Willow: Wonderland

Posted on May 7, 2013 by mythgirl under Books, Buffy, Buffyverse, Pop Culture, Whedonverse

Spoilers below for the Buffyverse comics.

Joss Whedon introduced me to the comic world with Fray, and then with Buffy, Angel After the Fall, and Angel and Faith. Oh, and the Serenity and Dollhouse comics. Basically, if Whedon writes/directs/creates something, I consume it. But not without judgment. Buffy Season 8 was, ultimately, rather disappointing. The Twilight storyline… yeah… if it hadn’t been Whedon, I wouldn’t have kept reading. Even he nearly lost me though when Buff and Angel were having acrobatic flying sex… but I stuck it out… and I’m enjoying the journey. Whedon himself has admitted he made some mistakes with Season 8, and he’s making up for it in Season 9, which I’m enjoying much more. I also enjoyed Angel After the Fall, but I’m loving Angel and Faith even more. (And I must briefly mention – of course Giles’ soul was claimed by Eyghon when he died! Brilliant development going on over there). The comics have gained their footing, and the world is expanding in great ways. And I actually think the greatest piece is the Willow miniseries I finally had the chance to read. Whedon was the exec producer, and I’d love to know how much he poured into the storyline… because everything from the Zen Caterpillar – whom we learn Lewis Carroll based his caterpillar on – to Willow’s self discovery was fucking awesome.

We’ve been watching Willow grow and struggle with magic since the early days of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She really has a chance to shine in this comic, sans Buffy and pals. On her own, we see a confident, strong witch – but she’s never stopped struggling with her Dark Willow past. The early appearance of the Zen caterpillar tells us that we’re going on a journey inwards, a mythic journey about the light and the dark (only seeming opposites; Joseph Campbell’s hero journey shows us that the hero will transcend these) and real power (it comes from within, as the Eastern traditions teach). So, of course, Marrak was Rack! I should’ve seen it coming. She had to battle one last element from her dark past – she’s already confronted her demons with Amy and Warren, so this was the last step for Strawberry to claim all parts of herself, light and dark, and give something back to the world.

This quest has been building for Willow for years, and I’m eager to see its payoff as she returns to Buffy’s comic with the Slayer’s Scythe – which, awesome sidenote, is the frickin’ counterpart to Excalibur!!

WonderCon 2013

Posted on April 7, 2013 by mythgirl under Buffy, Buffyverse, Photographs, Pop Culture, Whedonverse

Last week, I had the awesome opportunity to attend all 3 days of WonderCon. I was going to write up a detailed blog-post, but in the busy-ness of life, it’s now a week after the Con, and you can find a million write-ups all over the net. You can probably even find video of most if not all of the panels. So, in this post, I’m bringing you a series of small slideshows highlighting all my favorite parts of the Con – including the much anticipated Much Ado About Nothing panel with Joss Whedon & his cast! Enjoy!

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All photos © MythGirl 2013

For the Love of Buffy!

Posted on February 11, 2013 by mythgirl under Buffy, Buffyverse, Pop Culture, Whedonverse

It’s just so incredible… who would have thought that a TV show would have impacted me so much? I can’t believe we’re coming up on the 16 year anniversary of Buffy‘s premiere. I have officially been a fan of Whedon for half my life!

Buffy’s been on my mind today, so I wanted to write a quick post. It all started this morning when Whedonesque linked to lostboy_lj’s LiveJournal post: “The Monomythology of Buffy.” It was one of the first things I read today. A brief post accompanied with Buffy images to chronicle Buffy’s descent into the underworld and return with the boon. This sparked my interest more than your average Buffy article because this was the topic of my entire Master’s thesis. It was interesting to see what lostboy_lj plugged into each piece of the wheel as I had different selections. At some point when I’m not still working on my own research for grad school, I want to pour over his selections in more detail. For now, it just made me happy to see people are still talking about Campbell, still talking about Buffy, and still working the pop-culture to myth connection. It’s a strong connection that I’m really surprised doesn’t get talked about even more.

As I continued through my day, checking into social media as I do, I just kept seeing Buffy everywhere. This is of course because I follow fellow fans on Twitter and pages like SlayerLit on Facebook. In fact, SlayerLit posted 3 new articles on Buffy today from just the last few days. I simply must link to them. I’ll confess I haven’t had a chance to read them all yet, but I plan to. And if you’re here, you’d probably like to read them too:

One Man’s Myth: How Joss Whedon Showed Me the Crack in the Invisible Wall

Myths About Joss Whedon (That Keep Non-Whedonistas Away)

A Love Letter to Buffy Summers

It’s nothing new that people are still talking about Buffy – it just makes me crazy happy that they are. This show has so much depth, substance, and life in it. Not to mention, Buffy was as much of my high school experience as anyone else I met sophomore year. There’s no doubt that the nostalgia factor is just as important to me as the brilliance of the series. And the fact that I was able to take my best friend Buffy with me from high school into college and then into the world of academia in graduate school and beyond… it’s really been a great journey.

Obsession in Academia, Creativity & Popular Culture

Posted on January 29, 2013 by mythgirl under Buffyverse, Whedonverse, Writing

Once again, Whedon hits the nail on the head! In this video testimonial, Joss Whedon is discussing the film program at Wesleyan, his alum. But within that, he discusses something very important: agenda vs. obsession. And it’s having that obsession, not an agenda, that creates good film, good stories, good students. I know that’s what’s driven my academic career. It was obsession with the works of Whedon (Buffy in particular) that led me to write my English Master’s thesis (The Hero’s Journey Revamped in Buffy the Vampire Slayer) on something really important to me.

And it was finding that thread of what I was obsessed with about myth in the each of the different 18 courses of my Mythological Studies program that compelled me to write each research paper with fervor. It was identifying that thing I had to learn more about, had to say more about, and running with it. I think that obsession was the greatest motivation to accomplishing all the papers, presentations and articles I have completed. It wasn’t just curiosity; it wasn’t just to get the grade; it wasn’t just being an academic. It was that thread of something that pulled on something in me. Obsession.

Thank you, Whedon. For everything.

More on Whedon, Wesleyan, and his upcoming honorary degree here.

“They were fluffy indigenous kittens, till we came along”: Chumash Representation in Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Posted on November 21, 2012 by mythgirl under Buffy, Buffyverse, Grad School, Whedonverse, Words for Wednesday, Writing

I wrote this essay last holiday season for my Native American grad class. Enjoy!

Our modern American mythology and history is intricately connected with the experiences of the Native Americans and their early contact with the Spanish and the Europeans. As Slotkin notes in Regeneration Through Violence, “Their [Native American] concerns, their hopes, their terrors, their violence, and their justifications of themselves, as expressed in literature, are the foundation stones of the mythology that informs our history” (4). Furthermore, “the myth of regeneration through violence became the structuring metaphor of the American experience” (5). Currently, this can be seen operating through the highly popular American myth of the vampire, a creature that faces death through violence and is reborn, or regenerated, to live forever. The vampire itself bares some similarities to the notion of the violent savage Native American that was perpetuated in the New World. Many Europeans depicted that these savages were “nonhuman” and controlled by the “dark forces of the blood” (Rexroth qtd. in Slotin). This description certainly applies to the vampire as well. Immediately, therefore, there is a connection between Buffy and our frontier history.

Unfortunately, native history is often either denigrated to a form of history deemed appropriate only to the grade school classroom, or it is deeply misunderstood. Pearce makes it clear that two contradictory images of natives exist: “subhuman” (like the savage referenced above) and “nobleman” (like the noble savage discussed below) (179). Confusingly, native “virtues and vices” have historically been both “praised and dispraised” (200). A sense of this disjointedness is delivered in season four of the popular television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer. “Pangs,” the only Thanksgiving episode from the seven seasons of Buffy, seeks to address our history and touches greatly on our American myth of the natives “as a noble savage, above and beyond the vices of civilized men” (Pearce 169). This depiction is not unique to Buffy as natives are often “described and portrayed in thousands of movies, television programs, books, articles, and government studies” as this noble savage (Gibson 8).

The primary plot thread in “Pangs” is simple: when the local college starts digging to build the new Cultural Center, an old Spanish Mission that had collapsed in the 1800s is discovered underground. When this area is disturbed, the Chumash Vengeance Spirit Hus is released. He begins committing murders in Sunnydale, the fictional Southern California city the series is set in, and Buffy and her friends (typically referred to as “The Scoobies”) face a new type of problem. While no one wants to see anyone else murdered or injured by Hus, Buffy and her friend Willow also do not want to harm the Spirit because they recognize his plight. Willow is especially vocal about her concern, claiming that they should be “helping him redress his wrongs [and] bring the atrocities to light” (“Pangs”). The debate about how to manage Hus is prevalent throughout the episode, mirroring our own conflicting understanding of native tribes and history.

Initially seen as a “primitive man” (Slotin 55), the Native American was dismissed during Early Contact as unsophisticated and underdeveloped. Many Americans maintain the primitive image of original Native Americans, but also see them as victims, as seen in the popular image of the noble savage. Under this view, the native is seen as an outsider and typically one worthy of pity. Indeed, As McCall and Perry note, Native Americans became “outcasts in their own land” (16). This notion has helped to develop the sense of guilt that Americans, as depicted on Buffy, hold for what occurred at early contact. In the episode “Pangs,” similarity is further depicted between Native Americans and two particular vampires in Buffy’s life, Spike and Angel. While most of the vampires Buffy encounters are merely demons driven by bloodlust, Spike and Angel are exceptions. Angel is the only vampire with a soul, and Spike, by this point, has had a chip implanted in his brain that prevents him from attacking humans. He is essentially a neutered and harmless vampire. Therefore, Spike and Angel are both outsiders in their own community of vampires. Rhonda Wilcox, considered the founder and mother of Buffy studies, discussed this episode in the online Slayage journal and indicated that “the two major subjects [of “Pangs”] are Buffy’s attitude towards the Indigenous and Angel” (3). Wilcox also elaborates on the similarities between Spike, Angel and Hus in the episode, referring to the original shooting script that describes Spike as “a picture of misery and longing” (Espenson qtd. in Wilcox 6). Wilcox elaborates on the topic in great detail, clearly depicting the outsider position of the Natives and these two particular vampires.

I see another important comparison in the episode that has not been addressed in any of the Buffy literature (most of which is overviewed in Wilcox’s article): Buffy herself is an outsider like Hus. The series overall constantly reminds viewers that Buffy just wants to be a normal girl. Though she develops a group of close-knit friends that help her slay, in this season Buffy and her friends drift apart. In fact, the Thanksgiving dinner at the end of the episode is the last time we will see the Scoobies peacefully assembled until the end of the season. Buffy has always been an outsider, and this season of the series in particular demonstrates how she can function as an outsider even within her own close group. I think this is another important reason, beyond her claim to collective national native guilt, Buffy sympathizes with Hus in the episode.

