My favourite show seems to be changing on an almost daily basis at the moment. I think I preferred the tightly plotted and interwoven 'Beneath You' to the moderate 'Ground State', if only by a whisker.

4.2- 'Ground State'

Not one of my favourite Mere Smith episodes, but the opening was electric in more ways than one. I enjoyed the way that the director/editors used a much more jaded palette for the 1980's story, almost as if we now remember that era by the less vibrant colours that were on our TV screens at the time. It also suggested a lighter, less angsty little story, perhaps one of friendship and integration into a new school. Yet by this stage, more than nine seasons through my watching of these shows, it�s manifestly clear that it isn�t going to last for long. We get the boy attempting to make friends with the horribly isolated Gwen, only for disaster to ensue. Interesting that the toy car sums up the loss of the innocence of the girl here- another twisted clich�. When we Gwen again, it is to all intents and purposes an entirely different character we see- someone basking in self- confidence and power. We see her destruction of the owner�s watch as her being self-empowered, if in a slightly reckless way. Yet in reality, with a twist, we have something quite different. Gwen may appear to be ruthless and in control, but underneath there�s still the vulnerability of the little girl who nobody with whom nobody was allowed to play.

Themes of this episode are the balance between portrayal and reality, between normality and freakishness, between humanity and the old Mission. A key to this comes in perhaps the funniest line of the episode, the suit saying, 'No, we had the tuna casserole on Tuesday evening'. There's a black humour to this, while ostensibly finishing his job gassing two human beings, he is considering the normal things which he'll do when he comes home from work. As well as the mundanity of evil, we have the gap between his freakish work and normal home life. Other freaks in this episode are of course Gwen, Angel and Cordelia. The three have had their freakshness thrust upon them with various amounts of passivity however. Gwen is at one end of the spectrum, the innocent child who had no idea of her power, who then became necessarily exterior to real life, on the outside looking in. This, I believe, has something to do with her dismissive but slightly yearning questioning to Angel about whether he is getting the access for a girl. Later there�s the line: 'It must be for a girl, since you're so bad at stealing stuff'. Beneath the tough, cynical exterior, there's the girl whose only connection with humanity, the boy with the frazzled car, ended up dead. She's fascinated to know how other people can live normally. Equally, however, she denies herself the possibility of some aspects of normality, of humanity, herself. She has insulated herself both literally and metaphorically- literally with the gloves and so on, metaphorically from believing she needs to act as the human she really is. Angel can teach her this lesson, as he explains while saving the suit from frying at her hands. She does not have the right to act as she pleases, regardless of the hand life has dealt her.

This realisation has hit Angel after 100 years of brooding, another 100 in a hell dimension, and those few months under the sea. He has vastly more experience than Gwen, but also it is easier for him to come to his understanding. Because he was faintly complicit in his own freakishness. It is not that he understood what would befall him in that alleyway in 1753, but he did not precisely turn away from it- he didn't run from the enigmatic stranger. Things changed; Angel never was and still isn't human- and in his vampire days, he took no special privileges from other vampires. But since he got his soul back, largely from the crucial intervention of Whistler, he has understood that being a freak, an (almost) unique ensoulled vampire, does not entitle him to act outside convention, does not absolve him of responsibility, does not allow him to leave people to be worn down by a demon in the Hyperion. He is able to understand that he must use what unusual quirks he has to try to be a kind of a man, if without a certain humanity. Yet, as Gwen has that humanity, how much easier is it for her to understand how she can still be part of society. I have a degree of faith that Angel�s suggestions to Gwen will not fall on deaf ears, and that she has the possibility of using her powers for Good.

Of course, Good ain't that black and white in this show, as we've seen with Angel and Wesley, and as we are now seeing with Cordelia. Interestingly enough, Angel lets his believe in Fate and the Powers that Be overturn his decision on Gwen here. For while he makes it quite clear to Gwen that abnormality is not an excuse to isolate oneself, to allow oneself privilege, he decides the opposite for Cordelia. This partly because he understands that Cordelia is doing something right, and also because he is confused as to whether his need for Cordelia is selfish. Yet, hitting on the theme of the episode, it again appears that Cordelia's decision to not only embrace her freakishness but to leave her humanity behind is wrong. She wants out. This leaves good old Fred. It is interesting to chart her rise, and I am really glad that it has not been ignored. Because, as time has gone on, she has been made to bear more and more of the responsibility. After losing Wesley, she became research girl. Once Cordelia and Angel disappeared, it became necessary for her to become a head of decision- making and the charming supportive girl to the alpha male (then Gunn) as well. When she loses Connor, realising that he is not the good son, and then momentarily Gunn, she has had the whole of that new family stripped away from her, and she goes past breaking point. She has become the normal girl in the abnormal environment, and it appears that her humanity might just harm her. Yet we see twice that this is not the case- Fred is emotionally honest and open enough to explain to Gunn why she is so mad , and Gunn is has the reciprocal understanding to let the outburst go. So we end up with the end of the episodem with Fred and Gunn and Angel apparently together. Yet the camerawork is not unequivocal. Instead of seeing all three in one shot, we patiently pan round to see each individually, particularly taking a long time to find Fred at the end. Despite their unity in losing Cordelia, their reactions are somehow separate to each of their journey.

Not one of my favourites- a little too action thriller for my tastes, but Mere Smith always delivers something thought- provoking as well.

