The Body Human: A Meditation On My Favorite "Buffy" Episode

It's no secret that I am a huge fan of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer".

This is surprising -- even to me -- for a number of reasons. The first and foremost is that I just don't do sci-fi (see previous posting entitled "I Don't Get It: 10 Random Things That Confound Me"). Secondly, I have never gravitated toward any entertainment geared to and/or starring teenyboppers. Third, the identically-titled film that "Buffy" is based on was a fluffy, bubblegum comedy that was as inauthentic as it was unentertaining.

So I missed the "Buffy" television series the first time around. Fortunately, John dragged me kicking and screaming to the DVDs. And after the first episode, I was hooked. Over the next seven seasons (which we condensed into a few months' worth of viewing), I came to regard the life and times of Buffy Summers as nothing short of genius: a true masterpiece of modern storytelling. Yes, there were vampires and ghoulies and all manner of creepy-crawly monsters. But there was also genuine emotion, believable character development and relationships, sparkling writing, and some truly notable performances.

Which brings me to my favorite "Buffy" episode, "The Body". Now if you're currently experiencing "Buffy" for the first time, and you haven't yet reached this particular episode (Season Five, Episode 16), then stop reading right here. I am about to divulge a few secrets in order to communicate my absolute passion for this episode, a passion that transcends my already-strong ardor for all things Buffy.

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer" depends on a lot of supernatural elements to make its stories work. Even when dealing with the most outlandish concepts, the brilliant writing and powerful performances made every action, every nuance, every stab with a wooden stake, somehow real. And in no other episode of the series were these things presented in such a flawless, unique manner.

You see, "The Body" is different, even for the consistently original "Buffy". This is one episode that completely abandons all supernatural and other-worldly elements and focuses solely on intense human drama.

In "The Body", Buffy's mother, Joyce, has died suddenly of a brain aneurysm. This is remarkable because Joyce's death is, to my knowledge, the only one in the entire course of the series that is not vamp-, alien-, or monster-related. Her death is an entirely "natural" one, and it is this very quality that tips the balance of the show and makes it a true standout.

The entire episode is shot without a soundtrack, without fancy stunts, without dramatic lighting and ornate sets. It's as sickeningly real as death itself, and I think that's exactly that the writers were going for. Here is this girl, this superhero, who is suddenly confronted with wholly human mortality. No vampire pursuit or stake to the chest is going to rectify Joyce's death. The episode is imbued with a helplessness that is unsettlingly universal when faced with sudden death, especially the death of someone as integral to the show and characters as Joyce Summers was.

Let me just insert here, for honesty's sake, that I despised the character of Joyce. I did from the very beginning of the series. I found her poorly written and underdeveloped, and oftentimes quite offensive to the notion of "strong TV moms". It is a sad fact that the writers didn't make Joyce even remotely interesting until just a couple of episodes before she was killed off. I also found the actress playing her to be about as boring and stunted as a tree trunk. With all of this said, though, it must be mentioned that Joyce was, even in episodes where she didn't feature prominently (which is most of them), at the very least a presence of some sort in the series. It's irrelevant that she was badly presented or performed. The point is is that we all have moms. Even slayers.

"The Body" is so flawlessly written, directed, shot, and performed that I am hard-pressed to find any criticism at all with it. It could easily be a Dogme 95 production. The entire episode is a heart-breaking meditation on the first stages of grief and loss. And if you want to see some of the finest work out there by the members of Hollywood's most talented younger generation, you need look no further than "The Body".

Sarah Michelle Gellar proves, with her radiant face a veritable mask of human emotion, that she not only carried the weight of this episode on her young shoulders, but also the weight of the entire series. We oft times overlook this because she does it so seamlessly, so effortlessly, that we take it for granted. There aren't many young actors that could accomplish what Gellar has here with as much ease or grace or courage.