As I argued in my master’s thesis on Buffy, the series operates as a modern mythology and holds deep resonance for the viewers involved with the program since it originally aired fifteen years ago. The series’ devoted fan base and the presence of continually expanding academic scholarship certainly speaks to the important place Buffy holds in popular culture. One role mythologies hold is to point to relevant problems, though not to offer solutions (this is an idea commonly discussed in mythological studies). In “Pangs,” Buffy poignantly demonstrates its role as a mythology by speaking to our collective history and examining a collective issue. Like a true mythology though, Buffy does not offer us a solution. As Wilcox notes, “‘Pangs’ is a problem play, not a solution play” (12). The episode brings up important elements to be discussed, evaluated, and understood. It is important that the episode does not offer a solution because “issues and conflicts involving American Indians today . . . are not easily understood [and cannot] be readily resolved” (Gibson 11). To offer a quick solution in a forty-two minute television episode would undermine the seriousness of the situation.

Overall, “Pangs” brings to life the myth that heavily maintained in North America of the noble savage and our desire to look at natives kindly. This image has been popular since the nineteenth century when Longfellow and other “writers of fiction . . . sometimes expressed American guilt feelings by celebrating the noble savage” (Pearce 196). Some of the misrepresentation in the episode is critical as it depicts long-term, common national misunderstanding. At the beginning of the episode, there is a dedication to a new Cultural Center, and Professor Gerhardt declares the importance of this center being built as Thanksgiving approaches: “Because that’s what the melting pot is about – contributions from all cultures, making our culture stronger” (“Pangs”). While Buffy stands at the back of the ceremony with her friends, Willow criticizes the professor’s comments, expressing that Thanksgiving is actually “about one culture wiping out another” (“Pangs”). Willow shares that her mom does not celebrate Thanksgiving or Columbus Day because those days are about “the destruction of the indigenous peoples” (“Pangs”). Buffy notes that she never thought of it like that before. Indeed, Buffy’s perspective here is representative of average modern American. Willow’s disapproval of our “animated specials . . . with the maize and the big, big belt buckles” certainly points to our standard treatment of this national holiday.

Shortly after this rousing conversation between Buffy and Willow, the spirit Hus is released from the hidden mission. When Buffy later learns of his violent presence in Sunnydale, the Scoobies begin to research Chumash history. The episode continues to depict the modern American misunderstandings of history and reimaginings of natives. Willow claims that the Chumash “were fluffy, indigenous kittens, till we came along” (“Pangs”). A brief review of Chumash history indicates that this was not the case: “We know from archaeological, ethnohistoric, and ethnographic data that Chumash internal conflict existed and at times intensified” (Gamble 248). Furthermore, diaries from early encounters with the Chumash indicate that they were “involved in battles prior to their first contact with Europeans” (Gamble 250). Works from Ferguson, Blick, and Ferguson and Whitehead reviewed by Gamble do indicate that “European colonization [increased] the level of violence among traditional groups” (Gamble 254). Of course, when facing repression and abuse, the natives tried to strike back. Importantly, though, this was not their first exposure to violence. To see the natives as only peaceful fails to recognize their full historical existence, customs, and traits. A deeper investigation of history clearly depicts that, despite Willow’s assertion (which is akin to other Americans), the Chumash were a violent people before colonization. In part, this begins to undermine the image of the noble savage.

When Buffy first personally meets Hus, he has just killed a priest at a Church. Buffy responds with her Slayer instincts and begins to engage in hand-to-hand combat with the violent Chumash Spirit. When Buffy ultimately gains the upper hand in the fight, Hus claims, “You slaughtered my people. Now you kill their spirit. This is a great day for you” (“Pangs”). This rattles Buffy as she remembers he is not like the evil demons she usually slays. She shoves him away from her and allows him to flee. This scene first operates to demonstrate Buffy’s confused attitude toward Hus: as a Slayer, she needs to stop his violence; as a Modern American, she feels guilt and pity towards him. Also, though she herself may not immediately recognize it, she relates to him as both an outsider and a fighter. After her encounter, Buffy complains to the Scoobies about her discomfort with the situation: “I like my evil . . . straight up, black hat, ‘Tied to the train tracks, soon my electro-ray will destroy metropolis’ bad. Not all mixed up with guilt and the destruction of an indigenous culture” (“Pangs”). Importantly, Buffy’s sense of confusion is also representative of our past with Native Americans.

Furthermore, the scene between Buffy and Hus offers viewers a more detailed look a Hus. His visual depiction is akin to the stereotypical image of Native Americans that comes from “film and visual culture [that has] provided the primary representational field on which Native American images have been displayed to dominant culture audiences in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries” (Raheja 29). In other words, it is not entirely accurate. Hus is dressed head to toe in presumably “traditional” Indian garb, and his hair dangles down toward his shoulders. However, historical documentation indicates that Chumash men “usually went naked but painted their bodies, wore their long hair up wrapped with cords and attached shell beads” (Gamble 2). (The same description can also be found in Paez qtd. in McCall and Perry 23). There is very little about Hus’s visual appearance that represents the traditional Chumash. He simply looks like the clichéd American “Indian.” Unfortunately, the episode seems to have made the error of grouping all Native Americans together. Even in their approach of Chumash history, the Scoobies demonstrate the common of error of believing that the term “Chumash” properly encompasses a large group of natives. This is not the case, however. While they “shared many cultural traits, ‘the Chumash were neither a cultural nor a linguistic entity per se’” (Blackburn qtd. in Gamle 8). Simply put, “The Chumash were not a unified group” (Anderson 7). The Scoobieshave made the common error of assuming similarities of Native American tribes.

A final noteworthy element in the scene between Hus and Buffy is Hus’s speech, which has been accurately described as “clipped, simple English” (Sally Emmons qtd. in Wilcox 59). According to Gibson, while Spanish was usually the first language of the Chumash, as colonization continued, “many [spoke] English as well” (89). It is reasonable that Hus would be able to speak English, but the way he speaks it is so basic that it nearly seems insulting. Wilcox accurately assesses that “Hus seems to be less of a person and more of a symbol” (5). However, the intricacies – or lack thereof – in his representation do not accurately depict the rich, developed nature of Chumash. The episode continues to play to the notion of the noble savage that emphasizes the assumed simplicity of “peaceful and benign” natives with “every amiable virtue” (Pearce 140; Freneau qtd in Pearce 145).

As the episode continues, it is revealed that Buffy’s friend Xander, who initially disrupted the sacred site at the groundbreaking ceremony for the Cultural Center, has been mystically cursed with diseases by Hus. He is plagued with the same “European-introduced diseases [that] continued to kill Indians by the thousands” (Gibson 84). This “heavy loss of life from the dreaded European diseases” is also noted by McCall and Perry (15). Additionally, Anderson notes that some Chumash sucked illnesses from patients and/or sent magical poisons to enemies” (7). Xander’s curse accurately represents the diseases that killed many natives at the point of European contact and further demonstrates the Chumash’s affinity for vengeance. According to Gamble’s research, “revenge was viewed as a primary motive” for conflict with the Chumash (271). If a Chumash Spirit could indeed rise in modern America, it is not a stretch to imagine that he would seek revenge.

Xander’s situation also brings forth a brief but significant discussion of vengeance. To begin with, Xander’s girlfriend Anya, another significant character in the series, is herself an ex-vengeance demon. When it becomes clear that Willow and Buffy are interested in verbally resolving the conflict with Hus, Xander angrily declares, “He’s a vengeance demon. You don’t talk to vengeance demons. You kill them” (“Pangs”). Anya is of course disturbed by this and argues: “Sometimes vengeance is justified” (“Pangs”). (Concepts of vengeance and justice continue to surface in the series, but that discussion is beyond the scope of this paper). Buffy quickly interrupts the group’s dialogue to focus on cooking Thanksgiving dinner (something she is greatly pre-occupied with throughout the episode). Anya and Xander have both made important statements. Xander has been personally injured by Hus and wants him stopped. Anya understands the importance of vengeance, a key concept that underlies the entire episode. A historical source from Fr. Jose Seflan indicates that the Chumash “had some sort of knowledge of warfare but almost always they would kill their adversaries [and] “take vengeance on them” (qtd. in Gamble 257). This conversation between the Scoobies accurately depicts the presence of vengeance in the Chumash culture and continues to fuel the debate that occurs within the group of how to approach the problem with Hus.

Though the episode accurately integrates concepts of vengeance related to the Chumash, it inaccurately assesses Hus’s motivation in attacking certain individuals. Xander was attacked simply because he was the first to disrupt Hus, but the other victims are authority figures. According to Angel, this is because Hus is “a warrior [and] to a warrior, the leader means the strongest fighter” (“Pangs”). While it is understandable that the series wanted to portray the vengeful Hus a warrior, his character is not representative of the hunter/gatherer role of the Chumash tribes. The depiction of warriorhood in Hus is representative of another common problem in American film: “seemingly respectful and balanced representations [of Native Americans] are often rooted in uncritical, problematic racial ideologies that reflect unexamined notions of Native American culture on the part of the director and on the part of North American society as a whole” (Raheja 47). Historically, “Warriors were not a topic of great interest in the oral traditions of the Chumash” (Gamble 260). By focusing on the warrior image in “Pangs,” Buffy continues toplay to the notion of Native Americans as savage and simple-minded. As mentioned, this is not an uncommon misperception; even at early contact it Europeans believed that natives “ha[d] not yet acquired civilized vices” (Pearce 18). However, Gamble’s detailed research makes it clear that Chumash tribes were “more complex than previously thought” (271). They had a sophisticated economic system, and it was actually “control over wealth [that] create[d] a basis for political power” in Chumash society (279).

On their quest to discover how to approach Hus, the characters have tried visiting a priest and have consulted historical documents. Their discussion of Chumash seems to indicate they are discussing a dead culture. However, there are currently 5,000 Chumash in California (Gibson 97). The plight of the natives is not something purely historical as it appears in this episode. The Chumash are an active culture currently operating as “prominent spokespeople for many environmental issues facing the people of California and the rest of the world” (93). Yet the episode never makes mention of their continual survival. To be fair, though, not every aspect of the Chumash can be addressed in one forty-two minute television episode.

As Hus continues on his path of vengeance, he beckons other spirits to help him take the fight to Buffy. He calls forth: “First people who dwell in Mishupashup, hear me and descend. Walk with me upon Itiashup again. Hear me also, Nunashush, spirits from below, creatures of the night. Take human form and join the battle. Bring me my revenge” (“Pangs”). Though viewers are not likely to focus on the details included in this quick line, accurate reference is made here to the Chumash mythology, referring to the “world we live in” Itiashup (Garces-Foley 17), and the upper world, Mishupashup (Fuchs). The creatures he calls on, Nunashush, are “dangerous creatures” according to Chumash myth (Gibson 13). This line colorfully represents Chumash mythology, though it is brief. Again though, there are constraints to how much can be presented in television one episode. However, this is enough to point to the importance of the beliefs the Chumash held, which Hus uses to gain assistance.

After gathering other spirits to help him, Hus takes the fight to Buffy, attacking her and the Scoobies as they are preparing Thanksgiving dinner. The Chumash attack Buffy with arrows, offering viewers another accurate representation of Chumash life. Anderson explains the bow and arrow was a common weapon for the Chumash (11), and Gamble elaborates that it was often the weapon of choice “used to threaten or carry out force” (269). Ultimately, during the climax of the battle, Hus transforms himself into a bear. While this is, of course, effective in creating more fear in Buffy, it also points to other important elements of Chumash culture. To begin with, some shamans could purportedly “change themselves into bears, the fiercest and most powerful land animals known to the Chumash.” (Anderson 7). Furthermore, bears also functioned as “supernatural helpers in dreams” and they “confer[red] great strength and courage” (McCall and Perry 42). It is significant that Hus chooses this defense as his last attempt to defeat the Slayer. However, at this point, Buffy discovers how to kill Hus (by using his own knife) and destroys the Chumash spirit, along with his followers.

