Sauron himself would be, like, "dude..."
::snerk:: And at least the TTT similarity wasn't lost on him.
Also, all of Faith's "yo"s were in the script.
Buffy/Spike has had a weird and rocky path, but it felt like it ended the way it should have ended. "No you don't, but thanks for saying it." to Buffy's declaration was the perfect thing for Spike to have said. Then Spike going out in blazes laughing his fool head off--it felt *right*.
Yes. This. And I firmly believe they were both telling the truth, as they saw it--love being a complex thing that means different things to different people at different times. And the part that makes me choke up every time I think about it is that she told him what he needed to hear to die, gave him the ultimate benediction, and he responded by telling her what she needed to hear to live.
They loved. They gave. They forgave.
Damn these allergies....
I swear one of those vampire guys was actually in Ferenghi makeup.
I just flashed on a mental image of the Slayers descending into the Hellmouth to find a giant pit filled with old Doctor Who monsters.
OK, the Frayverse now makes no sense at all!
AIFG!
Amanda, had such a great, fierce battle face.
Hee. Especially in Daniel's screencap.
My friend Kevin is a crossword puzzle constructor, and he made a wonderful cryptic in honor of the finale. It's available at [link]
That was fun. And he put it together in the one night? Impressive. Not quite sure I have the right answer for 5d.
The woman watched too much Monty Python.
I can read the words, and they make sense individually, but put together this just seems like so many squabbling ducks.
A short bit on the finale from Joy Press in the Village Voice (she obviously hasn't heard about the WB renewing Angel):
Buffy the Vampire Slayer leaves the air this week, and I haven't felt so sad to see a series end since my childhood, when the finales of MASH and The Mary Tyler Moore Show had my friends and me weeping our farewells. The only good thing about the demise of Buffy (and the likely cancellation of its nearly as endearing spin-off Angel) is that I'll no longer feel compelled to convince nonbelievers of its virtues. I understand why people wrote it off as a cult geek-show: low-budget sets, B-movie ghouls, and hot teenage chicks kung-fu fighting in graveyards do not usually signify top-notch drama. Despite the cheesy trappings, Buffy was not only one of the funniest, smartest, and sassiest shows on television in the last decade—it was also the most mournful.
From the beginning, Buffy was gripped by loneliness. Surrounded by a faithful band of friends, she remained a fundamentally solitary character. "Being the Slayer made me different, but it's my fault I stayed that way," she admitted to her hapless paramour Spike in a recent episode. "People are always trying to connect to me, and I just slip away." Over its seven-year run, the show has exquisitely teased out this theme—how much can friendship and community lessen the feeling of being ill at ease in the world? Sometimes it did so in narratives that paralleled ordinary experiences: One season dealt with the transition from adolescence to adulthood, as the gang watched one another mature and grow apart. Other times the storyline took on a more supernatural tinge, like the time Willow's grief for a lost love turned her into a vengeful witch, or when Buffy's pals yanked her out of Heaven; for months afterward she walked the earth like a failed suicide, her every look and gesture conveying horror and estrangement from the world.
What made all this bearable was Buffy's effervescence—the show was accessorized with cartoony monsters that looked like Star Trek rejects and was bathed in irony and pop-culture references. (Oxford University Press is even publishing a lexicon of Buffy slang this summer.) Underneath all the wit and slayage, though, human emotions whirred and shuddered. Buffy struck a chord that's incredibly rare on TV, and it will be missed.
Plei, I know you are taking my comment about the using a little personally because you experienced it, and I'm sorry about that. Plenty of people I think are nice and intelligent do things I find morally reprehensible, like taking their husband's names, or giving their daughters Barbie dolls, or driving SUVs. But I stand by what I said--snuggling with someone when you know they feel differently than you do is using. That Spike consents to being used doesn't make it any more right.
Monday night, after the discussion, I went to my husband and presented the situation in the abstract for him (because he hates the show and would have snarked at me if I'd indicated it was about the show), and he also agreed it was using. Which may mean nothing more than that I married someone who has the same values as I do.
And again, I'll just have to go with the whole "Buffy really is open to a relationship with Spike" fanwank because I want to like Buffy.
I've been mulling (and revelling in this really cool Spike dream I had that i'm not sharing because I don't know ANY of you that well), but anyway...
They didn't know that that amulet had the potential of killing the guy wearing it, did they? All they knew was "If you've got a soul and you're stronger than human, put this on and something will happen to save the day. Something aboug cleansing. Or scrubbing bubbles." Yeah, heroic death and all, but not a death he chose. He ran with it, because he's like that, but I don't believe he had a choice about it. Unless he did have the option for running for it there at the end, but it looked more like he was pinned by some kind of possession to me.
What does using mean to you, Wenda? I see a situation in which two consenting adults get more out of it than if they hadn't, come out with less pain (both, not just the one with the "upper hand") as not using.
Someone has to suffer for me to see it as using. Spike didn't. Buffy didn't. Who lost?