Man is not truly one, but truly two: The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde in Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s Season 3

Carrying on our Buffy Blog series, which this week is exploring Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season Three, is Dana Alex exploring Gothic Doubles and The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde throughout the Season. Don't forget to read out first Season Three post by Claire Healey discussing Faith, Identity, and Choices (which you can find here). And as always, if you want to share posts or your thoughts use the hashtag #BuffySlays20. 

To everyone who has seen an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer it is not surprising that the show is filled with a great number of Gothic tropes and intertextuality - blog posts within the past two weeks have demonstrated this already. Throughout the show, Gothic intertextuality is an essential feature that is not only a way of playing with clichés, such as the blonde, young girl that is walking through the dark alley and is here capable of fighting demons instead being killed by them, but also a way of depicting the development of the shows characters. In Season 3 of BTVS, the Gothic text that seems to be omnipresent is Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. The following post will discuss some (of way too many) examples that demonstrate in how far Stevenson’s novella is included in Season 3.

‘We found Pete's lab diaries and stuff. Mr. Science was pulling a Jekyll/Hyde deal.’ – S03E04

(Pete in 'Beauty and the Beasts')

The most obvious way of including The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde in the series is certainly Season 3’s episode 'Beauty and the Beasts.' This episode tells the story of a young and seemingly friendly high school student Pete, who occasionally turns into a monster, which then causes him to be extremely violent, not only towards strangers but mainly his loving girlfriend. Just as in the original text by Stevenson, Pete (or 'Whedon's Jekyll') first starts drinking a serum in order to transform into a Hyde-sque creature. One interpretation that has been brought into connection with this episode is that it can - quite rightly – be seen as a depiction of toxic relationships. Yet a reading that seems more important for the discussion of Stevenson’s text is a different one: the other self.

As the title suggests, the word beasts really has to be understood as a plural, which is why not only Pete’s alter-ego is subject of this episode but also those of Oz (and his werewolf self) and Angel (who is understandably still not himself after spending 200 years in a hell dimension). This episode depicts the duality of human nature - a theme that is typically associated with Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and further remains an essential part of the entire narrative within season 3.

‘Every guy - from “Manimal” down to Mr. I-Loved-The-English-Patient has a beast in him. And I don’t care how sensitive they act.’ – S03E04

(Giles/Ripper in 'Band Candy')

The above quote from the episode 'Beauty and the Beasts' by Faith was originally intended to describe Buffy’s new boyfriend Scott Hope. Yet it also fits perfectly when thinking of one of the show’s main characters: Rupert Giles. In Season 2, the viewer was already introduced to Giles’ past and his other self, Ripper. 

After Buffy has been expelled from school in the wake of the events of Season 2, Giles speaks to (well… threatens) Principal Snyder in order to overturn Buffy’s suspension. In this moment, a bit of Ripper, who is still very much present within Giles, is showing himself again. Other than Pete, Angel or even Oz, Giles’ other self is not turning him into some monstrous creature, yet the audience can still clearly distinguish between Giles and Ripper by simply looking at him. It is a glance in his eyes and a smile on his face that makes it possible to differentiate between both personas.

(Giles and Principal Snyder in 'Band Candy')

In 'Band Candy,' an episode where magic chocolate bars turn all of Sunnydale’s adults into teenagers, Giles transforms to Ripper entirely. There are some aspects that are very curious when comparing Giles/Ripper to Jekyll/Hyde. First of all, when Jekyll’s friends, Utterson and Poole, speak about the changes that happened to Jekyll, they use the following description:‘He was wild when he was young; a long while ago to be sure; but in the law of God, there is no statute of limitations. Ay, it must be that; the ghost of some old sin’ (p. 17).

This description could easily be used to describe the state of Giles. Ripper is representing Giles’ dark side and the ghost of his old sins that he committed when he was young, wild and did whatever he desired, even if it was illegal. Considering the actions of Hyde within the story and their level of violence, Ripper’s actions are indeed very similar. For instance, in a scene with Joyce, he breaks into a shop and afterwards knocks out a policeman. Later in that episode, it is only Buffy, who can keep him from pointing a gun at Ethan Rayne, willing to shoot and kill him. 

Another aspect I find very interesting is Giles’ transformation to Ripper that resembles a particular scene within Stevenson’s story. At one point, Jekyll looks in the mirror to see his evil side breaking out of him and states that it still made him feel ‘younger and happier’ (p. 55).