In order to survive, Buffy and her friends had no choice in fighting back against the vengeance spirit. Despite her attempt for a “nice, non-judgmental way to, you know, kill him,” Buffy ultimately relied on her standard Slayer skills to defeat him (“Pangs”). Buffy is not proud of defeating Hus. Indeed, the entire episode has demonstrated her contention with the issue. After surviving the battle, Willow again is the one to voice concern about the treatment of natives: “Did you see me? Two seconds of conflict with an indigenous person, and I turned into General Custer” (“Pangs”). The character Giles defends the Scoobies’ winning defense of Hus’s attack on them: “Violence does that. Instinct takes over” (“Pangs”). His statement holds truth. The Scoobies were threatened, and they successfully defended themselves. Everyone is pleased to have survived, though Buffy and Willow especially dis pleased with their means.

Though not all of the details in the episode are historically accurate, overall “Pangs” presents a rich, “controversial” (Wilcox 1), thought-provoking and exceptionally significant episode that stirs the viewers’ curiosity and imagination. The Scoobies cannot solve our national confusion of native tribes or are violent history with them, but the episode offers an accurate account of modern American myth. As Raheja discusses of film, the presence of natives in popular culture has the “ability to function as a placeholder: as a representational practice it does not mirror reality but can enact important cultural work as an art form with ties to the world of everyday practices and the imaginative sphere of the possible” (77). The episode cannot offer us a solution because “[t]ry hard as he might, the American primitivist who chose to image the Indian as noble savage [cannot] fully escape the confusion and vitiation his choice” (Pearce 147).

While “Pangs” holds importance for the United States collectively, it has a heightened importance in Southern California where, as noted in the episode, the Chumash resided. Though Buffy’s fictional town Sunnydale does not exist, the town is representative of its geographical location. Therefore, this episode and its historical background are of an even deeper interest and importance to those of us living in this area. As a life-long resident of Southern California and a student residing at Pacifica Graduate Institute, which is near many original Chumash sites, this episode points to an area of history that resides under the very ground I walk on.

Works Cited

Anderson, Eugene N. The Chumash Indians of Southern California. Banning: Malki Museum,

1981. Print.

“Pangs.” Writ. Jane Espenson. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The WB. 23 Nov. 1999. Television.

Fuchs, Harald. “Alapay Mishupashup.” Encyclopedia Mythica. 5 Feb. 2005. Web. 26 Mar. 2012.

Gamble, Lynn H. The Chumash World at European Contact: Power, Trade, and Feasting among

Complex Hunter-gatherers. Berkeley: University of California, 2008. Kindle.

Garces-Foley, Kathleen. Death and Religion in a Changing World. Armonk, N.Y: M.E. Sharpe,

2006. Print.

Gibson, Robert O. Indians of North America: The Chumash. Ed. Frank W. Porter III. New York:

Chelsea House, 1991. Print.

McCall, Lynne, and Rosalind Perry. California’s Chumash Indians: A Project of the Santa

Barbara Museum of Natural History Education Center. San Luis Obispo, CA: EZ Nature, 1988. Print.

Pearce, Roy H. Savagism and Civilization: A Study of the Indian and the American Mind.

Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988. Print.

Raheja, Michelle H. Reservation Reelism: Redfacing, Visual Sovereignty, and Representations of

Native Americans in Film. Lincoln and London: Univ of Nebraska, 2010. Kindle.

Slotkin, Richard. Regeneration Through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier,

1600-1860. New York, NY: HarperPerennial, 1996. Print.

Wilcox, Rhonda V. “”Let It Simmer”: Tone in “Pangs”" Slayage: The Journal of the Whedon

Studies Association 33 (2011): 1-14. Web. 26 Feb. 2012.

Death and Sacrifice: Season 5 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Posted on October 31, 2012 by mythgirl under Buffy, Buffyverse, Grad School, PCA, Pop Culture, Whedonverse, Words for Wednesday, Writing

Welcome to Words for Wednesday! Below is a paper I presented at the Popular Culture Association conference in San Antonio, Texas in April of 2011. I’ve included the images used in my original power point presentation. I originally wrote it the paper for graduate school in 2009 and revamped it for presentation to a Whedon-y audience. Enjoy!

Joss Whedon created a contemporary mythology for a modern audience through Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Within the storylines of this mythology lie powerful characters and endless parallels to issues individuals face in society today. Throughout the seven seasons of Buffy, Whedon offers metaphors that speak to the trials and tribulations of life. These include everything from the teen angst of high school to the loss of loved ones. As a series that involves vampires and other demons, Buffy constantly depicts the metaphor of life eating on life (an idea frequently discussed by mythologist Joseph Campbell), and symbols of death abound. In the fifth season of the series, death becomes an exceptionally poignant element as Buffy suffers the loss of her mother and later the Slayer sacrifices her own life. Ultimately, Joss Whedon utilizes season five to depict the pain of such loss and show viewers how to embrace death. Like all useful mythologies, Buffy reflects the current societal state, giving viewers something to relate to, while also offering another approach to dealing with concerns of life and death, an important concern also addressed through ritual.

In our modern American society, our funerary rituals do not grant us the time needed to effectively manage the loss of loved ones. Americans do not have the opportunity to embrace the experience of death and loss for months or years. The process of the funeral and the return to “normal” daily life is rushed. The experience of the shock and grief involved with losing a loved one is powerful, and the fifth season of Buffy aptly and necessarily demonstrates this experience.
According to religious historian Mircea Eliade, “the supreme function of the myth is to ‘fix’ the paradigmatic models for all rites and significant human activities” (98). While a television series does not offer viewers new rituals, it opens a space for individuals to consider and contemplate events they have experienced and reflect on how they respond to those experiences. Whedon speaks to the American way of encountering death and ultimately embraces ideas from traditions outside of America, accepting “[t]he challenge death poses for the cultural community” and working “to integrate it into cosmological schema” (Grillo 22).

Before sacrificing her own life, Buffy faces the loss of her mother, Joyce. Whedon masterfully captures the horrors of this event. Though Buffy has faced death and tragedy throughout the first five years of the series, nothing compares to this loss. “The Body,” which includes no musical score, is arguably the most powerful episode of the fifth season of Buffy because of its chilling realism. As the title reveals, the episode sharply focuses on the image of the dead body. The episode begins with the moment Buffy finds Joyce dead on the couch and ends when she again sees her mother’s body in the morgue.

When Buffy finds her mother’s body, she promptly calls 911. She explains to the dispatcher that, “She’s cold.” When the dispatcher questions if, “the body is cold,” an offended Buffy declares, “No, my mom!” Before the paramedics enter, Giles arrives and rushes towards Joyce. Buffy exclaims, “We’re not supposed to move the body!” (“Body”) She raises her hand to her face in shock of what she just said. That shift in her language signifies that ghastly moment of realization – her mother is not coming back. This episode is painful to watch; however, it demonstrates reactions experienced with loss, reactions we sometimes try to hide.

When the episodes show the Scoobies reaction to the loss of Joyce, Anya poignantly articulates the pain and confusion of death. Though she often fashioned death and destruction during her thousand years as a vengeance demon, it never personally affected her. Anya expresses frustration with the mystery of death:

But I don’t understand! I don’t understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she’s, there’s just a body, and I don’t understand why she just can’t get back in it and not be dead anymore. It’s stupid. It’s mortal and stupid. And, and Xander’s crying and not talking, and, and I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch ever, and she’ll never have eggs, or yawn or brush her hair, not ever, and no one will explain to me why. (“Body”)

This discussion impeccably echoes Joseph Campbell’s discussion on death: “The question is, What has happened to this body? It was walking around, it was warm, it lied down, it was cold. Where has it gone? This idea of where it has gone is the first clue we have to a mythological thought” (Hero’s 70). Through Anya’s questions, Whedon is discussing prominent mythological concerns.

Why are people supposed to avoid asking the questions Anya presents? “Are we going to see the body? . . . Are we going to be in the room with the dead body? . . . Are they going to cut the body open?” (“Body”). Willow declares, “It’s not okay to ask these things.” This is the American approach. However, “Death, a fundamental, inevitable, physiological fact, seems to point to the most objective aspect of human existence – that we are material creatures subject to the physical conditions of the physical world” (Grillo 21). We should not be afraid to talk about it openly and directly. In addition to addressing mythological thought, Anya’s questions open the door to questions we are not “supposed” to discuss. Whedon intentionally makes viewers uncomfortable throughout “The Body.” In America, we do not have an appropriate manner of coping with death. By making us uncomfortable, Whedon demonstrates the need for change in our culture.

In her essay on “Funerary Rituals,” Laura Grillo explains, “the Toradja ‘cult of the dead,’ far from being a horrifying or morbid preoccupation with death, can be understood to affirm the continuity between the animated world of the living and the spiritual world beyond which it depends” (5). The Day of the Dead and the Cult of the Dead are examples of communities embracing death and allowing the processes of acceptance and transformation to take place over time. The Day of the Dead allows members to “memorialize [the dead and give] ritualized attention . . . to the deceased” (Turner and Jasper 139). The Texas-Mexicans are able to “use the tools of tradition to externalize their encounter with death and loss” (Turner and Jasper 149). They allow the time needed for coping. The Toradja keep their dead for up to a year, allowing for the process of moving from one realm to the next. This also allows for an unrushed grieving process: “Death must be apprehended, its chaotic and terrifying potential arrested and regulated by culture. The Toradja funeral rituals recognize death as a consumption but regulate it with prescribed steps circumscribed by the determinative meaning that culture ascribes” (Grillo 16-17). While the Toradja way will not likely become the American way, we are in need of a longer progression for our death rituals.

In the episode after “The Body,” Buffy has to make the arrangements for her mother’s funeral. Afterwards, Buffy explains to Angel, “The funeral was . . . brutal, but it’s tomorrow that I’m worried about . . . Tomorrow the stuff of everyday living resumes” (“Forever”). In America, the rituals and traditions typically end after the funeral. There may be a gathering after the funeral to share memories and a meal, but then life must go on. In “Intervention” Buffy explains to Giles that she is considering taking a break from slaying because she doesn’t like what it’s doing to her. “To slay, to kill, it means being hard on the inside. Maybe being the perfect Slayer means being too hard to love at all” (“Intervention”). Giles informs Buffy that previous Slayers went to “a sacred place in the desert” for “regaining their focus, learning more about their role.” Buffy accepts Giles’ offer to take her to this sacred place. Of course, as Eliade explains, “men are not free to choose the sacred site . . . they only seek for it and find it by the help of mysterious signs” (Eliade 28).

