Dancing With Grief

I approach musicals like I, or anyone really, approaches grief. I'm first in denial that I'm watching a bunch of people sing and dance across the screen. You know when you feel embarrassed for someone else and those prickly feelings dance all over you and your face becomes hot? I got that when I started watching this. Basically I say in my head, as my arms cross and my head lowers, "really...? singing and dancing and killing vampires?".

Next, a tinge of anger surfaces. I start thinking about how they could have written Buffy second-guessing her slayerness so much better than having her dance and sing through a graveyard while fighting demonspawn. Mind head begins to throb with thoughts like "Why are they doing this?" and"This is dumb. Musicals are dumb." and so on, and so forth for the next two minutes.

When the music stops I breathe a sigh of relief. I have a chance to organize my thoughts and as the characters explain their confusion as to why the town has been Disneyified™™ I start to enjoy the situation a bit more. I think "They're as confused as I am. It's like we're in this together. Maybe if they sing a bit less and talk more about solving the problem I'll like this more." My arms begin to unfold as I start to think about how clever Buffy's graveyard song was. I bargain with the invisible writers telling them to just include a little more inner questioning in the characters and a longer space between the songs and a balance might be achieved.

Then the next song plays and my budding smile becomes tethered to a ghostly anvil falling faster and faster toward Hell. On screen the colors are vibrant, the light is over exposed, and the voices are high pitched and slightly out of tune. The world around me becomes bleak and what was once anger and embarrassment has become hopeless whimpers. I know for certain that 90% of this episode will feature absurd air guitar moments,

off-key falsettos, and joyous dancing and I slump down into my chair and shed a small tear:

After my lacrimal glands have exhausted their energies, I wipe my weary eyes and stare at the screen in a new light. Now Xander and Anya dance across the screen in their nightly costumes, expressing to each other their inner thoughts through the therapy of song. Though Anya may be in her underwear, I am able to look beyond my caveman instincts and relate with them on their grievances and joys of relationships. I slide up in my chair a bit as a smile crosses my face once again. Xander and Anya prance around the dining room and the ever falling anvil that once drooped my lips snaps from its chain, freeing me from its imprisoning bond. The melody within the music captures my imagination and I become lost in its warm embrace. Acceptance and love has come to my tortured soul and through this journey of sadness, embarrassment, and regret I have come to respect Buffy even more. This happens with every musical I see. It's effed up.