And she is ably supported by an impeccable supporting cast. Alyson Hannigan, as Buffy's lesbian witch best friend Willow, was criminally overlooked in this series. She is one of the most underrated young actresses out there, and her work on "Buffy" is solid, endearing, and deceptively complex. As in nearly every episode she's in, Hannigan manages to walk away with each scene she's part of -- not an easy task when acting alongside a talent as formidable and daunting as Gellar. In "The Body", Willow is thrust into a crossroads of her young life: she is forced to grow up in the face of the harsh realities of death. Surveying her closet-full of frilly girlish clothes (Willow's trademark throughout the series), she laments, "Why can't I dress like a grown-up? Can't I be a grown-up?". It's enough to crack your heart in two.

Even Anya (the always amazing Emma Caulfield), the vengeance-demon now in human form, is torn asunder by Joyce's death. Anya's complete incomprehension of death in general, and the death of someone close to her in particular, is something the usually-wisecracking character just cannot wrap her mind around. She doesn't understand death, how someone who is here one day can be gone the next. And that's not a vengeance-demon thing. It's a human thing.

Nicholas Brendon, Michelle Trachtenberg, Amber Benson, and Anthony Stewart Head are equally incredible. There is not a weak link in this cast, and they each have their moment to shine in "The Body".

Even if you're not into "Buffy", I still urge you to see this one episode. It's an example of what good television really is. Of what a master storyteller can do when the circumstances are just so. Of what an immensely-talented group of actors can do when given some real human drama to sink their chops into.

Don't mourn for "The Body". Celebrate it. You won't be sorry.

Book Review: "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald

It seems a bit absurd to even attempt to review a book as famed and lauded as F. Scott Fitzgerald's classic "The Great Gatsby". It's like criticizing Monet's brush strokes on his water lilies, or calling "Romeo & Juliet" not tragic enough. But at the same time, there are films, literature, and fine art that the world hails as classic works of genius that personally don't ring true for me. Some examples are Van Gogh's "Room at Arles", William Golding's "The Lord of the Flies", and the performances of Katharine Hepburn (with the exception of "The Lion in Winter", in which I think she is downright brilliant).

Luckily, there was no reason whatsoever for me to question the "classic" status of "The Great Gatsby". I found it to be wholly deserving of its place in the pantheon of Great Literature. Several months ago, I read my first Fitzgerald book, "Tender is the Night". I fell in love with that book, as well as the author's unparalleled gift with the written word. Though Fitzgerald's knack for crafting and fleshing out fascinating, flawed characters is breathtaking, it is his amazing ability to create and breathe life into various settings that I find more impressive.

The skeleton of the story in "Gatsby" is as old as the hills. A love triangle, which precipitates tragedy as great in scope as some of the finest Greek classics. But it is Fitzgerald's love affair with words that wrap this ancient story in a lush, beautiful new cloak. He paints a portrait of 1920s excess and inhibition that didn't simply give me the feeling of reading about a particular time in history.

I was actually transported there.

The glittering parties. The free-flowing booze. The dynamic personalities. The Flapper dresses and bob haircuts. The idle rich doing what they do best: be idle. Whenever I put the book down, I had to shake my head a little and jolt myself back to 2008. Fitzgerald's portrait of the world of Jay Gatsby is all-consuming and ultimately very rewarding. For we don't feel as if we just glimpsed an interesting character in an interesting time. We feel as if we have walked for eons in his unscuffed brown wingtips.

I Don't Get It: 10 Random Things That Confound Me

I am the first person to admit that there is a lot of stuff in the world that I just don't understand. I'm not one of those people who always has to be right, or always has to give the impression that I know what the hell is going on. In reality, I am more often than not rather mystified by various people, contraptions, styles, and ideas, and I make no effort to conceal my incomprehension.

Here is a brief list of Stuff I Just Don't Get. If you can explain any of these things to me, in the simplest, most elementary way possible, I would be grateful.