Giles takes Buffy into the desert and performs a ritual to invoke Buffy’s guide. He cannot take her any further. A mountain lion soon appears to lead Buffy to the sacred site. According to the philosopher Macrobius, “lions are emblematic of the earth” (qtd. in Cooper 98). Since the Earth “is the universal archetype of . . . sustenance,” the symbol of her guide indicates that this spiritual quest is going to provide her the nourishment she needs to move forward with her life and cope with her loss” (Cooper 59). Whedon and his team of writers masterfully utilize these symbols to affect a resonating image for viewers. Whether Whedon or the readers are consciously aware of the meanings can be argued; regardless, the collective unconscious, to use Carl Jung’s term, recognizes them.

After the lion leads Buffy to the sacred location, she awaits the arrival of her spirit guide. This guide appears in the form of The First Slayer. She speaks to Buffy’s fears and informs her, “You are full of love. You love with all of your soul. It’s brighter than the fire, blinding . . . Love is pain, and the Slayer forges strength from pain. Love, give, forgive. Risk the pain. It is your nature. Love will bring you to your gift.” While this sentiment initially comforts Buffy, the First Slayer then reveals to Buffy that death is her gift. Buffy argues, “Death is not a gift. My mother just died. I know this. If I have to kill demons because it makes the world a better place, then I kill demons, but it’s not a gift to anybody” (“Intervention”). According to Joseph Campbell, “We live by killing, which is what you do even when you are eating grapes. You are still killing something. Life just lives on life. And it’s the one life in all of these different heads of mouths eating itself. It’s a fantastic mystery” (Hero’s 12). Buffy must reconcile herself to the role she has a Slayer. The acceptance of death as a function of life is imperative for Buffy. Whedon utilizes this episode to set up the climactic conclusion of the season, but also to demonstrate the time of reflection we need to take for ourselves after facing death. Buffy’s spiritual quest presents the difficulty of accepting death and represents the post-funerary rituals that America is missing.

After the presentation in season five of various mythological and ritualistic elements, Whedon speaks directly to the significance of sacrifice and ritual in the season finale “The Gift.” To begin with, Glory prepares to sacrifice Dawn and, consequently, unleash hellish dimensions. In Read’s discussion, she indicates that “people must calculate their actions so that they do not upset their family’s, city’s, or sun’s spiraling motion” (152). Buffy must work to spare not only her remaining family and her city, but her world and many others, from spiraling into a destructive atmosphere.

Concerning the ritual, Glory forces Dawn to change into a ceremonial dress, honoring the sacredness of ritual sacrifice. When Read discusses “ritual costume” in “The Cosmic Meal,” she indicates that every “costume . . . embodie[s] a particular force” (147). There is an “exchange” made to create “a new force” (147). Although Dawn was not born human, she is a completely innocent creature, another element typical of ritual sacrifice. As Joseph de Maistre explains, “sacrificial animals [are] the gentlest, most innocent creatures, whose habits and instincts [bring] them most closely to [being] human in nature” (qtd. in Girard 241). Dawn characterizes the notion that “the ritual victim is an ‘innocent’ creature who pays a debt for the guilty party” (241). It is important for Whedon to demonstrate such elements of ritual here because he has been speaking to the ritual processes involved with death throughout season five.

When the ritual has begun and Dawn’s blood is being drained, Buffy realizes what she must do, how “death” is her “gift.” She will sacrifice herself to stop the ritual, rescue her sister, and save the world from great destruction. Buffy gracefully jumps off the tower, sacrificing her blood and body to the mystical portal. After Buffy dies, a series of shots show the grief of her friends while a voice-over indicates what Buffy said to her sister before she jumped: “Dawn, listen to me . . . I will always love you. But this is the work that I have to do. Tell Giles . . . I figured it out . . . and I’m okay . . . You have to be strong. Dawn, the hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me” (“Gift”). In this moment of clarity, Buffy reconciles the pain of life and passes her wisdom on to her younger sister. Buffy’s death reflects Campbell’s view that “death . . . is understood as a fulfillment of our life’s direction and purpose” (Thou Art That 34). Whedon uses the mythological and ritualistic elements of death and sacrifice to show viewers ways of accepting the painful and unpredictable nature of life alongside the certainty of death. Like the Toradja’s “conception of death [it is] not as an end but . . . a metamorphosis that leads to life” (Grillo 11). After Buffy struggles with the loss of her mother, she embraces her own death and the unknown that lies ahead of her.

“Who someone or something is, then, is a matter of the kind of powers that one’s mahceua has. And while in the course of a person’s life she is given a great deal of merit that helps determine her nature, she also can determine to some degree her own merit through her actions and the rituals performed at appropriate times and places” (Read 152). Buffy has no choice about having Slayer powers. She is automatically elevated to the role of hero. However, in her continual choices to embrace that role, she demonstrates her own merit. We too can make these choices. It is inevitable to discuss the importance of the hero when discussing death. As Campbell indicated, “one part of the mythological motif of the hero’s journey is acquiescence. For instance, I am moving toward death, as we all are. That’s also yielding. And the hero is the one who knows when to surrender and what to surrender to. The main theme is to yield your position to the dynamic. And the dynamic of life is now this form eats that form. Yield” (Hero’s 12). Of course, we are not all to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good, but to consider the metaphor that Buffy offers us, which is akin to the Mexica sacrifice: “Sacrifice was a way of re-forming things in order to create an appropriate order again” (Read 153). Literal sacrifices are metaphors for the emotional sacrifices we all make in life to bring forth balance and harmony.

According to Campbell, “the fourth function of mythology is psychological. The myth must carry the individual through the stages of his life, from birth through maturity through senility to death. The mythology must do so in accord with the social order of his group, the cosmos as understood by his group, and the monstrous energy” (Campbell, Pathways 9). Buffy functions so powerfully as a mythology because it fulfills this function, demonstrating Buffy’s life as a Slayer and her death, specifically in modern America. Surely one of the greatest mysteries we cope with is facing death.

Finally, we should remember that “Death is a paradox – it can be understood as both a changeless state and transforming process, as a definitive end or harbinger of new beginnings and rebirth” (Grillo 20). Buffy demonstrates both aspects of death. Although Joyce loses her life, her death functions to transform Buffy. While Buffy herself then sacrifices her own life, she provides new beginnings for those she loves. The sixth season of Buffy, then, deals with another prominent issue – rebirth and resurrection. Buffy faces what Campbell refers to as “the rescue from without” when her friends resurrect her from the dead (Hero 170). Future projects will explore the significance of Buffy’s unwanted resurrection and the implications it has on the cosmology of Buffy and the minds of the viewers. That discussion will also include an analysis of the afterlife as presented by Whedon and its relationship to the various depictions of heaven.

Works Cited

Campbell, Joseph. The Hero’s Journey. Novato: New World, 1990.

— The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Novato: New World Library, 2008.

— Pathways to Bliss. Novato: New World Library, 2004.

— Thou Art That. Novato: New World Library, 2001.

Cooper, J.C. “Earth.” An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols. London: Thames & Hudson, 1978.

Cooper, J.C. “Lion.” An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols. London: Thames & Hudson, 1978.

Eliade, Mircea. The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion. Florida: Harcourt, 1967.

Girard, Rene. “Violence and the Sacred: Sacrifice.” Readings in Ritual Studies. Ed. Ronald L. Grimes. New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 1996. 239-256.

Grillo, Laura S. “‘Rambu Solo’: the Toradja Cult of the Dead and Embodied Imagination.”

Read, Kay. “The Cosmic Meal,” Time and Sacrifice in the Aztec Cosmos. Bloomington: Indiana UP 1998. 123-137; 144-155.

Turner, Kay, and Pat Jasper. “Day of the Dead, the Tex-Mex Tradition.” Halloween and Other Festivals of Death and Life. Ed. Jack Santino. Knoxville: U of Tennesse P, 1994. 133-151.

Van Gennep, Arnold. The Rites of Passage. Chicago: The U of Chicago P, 1960.

“Did I Fall Sleep?” Self-Awareness and Technology in Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse

Posted on October 17, 2012 by mythgirl under Grad School, Mythology, Pop Culture, Psychology, Whedonverse, Words for Wednesday, Writing

For this week’s Words for Wednesday, I have an essay on Dollhouse to share with you. I wrote the essay this summer for the graduate course “Psyche and Nature.” It’s written for a reader who is not familiar with the show. In addition to discussing ideas from the course, the assignment required a brief personal reflection. Limited to ten to twelve pages, I didn’t have a chance to delve deeper into ideas regarding Topher or to touch on Senator Perrin at all. Perhaps I’ll expand on it in the future. Enjoy!

“The more successful we become in science and technology, the more diabolical are the uses to which we put our inventions and discoveries” (Carl Jung II).

During 2009 and 2010, two short seasons of Dollhouse aired on FOX. The DVD and Blu-ray sets comprise a total of a mere twenty seven episodes (including two that were unaired). While this television series did not attract the network’s desired ratings, it has been greatly received by many popular culture fans, including the dedicated cult fans of Joss Whedon’s work (including Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly and Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog). The series blurs lines of morality and asks tough questions about science, technology, and soul. Set in present day, the series focuses on the Los Angeles branch of the Dollhouse, a clandestine business run by the corporation Rossum – a name chosen by the co-founders because of the 1920s play R.U.R. about Rossum’s Universal Robots (“Hollow”). The employers, scientists, and employees of Rossum typically view the mind as a machine and treat it as such. The mindset here is identical to the modern first-world notion identified by Glen Slater in his essay “Cyborgian Drift”: “We have already lost an awareness of ourselves as animals, as a species belonging to an ecosystem, and we are fast developing psychologies that reduce our experience to robotic and computational processes, conceiving of ourselves as analogues of complex machines” (Slater 173). This approach pulls humanity away from its nature, away from the environment of nature, and into a technological world that seems to promise more destruction than hope.

The stage for Dollhouse is initially set by its location in Los Angeles, which provides an interesting backdrop for the series. This crowded, fast-paced, highly industrialized city is often utilized as a setting in film and television to let viewers know they are descending into some type of underground or underworld experience. Despite the glamour often associated with Hollywood, it is not uncommon for people to maintain negative thoughts and assumptions about Los Angeles. This is demonstrated, for example, when one character claims to be in hell and is corrected: “You’re in Los Angeles, though I can see the confusion” (“Belonging”). In a later episode, a character comments, “He’ll be an empty headed robot wandering around Hollywood. He’ll be fine” (“Belle Chose”). This comment, even without its context, clearly identifies assumptions about individuals, technology, and Los Angeles that operate in our world and in the series.

In the fictional Los Angeles of Dollhouse, a technology has been developed where an individual’s personality can be removed and replaced with a technologically constructed personality. This is the service offered through the Dollhouse’s “dolls,” people that have “volunteered” to work for the Dollhouse for a five-year contract. These dolls are transformed into whoever the high-paying client desires for an “engagement” that often only lasts one day. Therefore, each doll undergoes many different engagements and personality implants throughout their service to the Dollhouse. During that time, the original personality of the doll is removed and stored on a wedge (a type of hard-drive). The notion of the wedge has traces back to the 1980s when the “possibility . . . began to surface on the AI grapevine [of] the idea of ‘downloading’ the mind into a machine (Noble 161). Throughout the series, the fictionalized technology demonstrates roots in our modern technological developments.