(Jekyll's tranformation to Hyde - Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931))

As mentioned above, Ripper is not bodily deformed, which is why Giles transforms to Ripper in a different way. Just like Jekyll, Giles is looking in the mirror to see the evil side of him, but instead of becoming an ape-like figure, he is simply taking off his tweed jacket, undoing his shirt buttons, putting a cigarette in his mouth and messing up his hair – and then, becomes Ripper. (He very clearly also feels much younger and happier in this episode.)

(Mirror, mirror on the wall...)

Even though this episode is usually only remembered as being a very funny one, I yet believe that it is important in regards of giving us an inside view of Giles’ character that he is usually not showing. Giles is very much like Jekyll – he is also repressing his urges (e.g. smoking) and his desires on a daily basis to fulfil the expectations that society, and especially the Scoobies and the Watcher’s Council, has of him. Still, may it be caused by situations that make it impossible for Giles to repress Ripper or through - in Giles’ case - magic chocolate bars, the occasional appearance of his inner Hyde is unavoidable.

A final example is the show’s protagonist herself: Buffy Summers. Buffy’s alter-ego in this season is, of course, fellow Slayer Faith. The prophecy suggests that there can only be one girl who is the Slayer. The fact that Faith is a Slayer is caused by Buffy’s short death in Season 1 and Kendra’s death in Season 2. 

Although both girls fight the same demons, Faith represents everything that Buffy is not. She is reckless, entirely self-dependent and completely giving into her desires (yes, also her sexual desires). She is the Hyde to Buffy’s Jekyll. She shows the powers of the Slayer in the most negative sense and it still seems that there is something about her behaviour that appeals to Buffy. 

(The two Slayers - left: Faith, right: Buffy)

Throughout the season, Faith is trying to make Buffy more like her - more reckless, more rebellious. In 'Bad Girls,' Buffy seems to have almost morphed into Faith. Ignoring the responsibilities of being the most powerful girl on the planet, she joins Faith and does everything she desires, which includes skipping class to kill a great number of vampires at once and afterwards dancing to 90s rock music in the Bronze. Other than in the examples above, Faith seems to be Buffy’s extrabodily other. Yet, I still believe that the connection to Jekyll and Hyde works well. The prophecy tells that The Slayer is one girl that is able to fight vampires, demons and save the world. It was never planned that two girls become Slayers. I therefore believe that both are so deeply connected that they represent each other’s other self. Focusing on Buffy, it can surely be stated that Faith very much is her shadow, her dark side, her Hyde.

After Faith kills an innocent man, Buffy realises that she cannot give into her desires to be more reckless and more adventurous but needs to fulfil her duties as a Slayer. Again, this is reminiscent of Stevenson’s story as Jekyll also realises that Hyde is dangerous and must therefore be eliminated. Unlike Jekyll, Buffy is strong enough to get rid of her Hyde.

The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde seems to be a rather important story for the course of season 3 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The duality of human nature, repressed desires and especially the violence of an alter-ego – all these themes that can be found in Stevenson’s novella are essential for Buffy’s Season 3, and most importantly, for the understanding of the complexity of  'our' beloved characters.

As mentioned above, these are only a handful of examples. Season 3 is filled with many more (Angel/Angelus, Willow/Vampire Willow, and the Mayor etc.) and I am happy to discuss any ideas and suggestions you may have. #BuffySlays20 

[1] Stevenson, Robert Louis, The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and Other Stories (Richmond: Alma Bookd Ltd, 2014)

Dana Alex is a first-year PhD student at Kingston University, London. She is interested madness and asylums – may it be in literature, film, television or video games. Other research interests include vampires, postmodern Gothic, and she is a bit too interest in critical and cultural theory (honestly, this cannot be healthy). Dana would like to emphasize that she was certainly not using this blog as an excuse to re-watch all of Buffy the Vampire Slayer again.

‘No You Don’t Get It, I Don’t Care’ - Faith, Identity and Choice in Season 3 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer

First up in Sheffield Gothic's Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season Three posts is Claire Healey exploring identity and choice through Faith. If you want to share this (or other) posts, or if you want to get involved with the conversation, use the hashtag #BuffySlays20.  

Our choices define us. Every minute of every day, we are make hundreds of little choices; do I eat the cookie or not eat the cookie? Do I start work or do I browse Facebook for another 10 minutes? These choices stack, build on each other until one day you step back and see you have made a pretty satisfactory life for yourself, or, more worryingly, you wake up one day to find you’ve become Harmony.