7.2- 'Beneath You'

I like Doug Petrie's episode a lot, and, with the exception of the almost universally panned 'As You Were', where he let his Riley-worship get in the way of his usual evil genius plotting, there are always some great scenes. Here of course, the really memorable wonderful scene is the Whedon penned one for Spike and Buffy in the Church at the end, which rivals the Angel/Connor scene in 'Deep Down'.

What I really loved about the scene was the way that Spike's dialogue was so dense. Those people familiar with the Lady Macbeth scene in Act Five, Scene One of her husband's play will know the way that seeming insanity has each thread strictly attached to an idea. Here we have exactly the same thing: Spike, sometimes speaking as the old Spike with his bravado, sometimes as the confused William, sometimes as some new, more honest yet hurting amalgam, [maybe not the most accurate word], sharing all sorts of different thoughts, feelings and despairs. A few lines stuck out for me. There�s the metanarration on 'Spike, have you lost your mind?' 'Well, yeah. Where have you bee all evening?', showing that the developed sense of irony of the old Spike is still in there somewhere. There's the repeated 'You wanted it' line, first believing that Buffy wanted him to get a soul, then that God did- some kind of a Christian God that William may have understood. Of course, behind Spike's ideas it isn't quite Buffy or God. Spike is still acting aspart of Buffy's story- which is not quite healthy. She has been his all- consuming life ever since 'Fool For Love', and possibly before. William would like to believe that God exists- and acts as the poet pretending to be Tyndale with lines like 'And all shall forgive and love'. He wants his story to tie in with the Bible. Yet ultimately it is neither God nor Buffy who needed a soul- it is Spike, to 'be the kind of man who would never-to be a kind of man'. The cross still burns him- religious redemption is not his aim, though more simple fairy tale redemption maybe. Buffy, while conflicted, shocked and deeply compassionate, can not offer him everything now- cannot offer him forgiveness for all he has done. When he realises this he changes his plea from Buffy to the Heavens, only to burn and ultimately ask 'Can we rest now?' Isn't this desperate need for a soul, to be somehow Good, enough to allow him some peace of mind. Of course, the answer is no. He must forge a new character now. Not the blue-shirted William, full of diplomacy and sappy honesty and dignity. As is contended; 'When did you become Champion of the people?' Spike can never be Angel, just as the unsoulled Spike was never Angelus. Not the old Spike who argues that 'Big Bad is back', being clothed in the persona like a leather duster, only to be horrified to kill Ronnie, while doing the right thing. It is a tragic twist- but an important and necessary one. Because while Spike is happy fighting the worm, and appears to have the upper hand, it is only his (partly false) realisation of the consequences of that persona, (he hurts a man while his chip fires still in his brain), that gets him to the insane but actually healthier state he as reached in the Church- questioning everything.

While Spike is the glorious enigma of the episode, and Marsters' acting is, as many have said, as good as any winner of an Oscar since perhaps Daniel Day-Lewis for 'My Left Foot', there is plenty more stuff bubbling along happily in this episode. This is part of the reason we have Nancy, also a stand-in for 'the New Viewer'. She gawps in sheer disbelief at the complexity of the back-story, and we realise that people who have not seem the previous couple of Seasons would be as lost as a penguin in Tanzania, with all the relationship strife. Out of the situation where everyone has slept with everyone else, (except Xander and Spike, hehe), we get several intriguing parallels and groupings:

-There's the lovely bubbly conversation between the new family, Xander Dad, Buffy Mom, Dawn Kiddy in the car. It's this kind of thing I missed in some of Season Six- the ability to be light-hearted before the danger. Buffy's trump card of Dawn's adventures in 'All the Way', especially with Dawn's reaction, is wonderful.

-There's the Anya/Spike parallel. Both mouth 'From beneath you, it devours'. Both have the demon part in them, and it confuses both of them to the extent of doubting exactly which parts of them are real. They end up fighting of course, neither quite sure what they are fighting for, but ultimately, Spike fighting to hide his possibility of redemption, his soul, and Anya, post embellishing the wishes of Nancy, fighting to show she is the real Anyanka, not just the kind of demon who turns people French. Both are fighting to be considered what they�re actually not, but something worse.

-The little Xander/Nancy relationship works as a kind of shadow for Buffy/Spike. Xander becomes Nancy's Hero, as Buffy has for Spike. Nancy starts to attempt to lead Xander on, but ultimately Xander�s concerns about the Mission dwarf any romantic ideas, (incidentally, the 'At least I was dating then' is a bit of a case of rose-tinted spectacles. There was only Cordelia and that somewhat-less-than-a-date with Faith.] Xander shows concern for Nancy, but ultimately cannot consummate this relationship.

-There's the wonderful Giles/Willow scenes again. Like Spike and Anya, Willow really can be a good person, but is ensnared by her past evil, and needs to trust herself before her friends can trust her, just as Giles says. Their shadows out of the door against the countryside is very beautiful directing- the problems of the personal set against the beauty of the natural- and of course these pastoral scenes complement neatly the beginning of Willow's slide into darkness in 'Bargaining' where she guiltily but brutally killed the faun. Here we see her attempting to recover from the dalliances that ensued.

A couple of semantic clear ups that people were worried about at the time but are now abundantly clear.

I was interested to see Dawn's scene about setting Spike on fire, which was played entirely straight, with no revealing intonations. We must take this threat at face value.

Great episode. Now a new Espenson, which I always enjoy.