The dolls are in type sort of blank-slate state when they are at the Dollhouse and not being used for an engagement. When a client requests a doll for a job, the parameters for the desired personality are built by the on-site programmer Topher Brink. The desired personality is then, through a new wedge, technologically imprinted into the doll. The term “imprinted” has a history linking back to Plato and Freud who “liken[ed] memory to imprinting (whether this be on a wax tablet or within specifically psychical neurons in the brain)” (Casey 16). In the Dollhouse, imprinting includes the creation of a false identity with false memories that are transferred into the brain. Therefore, when a doll is imprinted he or she not pretending to be a different person with a different personality – that doll becomes that personality completely and wholly. For example, if a client pays for a doll to steal a piece of art, the doll absolutely believes he or she is a thief. Furthermore, if a client wishes to have a doll for a romantic engagement, that doll is programmed to absolutely love the client. The doll believes their identity just as well as any of us do. The basic assumption in creating and implementing this technology is that the body and the mind are completely separable. As a result, this is an abuse of technology that goes against human nature. Unfortunately, this science fiction thriller offers a glimpse of the threats posed by our own modern technology and desires to improve upon or perfect the human being.

Such ideas about the separation of mind and body and technological advancement stretch back through our history. Descartes insisted that the mind is separate from the body and the self; by the mid-twentieth century, AI scientist Marvin Lee Minksy “described the human mind as nothing more than a ‘meat machine’ . . . and regarded the body as ‘teleoperator for the brain’” (Noble 156). Minksy, therefore, insisted that we can be replaced by machines (Noble 156). Developments in AI, robotics, and cyborgology have stemmed from this historical perspective and, for many, have called to question the understanding of the mind and the body. What Dollhouse ultimately shows viewers is that, despite advances in technology, there is an inherent mind-body connection. When some of the dolls begin to show “grouping” patterns, Topher notes that what is happening runs “deeper than memory.” Their habit of sharing meals and activities together in the doll state, despite all the wipes and various implants, demonstrates “instinctual survivor patterns” (“Grey Hour”). Furthermore, it demonstrates the inherent connection between mind, body, and experience. To honor humanity and the laws of nature, this connection should not be tampered with. As Jung noted decades ago, “Through scientific understanding, our world has become dehumanized” (Jung 79). Dollhouse is a constant reminder of this break from nature that we need to mend.

The main character in Dollhouse is the doll Echo. Through flashbacks across the two seasons, viewers learn that she was originally Caroline Farrell, a young woman trying to destroy the Dollhouse for its abuses of technology and persons. In her honorable though misguided attempts, she commits terrorist acts. When Rossum Corporation catches her trying to blow up one of their buildings, she is offered a contract with the Dollhouse in exchange for her inevitable prison time. The series begins with several formulaic episodes that depict her various engagements as a doll, such as being someone’s girlfriend, a bodyguard, and a midwife. However, it becomes apparent to Topher that, unlike other dolls, Echo is “evolving” (“Spy”). When the dolls are in the Dollhouse in their doll state, they have no memories or personality. After each engagement with clients, the dolls are wiped – supposedly returned to a blank slate. As early as the second episode, however, Echo is seen, after an engagement that has been wiped, making a “shoulder-to-the-wheel” gesture that the client had taught her. She starts to become more than what they program her to be.

Echo’s name and lack of identity (at the beginning of the series) call to mind the myth of Echo and Narcissus. However, there is more to Echo – in the myth and in the Dollhouse – than meets the eye. The mythic figure is condemned to repeat what is said around her, as Echo in the Dollhouse must behave as she is programmed – but it does not end there. In the myth, Echo is attracted to Narcissus, someone that Patrica Berry identifies as being similar to Echo (121). Berry concludes that through the relationship between Echo and Narcissus, the myth reveals that “what one echoes is very like oneself, and that within one’s echoing is a kind of self” (121). Though Echo’s voice is a mere repetition of what Narcissus says, she has chosen Narcissus as the one to echo. Furthermore, Berry indicates that Echo is “shaped by what’s around her” (121). The same applies to Echo in the Dollhouse. Though Echo does not chose the personalities she is imprinted with, the traits that begin to form her evolving character in doll state are similar to her original personality as Caroline. In fact, as she evolves into a whole person in the second season, Echo adopts the same mission Caroline had to overthrow the Dollhouse. In echoing the person she used to be, she is demonstrating her true self. Her character arch demonstrates that, ultimately, the self cannot be eradicated.

In season one, viewers learn that Echo is not the first doll to exhibit a likeness to her original personality. Flashbacks introduce the doll Alpha (a violent criminal the Dollhouse recruited in exchange for his prison term) who brutally attacks another doll while in his doll state. The Dollhouse was mistaken in believing they could completely eradicate an individual’s natural tendency with technology. After Alpha’s first attack, he is taken for a “treatment” where his mind should be wiped. However, he struggles against being wiped by the tech and a “composite event” occurs: all the personalities that Alpha was ever imprinted with for engagements are dumped into his mind. After this event, Alpha escapes, killing and injuring others on his way out. It is not only the overload of the many imprinted personalities in his head or their temperaments but his own natural propensity to violence that brings out the ferocity of the many “voices” that now struggle in his mind.

Ultimately, the employees of the Dollhouse do not take Alpha’s case seriously enough. The superior of the L.A. Dollhouse, Adelle Dewitt, explains that Alpha was an “unfortunate technical anomaly” (“Omega”). If they really heeded the warning presented by Alpha’s actions, they would see that the real problem was not merely the poor choice to imprint a violent criminal nor was it an anomaly. His violent outburst is representative of the mind/body connection that the Dollhouse has at best misunderstood, but more than likely chosen to ignore. By removing and imprinting personalities, the Dollhouse is interfering with human nature, and the consequences will be much more disastrous than the frightful event with Alpha.

At the end of season one, Alpha returns to kidnap Echo. He then dumps all of her past imprints into her mind to make her like him (harkening images of Frankenstein’s creature desiring the creation of another monster). However, since her nature is different from his, she rejects him. After surviving Alpha’s kidnapping, Echo is returned to the Dollhouse in the first season’s penultimate episode. She undergoes a wipe that is supposed to remove all the personalities that Alpha dumped into her. After this, she appears to be in the traditional doll state, but the early episodes of season two reveal that she remembers pieces of all her engagements. Eventually, imprinting is not even necessary. She can access any personality she chooses. She does not pose a threat in the way Alpha did because she is not naturally violent. She does pose a threat to the Dollhouse because she wants to destroy Rossum. However, over the course of season two, employees of the Los Angeles branch of the Dollhouse also begin to recognize that what Rossum is truly trying to achieve is far from respectable or acceptable. Ultimately, they work with Echo to try and prevent an apocalyptic future that their technological “advances” threaten to generate.

The various events that transpire throughout Dollhouse because of the technology implemented point to one key element: memory. To begin with, most of the individuals that volunteer to be dolls have memories they are wishing to escape or subdue. For example, one doll, Victor, is suffering from severe post-traumatic stress after serving in the army. In return for his time to the Dollhouse, he will be compensated with a great amount of money and the removal of his PTSD. Another doll, November, has signed her contract because she cannot deal with the death of her child. However, as Dennis Slattery has identified, “Body and autobiography, one’s individual life story, are seamless” (210). Likewise, Edward S. Casey in his book Remembering: A Phenomenological Study emphasizes again and again that the body and the mind are inseparable. Memories are not housed in just the mind; they are a part of the body as well. This explains why Alpha’s formal criminal nature surfaces in his doll state and why Echo continues her fight against Rossum. Something in them is aware of who they used to be.

The unconscious is another important element explored in Dollhouse. The physical placement of the Dollhouse (besides its Los Angeles locale) points to the unconscious. It is housed underground, hidden underneath a business building at street level. The dolls literally descend into the Dollhouse. To drive the metaphor even deeper, when the dolls sleep, they go into sleep pods that are inlayed in the floor. They physically go down into bed for the dreamless sleep they are given. It would be dangerous, from the perspective of the Dollhouse, for the dolls to dream. The removal of dreams, of that access to the unconscious, leaves the dolls even further cut off from their psyches, their selves, and their very human nature.

In pushing the limitations of human nature, Topher “advances” the technological possibilities in the Dollhouse, altering not only the minds of the dolls but their bodies as well. His most extravagant attempt is with Echo in the episode “Instinct.” Nate, the client Echo is sent to, lost his wife during the birth of their son. Unable to bond with his son and care for him, Nate pays the Dollhouse to program Echo to be the boy’s mother. To make this as real as possible for Echo, Topher makes “a code for the brain that change[s] the physical body . . . on a glandular level”: he programs Echo’s body to lactate (“Instinct”). The bond she experiences with the child is as strong as the bond between a birth mother and her child. After the engagement ends and the imprint is supposedly wiped from Echo, she fights off Topher and flees the Dollhouse to return to her baby. When another employee notes, “Maybe her body was stronger than her brain,” Topher recognizes that “the maternal instinct is the purest” (“Instinct”). This is the first time that Topher realizes that he took something too far. Though Topher is only one cog in the machine of the global Dollhouses, his character provides a fascinating look at the scientific mind.

In 1929, scientist John Desmond Beral noted, “Scientists would emerge as a new species and leave humanity behind” (qtd. in Noble 196). This is echoed in the fictional company Rossum, whose plans are certainly for the elite; their application of science and technology will not only leave behind but abuse the rest of humanity. What is really perplexing about this idea is that while some see it Beral’s claim as a threat, others see it as a promise. Individuals such as Reinhardt readily recognize the “threat to our survival” posed by technology (qtd. in Noble 208), while those like Moravec see it as a salvation, with the ability of machines to provide “personal immortality by mind transplant” (qtd. in Noble 162). Many former and current scientists would be greatly impressed and thrilled by the developments of the Rossum Corporation.

In the fictional world of Dollhouse, scientists have gone even further than AI, robotics, and cyborg technology. Here, the mind is not replaced by a machine but enhanced by the use of technology. Modification to the original human mind is a great leap forward, from this scientific perspective, because the mind has a far greater computational power than any designed computer or machine. The ability to program the human mind as one can program a computer seems like a great concept to many of the scientists and employees of Rossum. Through their technological capacity to copy, remove, and replace an individual’s mind, Rossum eventually plans to offer “upgrades,” wherein clients can move their mind from one body to the next. The technology is already being used by some employees of the company. Historically, this echoes the vision of AI specialist Hans Moravec and his prediction of “‘postbiological’ computer based immortality” (Noble 161). He foretold that with this technology and “enough widely dispersed copies, your permanent death would be highly unlikely” (Moravec qtd. in Noble 162). Though this sounds exciting to many in our world and in the Dollhouse, one of the co-creators of Rossum, Clyde Randolph, recognized a problem.

Whenever dolls or employees of Rossum become damaged or pose a threat to the Dollhouse or Rossum, they are sent to the Attic. In the Attic, the individual is placed into a permanent comatose state. The body is completely restricted and the individual is left in a nightmare state, trapped in an endless loop. It is in the Attic (on a secret undercover mission) that Echo meets Clyde, who was placed in the Attic by his partner when he tried to detect possible problems with the use of their technology. Clyde reveals his nightmare loop to Echo: over the fifteen years that he has been in the Attic, he has “run statistical probability scenarios for where the technology [of Rossum] might lead. All but three percent of them include the end of civilization” (“Attic”). As the episodes “Epitaph 1″ and “Epitaph 2″ (the respective season one and season two finales) ultimately reveal, he is not wrong.