The theme of choice runs through the marrow of Buffy. In Season two episode seven ‘Lie to Me’, Buffy’s old school friend Ford appears on the scene. Despite looking like Mr Teen Dream 1998, a tumour is liquefying Ford’s gray matter and within a matter of weeks he will be dead. His plan; get himself vamped and live forever. In exchange for a roomful of innocent people, of course. Ford says he has no choice. Buffy disagrees. ‘You have a choice. You don’t have a good choice but you have a choice’. This could be the thesis for Buffy as a whole: how does a person navigate the tough decisions that take you from child to an adult, an adult aware of all the harshness and complexities of life and still come out intact on the other side? 

For the most part, I think that Buffy does an excellent job of handling this transition. Then again, of course she does, she is a hero. But what happens if the choices you make are not so good? What if your choices are fuelled by pain, rage, desperation and feeling of inadequacies so profound you can even acknowledge them to yourself? Enter Faith. 

(Faith)

Faith Lehane (yes, she does have a last name) is one of the show’s dark reflections of Buffy, her own personal walking-talking mad women in the attic and is arguably Series 3’s main Big Bad (yeah, there’s the Mayor, he wants to end the world, yadda, yadda, but on a metaphorically level the series is about facing your inner demons, not overcoming the petty democracy of local government). Like all the most compelling villains, Faith didn’t start off evil. She enters the season alone and hunted, fleeing the monster that killed her Watcher and dealing with the feelings of guilt that she wasn’t able to prevent it. Things go from bad to worse when whilst out on patrol one night, Faith, mid-hunt and without self-control to reign in her bloodlust, accidentally stakes a human, killing him. Buffy is horrified and wants to go to the police. Faith dumps the body and tries to pretend it didn’t happen. In doing so she becomes a primer in how not to deal with trauma. 

From the get go, Faith accepts no responsibility whatsoever what she has done. Her first instinct is to flee. She doesn’t want to tell anyone what’s happened, believing that if they keep quiet about it the problem will simply go away. When that becomes untenable, she tries to force the blame onto Buffy. She pushes people away, assaulting and nearly killing Xander when he offers to be there for her, as though she was trying to torch any and all bridges that might lead her back to having to deal with what she has done.  Mentally she justifies her actions, protesting that in the great battle between good and evil the death of this one man is merely collateral damage. Slayers are warriors, fundamentally different then the people they protect, and the normal moral rules do not apply to them. Faith opts for blanket denial: if nothing bad actually happened then she can’t possibly feel bad about it. She refuses to have feelings. 

(The Two Slayers: Buffy (left) and Faith (right))

By choosing not to see her actions as wrong Faith has chosen an identity. She is now a person for whom murder does not bother. She is invested in that persona – she has to be. The glib veneer that Faith has projected since arriving hardens into something much darker. It’s not that she is blithe and carefree, she literally does not care. To do anything otherwise than to commit to it 100% would mean accepting the consequences of her actions and feeling the feels that go along with it. The stakes for are too high. For this point on every action she takes must align with this world view or risk emotional devastation.

Looked at this way, as a strategy for self-preservation, Faith’s actions make a lot of sense. Betraying her friends, turning her back on her calling, working for the mayor; all are fuel for this protective identity. Each time she makes a decision through the filter of this persona, she seeks to confirm that she is X type of person, who does X type of things. It makes the next terrible act easier. A certain type of logical dictates that the choices she makes must become more extreme and outrageous. In ‘Choices’ (S3, E19), Faith murders a man she had no direct instructions to kill, shooting him from a distance with a hunting bow and hacking off his arm to claim the box chained to it. Even the vampire with her looks disgusted. It’s like she is trying to horrify herself, to prove that the initial murder didn’t matter by deliberately doing things that are much worse.

(Faith, chained)

The sad part is that Faith is given a way out. Both Buffy and Angel repeatedly extend her the hand of friendship, offering to stand by her and give her support. Several times, Faith seems to be on the brink of reaching out and sharing what is eating her up inside, especially when talking to Angel, someone who understands what it’s like to take a life and live with the consequences. But she backs off. Faith cannot accept these offers, or even register these options as genuine possibilities – her identity has gotten in the way. 