-Fashion. It is a huge stereotype that all gay men are fashionistas. The world of fashion is the one item on this list that stumps me above all others. I wish I understood it. My brother, for instance, is very fashionable and on the cutting edge and in-the-know about all things fashion-centric. He can talk about designers, shows, and clothing lines for days, in the same way I can talk about movies, books, actors, and writers. It was once explained to me that high fashion is high art, and to appreciate it one has to view it as just that: art. But try as I might, even being an ardent art-lover, I can't see the brilliance of clothing that looks like it has been vomited up by my cat. So many people get all wet in the crotch when Fashion Week rolls around, and news of it seems to be covered everywhere. I just cannot grasp that a vacant-eyed, grossly underweight model festooned in a lime green garbage bag with a rice cooker on her head is somehow artistic or revolutionary. I don't get it.

-"Messy" hair. I see this one a lot, and it's unfortunate that the only ones who seem to adhere to it are hot young men. I confess I might not understand this one simply because I'm jealous that they even have hair. But these guys look like they spent hours, and tons of hair product, in an attempt to get their hair to look perfectly mussed. Strands jut every which way, patches of scalp show through here and there, and not a follicle seems out of place...mostly because they are all out of place. Bedhead, bad toupees, even mullets, I can understand. But immaculately-disheveled hair that took great concentration and focus to attain? I don't get it.

-Owen Wilson. A voice that makes me yearn for Lee Press-Ons across a chalkboard. A single facial expression that always looks like he just took a massive dump in his pants. No discernible acting skill or merit. Yet Owen Wilson remains an inexplicably popular actor and personality and commands MILLIONS per movie. His fame and likability are as baffling to me as one of those pyramided Rubik's Cubes. I don't get it.

-Vibrators that look like animals. I've seen vibrators out there that look like bunny rabbits, butterflies, even hummingbirds. If you want animals nesting in your hoo-hah, just take your pants off, slather yourself in honey, and walk through a forest. That seems more logical to me, I guess. But a bright purple plastic rabbit gyrating between your legs? I don't get it.

-Parades. Man, I HATE parades. Who the hell thought up this idea? Let's get a bunch of people together, close a major thoroughfare of traffic, and move down the street REALLY, REALLY slowly. At the same time, let's hurl candy at the hoards of spectators lined up on the sidewalks. And let's just hope that no gawking child loses an eye in a barrage of Laffy Taffy. I don't get it.

-"Seinfeld". I've tried valiantly to watch and enjoy this institution of modern television, but I am incapable of understanding it. Scrying my Kleenex after I blow my nose is more entertaining for me. I don't find this TV show funny, or engaging, or even that well executed. I don't get it.

-Science Fiction. Given that my husband is a sci-fi freak, this item could (and just might someday) be an entire posting in and of itself. I have tried so damn hard to enjoy science fiction for 31 years, yet all my senses reject it. I can't wrap my mind around it. This is surprising because one would assume I'd enjoy pondering other worlds and realities and beings. I have no trouble taking leaps of faith and meditating on creative ideas of what could be out there, beyond the grip of our knowing. But science fiction consistently leaves me stumped. If I wanted to see a bunch of robotic, scary-faced creatures haunting the streets of a major world city, I'd watch reruns of "Sex and the City". I don't get it.

-Danielle Steele. This chick is a gazillionaire, and it seems she can't have a bowel movement without it being on the New York Times Bestseller List. All of her stories are nearly identical, and her skill as a writer makes Jackie Collins look like Hemingway. Yet people snatch up and devour her books with the zealotry of the Peoples Temple at a Kool-Aid factory. I don't get it.

-"The Silence of the Lambs". I am the only person on the face of the Earth that did not enjoy this movie. To be honest, I was bored stiff. Jodie Foster doing her best ice-queen lesbian and Anthony Hopkins doing his best batshit nutjob. I daresay it wasn't much of a stretch for either actor, but being mired down in a story that didn't engage me in the least made it all the more difficult for me to watch. This movie won a slew of Oscars and has gone down as a classic piece of American cinema. I don't get it.

-Corncob holders that are in the shape of tiny little corncobs. Seems redundant, doesn't it? I don't get it.