Like many that work for the Dollhouse, Topher is completely embedded in the promises of Rossum’s technology. Season 2 reveals that he sleeps on a mattress surrounded by machines in a room connected to his office in the Dollhouse, which he rarely leaves. Ecologist and philosopher David Abram identifies that we currently “participate almost exclusively with other humans and with our own human-made machines” (ix). This is most aptly demonstrated in Topher’s character as he primarily interacts with other employees, dolls, and technology. In the season one episode “Haunted,” Topher even programs a doll to celebrate his birthday with him. He is completely cut off from the outside world and, therefore, from nature. Abram recognizes that our trending technological, human-based modality is “threatening to obliterate the world-of-life entirely” (41). Indeed, that becomes the greatest threat of the Dollhouse, as predicted by Clyde.

Rossum’s technology, which continually develops, falls into the wrong hands, and by the year 2019, wiping and imprinting has happened on a mass scale. The world has fallen into chaos and many people have lost their minds – literally. Echo and her comrades attempted to prevent this fall out, and they are ultimately able to save the world in the heart wrenching finale, but the path is dangerous and destructive. The destructive and frightening ability of the technology clearly supersedes any benefits it may have once presented.

Scientists like the AI guru Earl Cox see technology as a promise that will allow people to “escape the human condition” (qtd. in Noble 164), failing to recognize the greatness of our flawed condition. It is the human condition that allows us to experience the wonder of the world and to treat the world and each other with any sort of kindness. It is not an easy world, but allowing technology to run or replace our race is not the solution. As Joseph Campbell indicates in Pathways to Bliss, “Life is a horrendous presence, and you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that. The first function of a mythological order has been to reconcile consciousness to this fact” (3). This is clearly something that our modern technological myths lack.

A lack of nature – the physical outdoor world – is apparent throughout Dollhouse. In one poignant moment in season one, this is brought to attention in a brief conversation. When Echo is remotely wiped while on an engagement, and before she has developed any autonomy, she is suddenly in her doll state in the real world. As a result, she becomes clueless and helpless on the heist she was supposed to manage. Noting that they are now going to get caught, a fellow thief comments that they will be sent to prison. Echo innocently asks what prison is, and he replies, “A place with no sky.” This is great commentary on the Dollhouse itself. Embedded in technology in the depths of the ground without windows, sunshine, or fresh air, the characters in Dollhouse face the same trauma that Glendinning identifies in her essay “Technology, Trauma, and the Wild”: “The trauma endured by technological people like ourselves is the systemic and systematic removal of our lives from the natural world: from the tendrils of earthy textures, from the rhythms of sun and moon, from the spirits of the bears and trees, from the life force itself” (Glendinning 51). The Dollhouse shows us what happens when technology essentially possesses the mind and attempts to delete the natural, needed exposure to nature.

In my life, I have found nature to the most grounding element in my life. At times of stress or worry, the best thing that I can do is spend time outside, especially at the beach. As far back as I can remember, I have felt at peace and in balance when I am staring into the open ocean. Sitting on the sand and watching the tide flow in and out awakens my rhythm with nature. It reminds me of everything essential, natural, and important. I love that the ocean (not the beach front around it) is not run by mankind. We do not move the shore line or orchestrate the ocean waves. This is nature at its finest. When I cannot get to the beach, and I feel stress, I will literally stop what I am doing, go outside, and simply get some fresh air. Stopping, breathing, feeling the nature of the air, examining the sky, and hearing the birds is deeply refreshing. I really got a feel for how important this connection with nature is when I worked in an office building that had no windows. Some days I would literally run down the stairs to get outside on my breaks or at the end of my shift. Even four hours of complete indoor isolation is damaging to the psyche. The absence of nature in Dollhouse reminds me of that windowless office.

Dollhouse addresses many concerns about technology and humanity, including many secondary storylines that extend beyond the scope of this paper. Essentially, the series serves as a great warning, signaling what catastrophic possibilities may indeed lay before us if we continue on our speedy, developmental path with technology. As Slater indicates in his “Cyborgian Drift” essay, “resistance is not futile.” Our path does not have to end in destruction, and our way to salvation is not the negation of technology. However, as Dollhouse emphasizes, the important questions must be asked sooner rather than later. In her essay, Glendinning asks us to ask all the right questions: “What is the essence of modern technology? How does it structure our lives? Our perceptions? Our politics? How does it shape our psyches? What does it say about our relationship to our humanness and to the Earth?” (42). It is our responsibility to explore and answer these questions in a manner that honestly honors our nature and our psyches, as well as the earth and its nature. If we ignore these questions now, we just may pass the point of no return.

Works Cited

Abram, David. The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-than-human World. New York: Pantheon, 1996. Print.

“The Attic.” Dollhouse. Maurissa Tancharoen and Jed Whedon. Fox. 18 Dec. 2009. Twentieth Century Fox, 2010. DVD.

Berry, Patricia. Echo’s Subtle Body: Contributions to an Archetypal Psychology. Dallas: Spring Publications. 1982. Print.

Campbell, Joseph. Pathways to Bliss. Novato: New World, 2004.

Casey, Edward S. Remembering: A Phenomenological Study. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 2000. Print.

“Epitaph 1.” Dollhouse. Joss Whedon. Fox. Unaired. Twentieth Century Fox, 2009. DVD.

Glendinning, Chellis. “Technology, Trauma, and the Wild.” Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth, Healing the Mind. Ed. Theodore Roszak, Mary E. Gomes, and Allen D. Kanner. San Francisco: Sierra Club, 1995. 41-54. Print.

“Gray Hour.” Dollhouse. Writ. Sarah Faine and Elizabeth Craft. Fox. 6 Mar. 2009. Twentieth Century Fox, 2009. DVD.

“The Hollow Men” Dollhouse. Writ. Michele Fazekas, Tara Butters, and Tracy Bellomo. Fox. 15 Jan. 2010. Twentieth Century Fox, 2010. DVD.

“Instinct.” Dollhouse. Writ. Michele Fazekas and Tara Butters. Fox. 2 Oct. 2009. Twentieth Century Fox, 2010. DVD.

Jung, C. G. The Earth Has a Soul: The Nature Writings of C.G. Jung. Ed. Meredith Sabini. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic, 2002. Print.

Noble, David F. The Religion of Technology: The Divinity of Man and the Spirit of Invention. New York: A.A. Knopf, 1997. Print.

“Omega.” Dollhouse. Writ. Tim Minear. Fox. 8 May 2009. Twentieth Century Fox, 2009. DVD.

Roszak, Theodore. The Voice of the Earth. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992. Print.

Slater, Glen. “CYBORGIAN DRIFT: RESISTANCE IS NOT FUTILE.” Psyche & Nature. Vol. 75. New Orleans, LA: Spring: A Journal of Archetype and Culture, 2006. 171-95. Print.

Slattery, Dennis. The Wounded Body: Remembering the Markings of Flesh. Albany: State University of New York, 2000. Print.

“A Spy in the House of Love.” Dollhouse. Writ. Andrew Chambliss. Fox. 10 Apr. 2009. Twentieth Century Fox, 2009. DVD.

Whedon, Joss. Writ. “Man on the Streets.” Dollhouse. Audio Commentary. Twentieth Century Fox, 2009. DVD

Facing the Apocalypse

Posted on September 26, 2012 by mythgirl under Buffyverse, Grad School, Mythology, Pop Culture, Whedonverse, Words for Wednesday, Writing

In my Words for Wednesday post last week, I shared a paper about Angel the TV series. Continuing with that theme, here is a paper I wrote about Angel and DH Lawrence’s Apocalypse in 2009 for the graduate course “Approaches to the Study of Myth.” As is often the case in my academic writing, this was written for an audience unfamiliar with the Whedon-verse. This paper was accepted for presentation at the Slayage 5 conference, but I was unable to attend. Had I had the opportunity, I would have revamped it for the Whedon-y audience. Nevertheless, here’s the original paper.

In the television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the spin-off series Angel, Joss Whedon created what scholars and fans commonly refer to as the “Buffyverse.” In this verse, Whedon presents a compelling mythology filled with heroic quests and powerful metaphors for modern society. One of the metaphors present throughout the Buffyverse is the Apocalypse. This threat appears so often that Buffy’s boyfriend in season four finds himself needing to know “the plural of Apocalypse” (“New”). Buffy constantly thwarts the coming of the Apocalypse. She does whatever it takes, even sacrificing her own life, as a variety of foes try to bring forth the end of the world. In the final season of Angel, however, the Apocalypse is more than a threat. An old foe explains to Angel, “You’re soaking in it. Not an apocalypse. The Apocalypse” (“Underneath”). Despite his best attempts, Angel will not avert the Apocalypse. His hero’s journey does not end with a triumphant dissemination of the boon and the mastery of the two worlds, as Joseph Campbell proposes for all heroes. The final scene of Angel depicts frightful demons and beasts arriving in Los Angeles. The Apocalypse is here and Whedon is showing viewers how to face it.

As D.H. Lawrence indicates, the notion of the Apocalypse has been around since at least “second century B.C.” and it continues to speak to the human consciousness (79). Campbell asserts that the Apocalypse remains a modern concern. He also explains, “We must not understand apocalypse literally, not as some physical destruction and judgment on the world, or as something that is going to occur in the future. The kingdom is here; it does not come through expectation” (Campbell, Thou 106). As the kingdom is here, so too is the Apocalypse. We breathe life into it through our concern about it. Lawrence explains the simple definition of Apocalypse as “Revelation” (59). What truth, then, does the Apocalypse reveal? In Campbell’s discussion, he indicates that the Apocalypse is the end of “our ignorance and our complacency” (107). Quite simply, the Apocalypse can be read as the end of things as we know them. It is, therefore, the quintessential metaphor of change and transformation.

How are we to live with the metaphorical Apocalypse, the ever-looming threat of change and destruction? Whedon and Lawrence provide us with the same answer through their respective metaphors and criticism. While Lawrence focuses specifically on the Apocalypse as depicted in the Bible and discusses it in relation to reality, Whedon utilizes his fictional realm to reveal elements of the Apocalypse. Both approaches are constructive and valuable. Comparing these two texts achieves two purposes: an attitude of how to approach the metaphorical Apocalypse, and a demonstration that our television screens have the potential to present us with great mythic images.

In the first season of Angel, the heroic vampire with a soul has left Buffy behind in Sunnydale and moved to the dark, demon-infested city of Los Angeles. Angel eventually forms the team “Angel Investigations” to “help the helpless” against the supernatural horrors that occur. His early team consists of two humans, Cordelia Chase and Wesley Wyndham-Price. At the end of the first season, Wesley discovers the Shanshu-Prophecy, which reveals that one day the vampire with a soul will become human. The prophecy clearly indicates that many battles lie ahead of Angel and his team. He must, “survive the coming darkness, the apocalyptic battles, a few plagues and [several] fiends that will be unleashed” (“Shanshu”). Nevertheless, the promise of that tantalizing reward lingers throughout the entire series

D.H. Lawrence explains, “What man most passionately wants is his living wholeness and his living unison . . . For man . . . the supreme triumph is to be most vividly, most perfectly alive. Whatever the unborn and the dead may know, they cannot know the beauty, the marvel of being alive in the flesh” (149). Throughout the five seasons of Angel, viewers see his desire to return to a human body. He longs for the beating of his heart, the ability to walk out of the shadows, and the opportunity to pass from this life naturally. His immortality is a burden. However, he accepts that burden to atone for the evils he committed during his century as a vampire without a soul. Angel knows he must first “fulfill his destiny,” as the prophecy indicates (“Shanshu”).