This perhaps is the true tragedy of Faith. At some point between running away from her guilt and trying something, anything to relieve her pain, she loses her ability to choose. From a free-thinking young woman who question the judgement of authority figures (poor Wesley, he didn’t have a prayer), she becomes a follower, accepting the Mayor's instructions absolutely. She calls him ‘Sir’. He barks at her to leave with him, she meekly follows behind. When a geologist stumbles across some information that may potentially give clues to his diabolical schemes, the Mayor dispatches Faith to ‘Deal with it’. Realising what is about to happen, the geologist asks Faith, ‘Why?’ Her response: ‘Boss wants you dead’. She has given up responsibility for the decisions in her life; Faith is simply following orders.

Faith believes that the Mayor’s Ascension in is a done deal, an element out of mortals control. In believing this she taking away the choice of everybody else; they are all in the same situation as her - doomed. By aiding and abetting a literal end of the world, Faith is trying to stop the concept of choice altogether. For choices to have meaning they need to be able to effect change in the world; for that to happen the world needs to continue, it needs to have a future for these changes to take effect in. No future = no choice. What is heart-breaking is how ill-thought through this belief is. Faith is anxious that the Mayor will still need her after the Ascension; but why would a Giant Snake creature need one puny human after the apocalypse? Such is the depths of Faith’s suffering that she is willing to burn the world down around her to keep her from thinking about what she’s become. 

(Faith and Mayor Wilkins)

When we give away our ability to choose, to operate with some agency in our own lives, however small, we lose part of our humanity. We become objects for the world to act upon. Faith becomes the Mayor’s deadly tool. She accepts this identity as who she really is and it provides her with a shield deflecting any criticism the world may throw at her. But it doesn’t bring her happiness. In adopting this persona she becomes more friendless and alone that she has ever been before (people don’t emotionally invest in objects – you don’t throw birthday parties for a fork) and sacrifices meaningful connections for the dubious comfort of believing she doesn’t really need them. By pretending they don’t exist, she throws away her chance at healing her wounded feelings. 

In the process Faith becomes something truly monstrous. The Mayor is the traditional, evil-for-the-pure-giddy-thrill-of-it brand of morally despicable hijinks that we have come to expect from our supernatural badduns. But Faith’s is a recognisable, empathetic evil, a there-but-for-the-grace-of-god-go-I kind of a villain. If we’d done things differently in our lives, maybe it would be us who end up in Faith’s emotional headspace; alone, desperate and divided from those around us by our own sense who and what we are. 

Your choices are what you become. So make good ones. 

Claire Healey is a long-time Buffy obsessive and lover of all things dark, moody, and eye-liner-y. It has also been said that her incredible Halloween craft skills are akin to witchcraft. 

Angel/Angelus: The Problematic Nature of the Vampire Boyfriend in Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Rounding off our Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season Two blogs is Michelle Mastro discussing Angel/Angelus and the problematic vampire boyfriend. Make sure you check out the rest of the Season Two blogs, including Holly's post on Spike's 'cockney' accent (click here) and Kaja's two-part exploration of masculinity and werewolves (for part one click here, part two click here). And as always, if you have any comments or want to share the posts, use the hashtag #BuffySlays20. 

The vampire boyfriend figures prominently in supernatural romance. Passionate but worldly, he plays to perfection the older beau character type—usually portrayed as the lover and mentor. Vampire boyfriends recur often today because these aspects of their character make them ideal foils with which contemporary postfeminist heroines can work through contradictory aspects of women’s desires and proscribed roles. And Angel from the cult television show, Buffy the Vampire Slayer is no exception. He is Buffy’s love interest and her teacher.

 

But more than that, Angel is a fatherly figure. He takes Buffy ice skating as her dad had done, he coaches her on how to adapt to changes in her immediate circle, and he makes decisions for her—even determining the parameters of their relationship at times. Add to this the fact that he lingers around the high school and peers through her bedroom window at night, and the character becomes even more problematic. Really, the pair’s relationship verges on the inappropriate or at least bucks conventional standards in age gaps. He first spies Buffy when she, fifteen and barely into high school, sits kicking her legs and sucking a lollipop. Centuries old, he is well and above her senior. 

(Buffy pre-Sunnydale)

In many ways, Angel perfectly embodies the divided temperament of the paternal mentor/lover. At times he is Angel, at others Angelus. His protectiveness can be sweet, maybe a tad overbearing, but eventually it becomes invasive and predatory after the pair has sex and Angel loses his soul. 
 

