in Tabula Rasa). If it's such an essential part of his nature, why does he have such problems remembering what vampires are supposed to do? Vampires are not supposed to shag the Slayer; they're supposed to kill her. Spike then gets to the crux of his problem. He rants, "Just cause she's confused about where she fits in, I'm supposed to be, too? Cause I'm not." Spikey doth protest too much. He's just as confused as Buffy. If he weren't he would have bitten the poor woman by now.

Still, Spike doesn't bite the woman. He decides to engage in a bit of self-motivational speaking. "I know what I am [cause Buffy told me! I'm an evil thing!]. I'm dangerous. I'm evil." The woman, terrified by the crazy man, manages to respond to his declaration. She shakes her head and says, "I'm sure you're not evil."

I, too, am sure that Spike is not evil. Spike, however, desperately wants to be bad. "Yes, I am!" he responds. "I am a killer. That's what I do. I kill. And yeah, maybe it's been a long time, but it's not like you forget how. You just do it. And now I can again. So here goes. This might hurt a little." He then makes a spectacularly bad choice, an evil choice, and attempts to bite the woman. But, alas for Spike, he cannot do it. The chip goes off. And that brings us to . . .

Identity Crisis #3: Spike should be evil. Buffy says he's evil. Warren says he's evil. Spike says he's evil. But poor Spike just can't pass that evil test. The best he can score is dark gray. He desperately wants to be evil, though. His life was much simpler when he didn't hesitate, when he just acted on impulse without thought of the consequences, when he killed indiscriminately and enjoyed it, when he saw the world as a child, in shades of black and white. He was black. He knew his place. He was comfortable there. He was powerful and strong and hard and violent. But, of course, that was before he fell in love with Buffy.

So, when identity crisis #1 and 3 unite what do we get? An event that literally shakes the foundations of the Buffyverse. Spike, putting on his best Big Bad voice, calls the Slayer at the Magic Box. It's been so long since Spike has engaged in Big Bad posturing with her that Buffy doesn't recognise him. After clarifying who he is (telling, no?), Spike requests a meeting with her, which Buffy decides to miss. She may be able to avoid him temporarily, but eventually he catches up with her. Spike's voice trembles (with rage, anger, hurt?) as he says, "You never showed." Then the violence begins. And Spike's giving as good as he's getting. Why can Spike hit Buffy? Why doesn't the chip go off? Buffy has changed. Spike smiles mirthlessly and declares, "You came back wrong" (if Buffy is part demon, it's interesting to note that Spike considers it wrong). I have to think that part of what Spike loved about Buffy was her humanity, her goodness--the qualities that she had and he (perhaps secretly) wants. But he can no longer put her on a pedestal, unattainable, out of reach. Now they are equals. They are both preternaturally strong. They both enjoy violence. And they have both dug themselves from their own graves. They both know death.

As she and Spike trade vicious blows, Buffy's worst fears are realised. His fists seem to prove that what he says is true. Last season, Buffy wondered if being a Slayer had robbed her of her humanity--a fear made flesh by Spike's revelation: "You came back a little less human than you were." But Buffy also worried last season (and this one, too) about not being able to feel; that all the violence had desensitized her to the point where she couldn't experience emotion. Ironically, it is through embracing violence, extreme violence, that she eventually feels again. The violence is a conduit through which difficult truths are told and rage flows free. Spike leers at Buffy and tells her, "I wasn't planning on hurting you, much." Spike lies. Buffy responds, "You haven't even come close to hurting me." Buffy lies. But then Spike speaks the truth, raw and unvarnished: "'Fraid to give me the chance?" [Are you afraid to let me in? Is that it?] "You afraid I'm gonna . . ." We never learn what Spike thinks Buffy might be afraid of. His words are cut off by her desperate kiss. And the walls come tumbling down. The barriers between them are smashed and they experience a total, and surprisingly R-rated, connection (was that a zipper I heard?;-) Even if the dŽtente is temporary, the repercussions of this event will be felt the rest of the season. The episode ends with Buffy on top, both literally and figuratively. She has power over Spike if she chooses to use it. Will she help him stay on the straight and narrow? Will she care about Spike's moral progress? Will Spike even feel a need to do good, now that Buffy has rewarded his Big Bad posturing with Slayer!Sex?

We shall see.

 

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