Through the many battles that Angel encounters, the largest foe he faces is the law firm Wolfram and Hart. The clientele of the firm are demons, and the firm works across a multitude of demon-filled dimensions. In fact, they are brokering the Apocalypse. The firm represents Lawrence’s notion: “The [modern] community is inhuman, and less than human” (71). Wolfram and Hart serve as the perfect metaphor as they present a pitiless community awaiting the Apocalypse. The Shanshu prophecy indicates that Angel will be a major player in the Apocalypse, though it does not dictate if he will be on the side of good or evil. For this reason, Wolfram and Hart are in a constant struggle to maneuver Angel to their side so that he will help bring forth the Apocalypse.

For the first four seasons of the series, Wolfram and Hart put Angel to the test, constantly interfering with his heroic aims. At the close of season four, Wolfram and Hart offer Angel a deal he cannot refuse. When Angel’s son Connor is on the verge of suicide and destruction, the firm offers to grant him a truly fresh start. They will mystically replace Connor’s memories and place him in a happy and nurturing home, away from Angel and away from any danger. In return, Angel must work for the firm. Angel accepts this offer without hesitation, believing he will both save his son and be able to fight against evil from within the belly of the beast. His team accepts the offer as well, for varying personal reasons. At this point, his team consists of the humans Wesley Wyndham-Price, Winifred “Fred” Burkle, Charles Gunn, and the empath demon Lorne. Each ultimately pays a price for this deal.

In season five, Angel gains two powerful allies. One is the resurrected Spike, who himself died averting an apocalypse in Sunnydale in the final season of Buffy. Wolfram and Hart resurrect Spike, the only other vampire with a soul. Though the history of Spike and Angel’s two century relationship is rocky at best, they learn to collaborate in their fight against evil. Angel’s other ally is the god-king Illyria. Unfortunately, her resurrection causes the death of the beloved Fred, whose body she uses as a shell. While Illyria is mostly unpredictable and highly self-seeking, she chooses to fight on Angel’s side in the final battle. Spike and Illyria are the strongest members in Angel’s camp, key to his fight against Wolfram and Hart.

Angel ultimately works to earn a seat with the Black Thorn, a group associated with the Senior Partners of Wolfram and Hart, working toward the Apocalypse. Once Angel joins the Circle, there is one catch –they ask him to sign away the Shanshu Prophecy. Angel does so without hesitation, giving up any chance of ever becoming human and receiving his hard-earned redemption. After five years of fighting the evil in Los Angeles and working towards atonement, Angel gives up his only opportunity to return to his human state.

Angel represents the hero that Lawrence thought was gone. In his time, Lawrence perceived “society [as] a mass of weak individuals trying to protect themselves [and therefore] bringing the evil into being” (72). He saw men “turn[ing] against the heroic appeal” (72). Lawrence discusses a consistent weakening of humanity across democracies. While some may disagree in the continual demise of the greater human society over time, it stands true that today society continues to struggle and needs heroes. Lawrence concludes Apocalypse with the assertion that we are not individuals but “part of the great human soul” (149). Angel represents this notion as he takes responsibility for humanity, surrendering himself for the greater good.

After joining the Black Thorn and signing away his personal boon of becoming human, Angel explains to his team, “We are weak. The powerful control everything except our will to choose . . . heroes don’t accept the world the way it is. The Senior Partners may be eternal, but we can make their existence painful . . . We’re in a machine. The Black Thorn runs it. We can bring their gears to a grinding halt, even if it’s just for a moment” (“Power”). His plan is to kill every member of the Black Thorn, knowing that he and his team will probably not survive. Angel is willing to surrender everything in order to avert the Apocalypse, or at least inhibit its harbingers.

Lawrence explains, “Power is there, and always will be. As soon as two or three men come together, especially to do something, then power comes into being, and one man is a leader, a master. It is inevitable” (68). Wolfram and Hart, in addition to the Black Thorn, hold a great power. They are a seemingly indestructible force. Even though Angel can wipe out the Black Thorn, Wolfram and Hart are far reaching. Nevertheless, Angel is the master of his group, and they all unequivocally agree to fight the Black Thorn with him. He is using his position of power to destroy a greater position of power that is destructive against humanity. Lawrence discusses the idea that “nowadays, the will to destroy power is paramount” (69). While Wolfram and Hart have the power to orchestrate the Apocalypse, Angel possesses the strong will to fight against this iniquitous power.

In the series’ finale “Not Fade Away,” Angel and his small cohort successfully attack the members of the Black Thorn. In this penultimate fight, one member kills Wesley and others mortally wound Gunn. In the final scene, Angel gathers in an alley with Illyria, Spike, and a dying Gunn. Though the team successfully eliminated every member of the Black Thorn, Wolfram and Hart will not tolerate this defiance: they open the gates of hell and bring forth the Apocalypse. An assortment of demons descends upon the alley. It does not seem likely that Angel and his remaining allies will survive. Angel indicates the plan simply: “We fight.” Spike requests something a “bit more specific.” With a look of triumph, Angel asserts, “Well, personally, I kind of want to slay the dragon.” At this moment, the horde closes in on them and Angel commands, “Let’s go to work!” (“Not”). As Angel makes the first swing of his sword, the screen fades abruptly to black.

Angel’s desire to go after the dragon speaks to Lawrence’s analysis of the “evil potency” demonstrated in the “red dragon” (125). Lawrence asserts that today “it must once more be slain by the heroes” (125). As Jung always demonstrates and Lawrence stresses, “Man thought and still thinks in images” (93). While the dragon is a “complex and universal symbol,” the “killing [of] the dragon is the conflict between light and darkness, the slaying of the destructive forces of evil” (Cooper 55 and 56). Angel’s choice here speaks symbolically to his position as the hero, his epic fight against evil, and the arrival of the Apocalypse.

Unlike the Apocalypse of Revelation, the Apocalypse in Angel is never seen. The audience does not know what happens next. Upon the initial airing of this finale, many viewers were shocked and disappointed. As Lawrence explains, “We always want a ‘conclusion,’ an end¸ we always
want to come, in our mental processes, to a decision, a finality, a full-stop. This gives us a sense of satisfaction” (93). Whedon’s decision to fade to black before the battle begins is, for this very reason, brilliant. He did not give the viewers a Hollywood ending; he did not even give them the satisfaction of knowing the outcome. He made viewers uncomfortable and, most importantly, contemplative. We do not see the epic battle, but Angel’s words “Let’s go to work” will resonate forever.

Throughout the Angel series, one undertone that stands out is simply to fight the good fight. Angel lost many great soldiers on the road to season five, including Cordelia, and loses even more in the belly of the beast. This, however, is the nature of war and the nature of life. Lawrence’s point is that this life is our life, the collective life. Angel is aware of this. Whatever the outcome may be, the life of humanity is worth the fight. His decisions echo Lawrence’s ideas in his famous conclusion to Apocalypse:

My soul knows that I am part of the human race, my soul is an organic part of the great human soul, as my spirit is part of my nation. In my own very self, I am part of my family. There is nothing of me that is alone and absolute except my mind, and we shall find that the mind has no existence by itself, it is only the glitter of the sun on the surface of the waters. (149)

Lawrence accentuates the interconnectedness of humans, emphasizing that we ultimately share one great soul. Angel is one example of the hero that fights for that universal soul.

After an in-depth discussion of the Apocalypse, an analysis of Revelation, and a tirade against Christianity, Lawrence has one thing to offer: hope. Likewise, after five seasons of fighting evil, and in the face of the greatest battle, Angel offers this same optimism. The love for humanity and the willingness to sacrifice everything is the essence of Angel’s soul. While he may not have regained his human form, he certainly earns his redemption. He has proved himself as a hero filled with humanity and he has inspired those by his side to fight the good fight, whatever the cost.

Essentially, D.H. Lawrence’s Apocalypse is a cry for the hero to re-emerge in the community. In his conclusion, Lawrence is teaching others how to live, thereby himself fulfilling the role of the hero. Campbell instructs, “All societies are evil, sorrowful, inequitable; and so they will always be. So if you want to help this world, what you will have to teach is how to live in it. And that no one can do who has not himself learned how to live in it in the joyful sorrow and sorrowful joy of the knowledge of life as it is” (Campbell, Myths to Live By 104). Lawrence demonstrates this achievement. He acknowledges the bitterness of life, the descent of community, and the bleakness of Revelation. Yet it has not marred him. He sees the beauty in the sun, in the cosmos, and directs individuals to start there. He is calling other heroes to action.

In our time, as in Lawrence’s time, there is a need for heroes. In our modern society, we are blessed with real heroes and fictional heroes. The story of the hero is the story of each of us. It is, as Campbell so beautifully articulates, the monomyth. This monomyth will continuously transform to the demands and the reality of the present time. This is why we continually seek it; the monomyth instructs us on how to live. In our present time, pop-culture is arguably the most dominate and influential modern storytelling source. There is an up rise and constant retelling of the hero myth in pop-culture, as demonstrated in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. Such stories, whether they are in the form of television, film, or text, are tapping into the great symbols and metaphors of myths. They are opening a gateway to discussions of community, heroics, morality, and existence.

Angel brings to focus the journey of the hero and the threat of the Apocalypse. As Lawrence and Campbell discuss, this is not a literal threat of the world ending, yet the threat of change to the world as we know it. Through Angel, Whedon takes the symbol of the Apocalypse and uses it to show humanity how to exist in this beautiful and frightening life, in the same manner that Lawrence does in his Apocalypse. Together, these texts offer a modern conversation on a timeless concern.

Works Cited

Campbell, Joseph. Myths to Live By. New York: Penguin, 1972.

— Thou Art That. Novato: New World Library, 2001.

Cooper, J.C. “Dragon.” An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols. London: Thames & Hudson, 1978.

Lawrence, D.H. Apocalypse. New York: Penguin, 1931.

“A New Man.” Writ. Jane Espenson. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. WB. 25 Jan. 2000.

“Not Fade Away.” Writ. Joss Whedon and Jeffrey Bell. Angel WB. 19 May 2004.

“Power Play.” Writ. David Fury. Angel WB. 12 May 2004.

“To Shanshu in L.A.” Writ. David Greenwalt. Angel. WB. 23 May 2000.

“Underneath.” Writ. Sarah Fain and Elizabeth Craft. Angel. WB. 14 April 2004.

Works Consulted

Abott, Stacey. Reading Angel: The TV Spin-Off with a Soul. New York: I.B. Tauris, 2005.