These developments harken back to early gothic examples. The internal conflict of Pamela, principally Samuel Richardson’s assigning Mr. B the role of love interest, villain, and occasional would be rapist, made it hard for some readers to accept him as Pamela’s husband. Given the logistical and ethical problems of designating one character the villain and hero, later Gothic novels repudiated this option. In Ann Radcliffe’s The Italian, for example, Ellena is hunted, held captive, and nearly murdered by Schedoni to prevent Vivaldi from ruining himself in marriage to her. And in The Mysteries of Udolpho, Emily is imprisoned by Montoni, not the love interest.

(Angel, being a bit creepy)

But modern versions of the vampire lover envision the wooer advanced in years as something closer to the Mr. B type. He might be a cultured older man and the dominate one in the relationship, but, most of all, he is extremely clingy and predatory. He is the one always watching. And, as a vampire, he can threaten the integrity of the heroine in ways that other dubious love interests—like Mr. B—simply could not. Angel can literally drain the life from Buffy.

And he does, or at least figuratively. Much too often Buffy defines herself in relation to him. In the episode before “Surprise,” Buffy is so preoccupied kissing Angel she neglects her slayer duties. Joss Whedon cites the modern story of a man turning into another person the morning after, and in this context the show recapitulates the gothic formula: a young woman is cut off from the protective influence of her family and friends to be isolated and then threatened by a predatory and watchful antagonist. In Buffy, Angelus creeps into the heroine’s room to watch her slumber. The following morning she and friends find disturbing pictures of themselves, mementos of his visits. Gothic heroines through luck, ingenuity, and the aid of friends typically surmount such threats to be rewarded with marriage to men of good birth and economic means.

But for Buffy, the ultimate reward is a more complete autonomy. In season two viewers are introduced to the big bads, vampires Spike and Drusilla—the latter Angel’s former conquest. Drusilla serves as a warning for Buffy, an example of what not to be. Angel drove Drusilla mad, carving bits of her life from her—family, friends, an identity—leaving only himself to fill the void. In “Reptile Boy,” Buffy comes close to articulating the type of transformation undergone by other human lovers, telling Angel: “When you kiss me I want to die.” Could Buffy give up everything for her vampire boyfriend? Could she be another Bella Swan, whose boyfriend also sits at her elbow ceaselessly watching her?

(Drusilla and Angel)

Angel has transfigured in Angelus, and there is no ambiguity anymore in his intentions or actions. The battle for Buffy is now one defined as predator versus prey, vampire versus slayer. He wants to literally drag her to hell along with the whole world, and she is forced to kill him to save herself and everybody else. But in so doing, she also asserts her own selfhood. “In the end, you’re always by yourself. You’re all you’ve got. That’s the point,” says Whistler the demon in “Becoming Part Two,” and his words ring true. Fighting Angelus, Buffy is nearly bested; she’s on the ropes. Her magic sword gets tossed away. “Now that’s everything, huh? No weapons…No friends…No hope. Take all that away…and what’s left?” asks Angelus. Buffy responds, “me,” catching his sword between her bare fingertips. 

(Buffy in the Season Two finale, and one of hermost awesome Slayer moments)

Angelus turns back to Angel just in time to be sent to hell. Buffy loses her love, but also all he had come to represent. Unlike Bella or Drusilla, she will not lose herself in the vampire man in her life. At the season finale, we see her on a bus heading to Los Angeles, the city of angels—ironic since this is where she will learn to live without Angel. She will have the opportunity to reconnect with aspects of herself in episode one of season three. She will go by her middle name Anne, effectively naming herself and commencing the beginning of a longer journey back to a self separate from him.
 

Vampire boyfriends offer heroines like Buffy a wealth of experience to draw upon. They can also be thoughtful gentlemen of bygone eras. But oftentimes they are illustrations of hyper-masculinity—harbingers of extreme violence and untrammeled sexuality. Luckily for Buffy (by the end of season two at least) she has met with the type and can move on.

Michelle Mastro is a graduate student at Indiana University, Bloomington’s English PhD program. She grew up watching Buffy and is excited to combine her love of the show with her studies on the development of the novel. She loves all things horror, and to her, autumn is the greatest season not just for Starbucks pumpkin spice but for the availability of horror film marathons on TV—of which she watches plenty