“Life is like an onion, which one peels crying.” -French Proverb


Image: Stephen Mooney – “Angel : Not Fade Away” Comic Book – Issue 2

It is appropriate that this blog should finally take concrete form beginning with the consideration of the character Wesley Wyndham Pryce, as his story and development have concerned me for years. To that end, it has now niggled at me enough that this long overdue blog has been created.

I started watching Buffy regularly in season 3. I had seen one episode prior, trying to get into it; season 2 episode 4’s “Inca Mummy Girl.” In retrospect, I can see precisely why that episode didn’t stick. It’s largely a one-off and to this day, aside from the Willow/Oz storyline taking shape, it falls to the bottom of my consideration. It also focuses primarily upon Xander, a character I have always struggled with.

The series “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” spawned “Angel” the series, and Wesley is one of the three (arguably four if Spike is included) characters that managed to live on both shows for an extended period. He is also the character that portrays the strengths of Whedon as a character writer, arguably to the greatest degree.

Joss Whedon began illuminating the gaping hole that existed in entertainment writing when BtVS debuted in 1997. From the series start, Whedon began psychologically aging his characters based on their experiences and the situations and individuals they encountered, in a way that no other TV series had until then (and arguably hasn’t since). Whedon’s characters age in a hyper-real way despite their metaphorical, fantastic experiences, exactly as do we in our own lives. Whedon’s characters are slowly (and sometimes not slowly based on the severity of circumstances) shaped by the life that happens to them, and the life they make happen based on decisions to act, or not.

When Wesley first joins BtVS in season 3, he is little more than a sort of human C3PO, prone to pompous formality and public embarrassment due to false-pride. He is a flawed character for many reasons and is mildly rejected by both the Scoobies and the viewers. Wesley is at first merely tolerated by all, save Cordelia Chase, which serves as a commentary unto itself. Personally, I can remember when Wesley first appeared. At that time I assumed he would only remain for a few episodes, quickly going the way of Gwendolyn Post.

But Wesley becomes the raw nerves in the body of work Whedon creates throughout both shows. The eventual tragedy of Wesley as a character cannot be overstated. While Angel clings to an idea of redemption and Buffy hopes against hope for a “normal” life, Wesley’s deepest want is the love that makes one whole, a brand of love that is about having someone to give love to, which he nearly obtains, very briefly.

Once Wesley made the jump to Angel the series, it was slowly revealed that Wesley’s inflated pride and arrogance thinly blanket a deep self-loathing and terrible emotional scarring. Wesley undergoes a number of attempts at personal reinvention, trying desperately to find where he “fits” and always wanting to be someone other than himself. He is a character that represents all of us in our formative 20’s, but to an Nth degree.

And Whedon wisely knows the only way humans lose their affectation and pretense is through public humiliation and mistake, which we very painfully watch Wesley enact more than once. The Wesley we meet first in BtVS’s ‘Bad Girls’ is so drastically far from the Wesley known in “Angel: After the Fall” (canonical graphic novels), but at no time is that tremendous change unbelievable, due to Whedon’s instinct to psychologically reveal and age characters. Wesley’s attempts at new identity all fail, save the genuine destruction and regrowth that happen naturally after tremendous mistake, broken trusts, and harmed relationships. The Wesley that eventually evolves is one that has happened as a result, not the one he has mindfully crafted. Wesley is a constant, striking reminder that life will have its way with us, not the other way around.

In nearly every way, the most tragic stories through both shows belong to Fred and Wesley. With no character other than Fred does Whedon go through the pains of destroying her very soul from existence, within a language and universe that is so centered around the state of one’s soul, and where even the irredeemable have a long-shot at getting their soul back. And with no character other than Wesley does Whedon force a truly hopeless world upon. Wesley never has much, loses everything, gains something extremely precious to him, and almost immediately loses it in the most painful way. Wesley’s joy is a flash in the pan and then it is gone, reminding us that we as humans inherently deserve nothing, and are not owed anything.

Many generic, modern, pop-cultural minds need to simplify Buffy and Buffyverse as little more than a story about a blonde girl who (impossibly) has great power, and her subsequent adventures. But anyone that has done any remotely real thinking about it (especially in light of Whedon’s other offerings, Dollhouse, Firefly & Serenity, The Cabin in the Woods, Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog and others) knows that at Whedon’s core is constant, obsessive contemplation of the human tragedy and the portrayal of it, often through farce. Whedon always aims to make an audience forget that what they are watching is as painful as the very worst moments of life itself; he makes a meal of broken glass taste like dinner at Julia Child’s house. In the character of Wesley though, Whedon lets the glass shred our throats and cut our guts, all the way down.

From his early, awkward, embarassing moments, to his final seconds in Angel the series of asking to be lied to (despite being unable to buy the lie for even a moment), Wesley is a painful character to witness because we are reminded that sometimes things always get worse for people that we feel don’t deserve it. Natural justice does not often exist. Sometimes the best we can hope for in life are peppered moments of friendly distraction, fleeting moments of distant hope, and the near-relief of lying to ourselves.