Boxall, Ian. “The Reality of Apocalypse: Rhetoric and Politics in the Book of Revelation.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 29.5 (July 2007): 116-117. Religion and Philosophy Collection. EBSCO. Pacifica’s Graduate Library. Carpinteria, CA. 22 Mar. 2009 http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=rlh&AN=25786290&site= ehost-live

Callahan, Allen Dwight. “The language of Apocalypse.” Harvard Theological Review 88.4 (Oct. 1995): 453. Humanities International Complete. EBSCO. Pacifica’s Graduate Library. Carpinteria, CA. 22 Mar. 2009 http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db =hlh&AN=9606030624&site=ehost-live

Moore, Harry T. “Apocalypse and the Writings on Revelation/ D.H. Lawrence.” Modern Language Review 77.2 (Apr. 1982): 433-435. Humanities International Complete. EBSCO. Pacifica’s Graduate Library. Carpinteria, CA. 21 Mar. 2009 http://search.ebsco host.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=hlh&AN=17537987&site=ehost-live

Scherr, Barry J. “CHAPTER TWO: Lawrence’s Quarrel with the Jews.” 97-170. Peter Lang Publishing, Inc., 2004. Humanities International Complete. EBSCO. Pacifica’s Graduate Library. Carpinteria, CA. 22 Mar. 2009 http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct= true&db=hlh&AN=19587975&site=ehost-live

Stafford, Nikki. Once Bitten: An Unofficial Guide to the World of Angel. Toronto: ECW Press, 2004.

Depth Psychology and Culture

Posted on August 9, 2012 by mythgirl under Buffyverse, Grad School, Mythology, Pop Culture, Psychology, Whedonverse, Writing

In celebration and honor of passing the comprehensive exams in my Master’s program in Mythological Studies and Depth Psychology, I’m sharing each essay I wrote. Here’s the final one. Here I was required to look at a piece of popular culture or media from a mythological and depth psychological perspective. Of course, I turned to Whedon, and then to my dear blue friend, Illyria. The handful of episodes she is in are amazingly dynamic and loaded. For more on Illyria –and here comes my shameless plug– check out Joss Whedon: The Complete Companion for my piece, “Touch Me and Die, Vermin!”: The Psychoanalysis of Illyria.

Myth and Psychology in Angel

Television shows offer a great avenue for telling mythological stories with detailed characters and events unfolding over a period of time. Series such as Angel provide viewers with a mythology that is as rich as those developed in ancient texts. A spin-off of the popular series Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel captured viewers’ attention for five seasons as it explored the individual journeys of each main character in its ensemble cast. Throughout my course work at Pacifica, I have explored the mythological elements of this series. I examined thecharacter Angel as the modern Oedipus (Greek and Roman I), explored the series Angel as a Tragedy (Greek and Roman II), and examined the role and significance of the Apocalypse in Angel in relation to DH Lawrence’s Apocalypse (Approaches to the Study of Myth). Through this research, I have found the most provocative mythological and psychological storyline in Angel occurs in season five with the characters Wesley and Illyria.

One of the main characters in Angel is Wesley Wyndham Price. He is a human that works with the vampire Angel in this series about a group of misfits that fight against the dark supernatural forces in Los Angeles. Wesley falls in love with the human Winifred “Fred” Burkle, but Fred’s body is overtaken by the godking Illyria (an old one who once ruled in the world at the beginning of time). As Wesley mourns the loss of his love, he has to deal with the unpredictable godking who has replaced her. Illyria has one simple goal: to regain her full powers (beyond what her human vessel can contain) and reclaim her rule over the world. She believes she is better than humans. Her character is representative of the god complex, and as her ego faces defeat, Illyria comes to know emotional pain.

Joseph Campbell asserts that pain is a part of our humanity: “The impact of this horror on a sensitive consciousness is terrific – this monster which is life. Life is a horrendous presence, and you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that” (Pathways 3). This idea is illustrated throughout the Angel series quite often as all the characters face dangerous trials and tribulations. It is accentuated in the character of Illyria as she undergoes a great transformation and explores human emotions. Furthermore, the storyline with Wesley and Illyria includes the four functions of mythology, which Joseph Campbell asserts must be present in a traditional mythology, and which address living with the “horrendous presence” of life. Historically, a mythology itself would provide these four functions (discussed in detail below) for the members of a given a society. In the popular culture form, the mythology of Angel depicts the four functions within the story itself, allowing audience members to see the characters grapple with matters they can relate to. Though humans do not literally face the supernatural forces characterized in Angel, the truth of these battles exists in our daily lives as we struggle to live in this world.

According to Campbell, the first function of a mythology is cosmological and requires the individual to look at the mystery of the world and make some type of reconciliation with it (Pathways 104). Illyria and Wesley must make reconciliation with the world as it is, especially after they have both suffered great losses: she is no longer a ruler, and he no longer has the love of his life. This process of reconciliation may be even more difficult for Illyria because her previous status exempted her from human emotions. Though Wesley never suffered such a tragic loss as the death of Fred, he is at least familiar with the pain and misery of living in a world filled with disappointment, loss, and death.

In Illyria’s first appearance in the episode “Shells,” she is quick to express her views of the human experience as she examines Wesley mourning the loss of Fred: “This is grief. I’m watching human grief. It’s like offal in my mouth.” In a following comment, she declares, “Your breed is fragile.” In this early observation, Illyria quickly distinguishes herself from humans. However, by the end of the episode, Illyria learns her temple and army are destroyed, and she painfully expresses, “My world is gone.” She suffers disappointment, something she never felt as a godking. At this time of her defeat, she is really being born into this human world, and the first connection between her and Wesley occurs when he replies, “Now you know how I feel.”

Struggling through this cosmological stage, Illyria analyzes the world around her and concludes, “I’ve nowhere to go. My kingdom is long dead. There’s so much I don’t understand. I’ve become overwhelmed. I’m unsure of my place. But I exist here. I must learn to walk in this world.” Anyone who has suffered a significant loss can understand Illyria’s feelings. It is at this point that she formally asks a hesitant Wesley to be her guide. He agrees, and they both try to re-establish their place in the world. At this point, Wesley’s role also exhibits the fourth function of myth, which will be discussed below.

After acknowledging the harsh truths of reality, Illyria moves toward “[t]he second function [of mythology which] serves to present a universe within which the mystery as understood will be present, so that everywhere you look at it, as it were, a holy picture, [opens] up in back to the great mystery” (Campbell, Pathways 105). After looking at the mystery of creation, the individual begins to look at the meaning or significance of the self in this world. Illyria despises her human form, and as she examines the world around her, she feels trapped. Wesley takes her to a rooftop to offer some breathing room, though she still complains: “Your world is so small. And yet you box yourselves in rooms even smaller. You shut yourselves inside, in rooms, in routines” (“Underneath”). As Wesley tries to discuss the difficulties of existence that lie beyond the walls, Illyria begins to demonstrate the humanity she too “reeks” of, finally concluding, “We are so weak (italics mine).” Her ego is beginning to recognize that she is no longer a godking.

As Illyria continues her earthbound struggle, “The third, sociological function of mythology [which] gives you laws for living within your own society” appears (Campbell Pathways 107). This function encourages the development of a moral code. As her guide, Wesley has been trying to explain the differences between right and wrong to Illyria. When Illyria first chooses to participate in the climactic apocalyptic battle the protagonists face, her motives are not altruistic. Illyria herself explains, “I’ve been broken and humiliated. I will return in kind every blow, every sting. I will shred my adversaries. Pull their eyes out just enough to turn them towards their mewing, mutilated faces” (“Not Fade Away”). She is still controlled by her desire to assert her power. However, when Wesley dies in battle, Illyria begins to get in touch with her humanity. She mourns for him and expresses, “I’m feeling grief for him. I can’t seem to control it.” Illyria’s response to his death demonstrates she has developed the ability to emotionally connect. She is just starting to move beyond her own desires and function within the society she has found herself in.

Illyria provides an unadulterated view of human struggles, and Wesley shows how to deal with the passage of life from birth to death, fulfilling the fourth and final psychological function of mythology. According to Campbell, “All societies are evil, sorrowful, inequitable; and so they will always be. So if you want to help this world, what you will have to teach is how to live in it. And that no one can do who has not himself learned how to live in it in the joyful sorrow and sorrowful joy of the knowledge of life as it is” (Myths to Live By 104). Once exposed to the human condition, we are all subject to the same vulnerabilities. This shared experience makes us all equal; no one is “above” the pleasures or the pain of it all. Wesley’s key role here is to teach Illyria learn to live in this world, while he manages his own suffering. It is important to note that it is not through any supernatural powers but through their choices that the characters in Angel, particularly Wesley, are defined as heroes. The greatest choice is the one to continue to face the despair in the world and to continue to fight for the world in spite of the pain. Throughout the series, and as seen in this storyline, Angel not only functions as mythology, but depicts ways to accept the pain of life. Campbell emphasizes that, “All life stinks, and you must embrace that with compassion” (Pathways 77).

Illyria makes negative comments about humanity that viewers can relate to, and one could ask why anyone would want to be human and experience all the suffering. However, it is through the pain that human life becomes magnificent. In a unique depiction of the four functions of mythology, Illyria reveals the terrifying truths of living in this world. By embracing life as the brutal force it is, being a part of it, and willing to sacrifice it honorably, Wesley depicts humanity is at its best.

Wesley, who had stated that he did not intend to die in this battle, gave his life for Angel’s worthy cause in “Not Fade Away,” the series’ finale that emphasizes the underlying theme to the series, to fight the good fight (both physically and mentally). His nobility portrays the importance of their stand against dark forces. Finally, Wesley’s sacrifice stands out because he still sought to live and fight alongside Angel despite all the recent pain he suffered. The strength of his character throughout all five seasons of Angel demonstrates a true hero and an inspiring image of humanity. Though he did not survive the final battle, one can hope that his guidance will live on through Illyria and through the viewers.

Works Cited

Campbell, Joseph. Myths to Live By. New York: Penguin, 1972.

— Pathways to Bliss. Novato: New World, 2004.

“Not Fade Away.” Writ. Joss Whedon and Jeffrey Bell. Angel. WB. 19 May 2004.

“Shells.” Writ. Stephen S. DeKnight. Angel. WB. 3 March 2004.

“Underneath.” Writ. Sarah Fain and Elizabeth Craft. Angel. WB. 14 Apr. 2004.

The Avengers

Posted on May 4, 2012 by mythgirl under Pop Culture, Whedonverse

The Avengers did not disappoint!!! There’s already a million reviews out there, and I don’t have the time to add a very detailed one to the growing collection, but since I’m still buzzing with adrenaline from my first – oh yes, there will be many – viewing of The Avengers, I just had to share my initial thoughts. And I’ll stay spoiler free.
Joss’s writing is evident in the film’s arch, in the movement, and in the biting one-liners. He has taken this ensemble cast and created a masterpiece of heroism, action, and storytelling. All his usual tropes are here: strong women, chosen family, pop-culture references (okay, one small spoiler: Iron Man calling Hawk Eye “Legolas” had me slapping my knee!!) and more. All the reasons you love Buffy, Angel and Firefly are here. And tied in with all the reasons you love Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, and The Hulk.
One of the highlights for the film for me was Black Widow. She absolutely kicked ass, held her own, and had me wishing I could be her just as powerfully I wished I was Buffy when I was 16 and Whedon first won me over.
This is THE film Whedonists and Marvel fans have been waiting for.

Myth Girl

"Follow Your Bliss."

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