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The gay, the bad and the hottie
- - - - - - - - - - - - Giles unplugged After a sluggish start, the current Buffy-goes-to-college season of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" has flowered into a juicy depiction of freshman-year sexual awakenings. Buffy has become an emotionally independent woman (no mommy or watcher needed) and has left behind a frustrating, masochistic, hands-off relationship with Angel for mature sexual fulfillment with hunky Riley Finn. Willow (Alyson Hannigan), meanwhile, has been involved in a lesbian relationship with sister witch Tara (Amber Benson), although their affair has been mostly rendered in "Buffy" creator Joss Whedon's favorite metaphors: When they do magic together, their powers shoot out of their bodies, zap around the room in sparkly streaks and leave them panting on the floor, surrounded by candles and rose petals. I believe Willow actually made a reference to "Rubyfruit Jungle" in one episode, although I may have hallucinated it.
Joyce Millman Joyce Millman's column appears every other Monday in Salon Arts & Entertainment. This is all quite alluring. But for some of us of a certain age, the real story of this season has been Giles' raging midlife crisis. You'll remember that Buffy's reserved British watcher was out of a job at the end of last season, having been fired by the Watchers' Council (he lost his cover job as Sunnydale High's librarian, too, when the school burned down on graduation day). For the first few months of this season, the heretofore erudite and very proper Giles (Anthony Stewart Head) behaved as if he were in the throes of a second adolescence, slacking off, getting hooked on game shows and soap operas, wolfing down American snack foods by the bushel. But the thrill of freedom eventually wore off and self-pity set in; Giles was a man without a purpose. Yes, he had a little thing going with that African-British woman who would pop into town to see him every now and then, but his young friends were cruelly unsympathetic to the idea of stuffy Giles getting some action. Walking in on Giles and his girlfriend one week, Buffy couldn't keep her revulsion to herself: "You're very, very -- old!" she gasped. And fate conspired to make Giles feel older with each episode. He couldn't deal with the fact that his surrogate daddy's little girl was growing up. He sank into a jealous funk over being usurped as the No. 1 adult in Buffy's life by her new college mentor, psych professor Maggie Walsh (since deceased). He flipped out when he discovered that Buffy was keeping her relationship with Riley a secret from him. When Ethan Rayne, his old running buddy from his days in an occult-worshipping punk band, came to visit, he went out drinking with him, whining about how kids these days have no respect for their elders. Ethan, however, slipped Giles a Mickey and turned him into a big ugly demon unrecognizable to his young pals -- which was a neat metaphor for getting old. Giles was once cool, and deep inside he feels he still is, but the kids look at him and see only a geezer of 40. Head has handled Giles' blue period with his usual impeccable sensitivity and arid wit (not that that'll make any difference come Emmy time). Head kept his character's pathos and foolishness in perfect balance all season, culminating in the showstopping scene from the April 25 episode where Giles seeks solace in classic rock, performing an unplugged set at a coffee house. I don't think I laughed harder at any TV moment all season than I did at the sight of Willow, Tara and fellow Scooby Gang-ers Xander and Anya's expressions of open-mouthed shock when they stumbled upon Giles at the coffeehouse. With eyes closed and an earring glistening in his ear, Giles strummed his acoustic guitar and poured his heart into a morose version of the Who's "Behind Blue Eyes," the very picture of a tragically misunderstood aging hipster. And I don't think I agreed so wholeheartedly with any TV statement this season than I did with Willow's observation that she found the whole thing, well, weirdly sexy. There's a distinguished canon of depressed ballads by old British guys (Townshend, Richard Thompson, Elvis Costello) who won't go gentle into that good night. I want to hear Giles sing every one of them. Gay sweeps On the May 2 episode of "Buffy," Willow came out to her friends and chose Tara over prodigal boyfriend Oz. That same night on NBC, "Will & Grace" reran an episode where gay pals Will (the cerebral, buttoned-down one) and Jack (the crusading queen) protested NBC's (fictional) censoring of a gay sitcom kiss by staging their own same-sex lip-lock in front of the "Today" cameras in Rockefeller Center. For this, we should all erect little shrines to the goddess Ellen and burn lavender incense. Network TV finally has gays and lesbians on its radar. Or in the case of "Will & Grace," its gay-dar. This is the gayest show on television -- and that's "gay" as in both queer and merry. Lawyer Will Truman (Eric McCormack) and kooky-redhead decorator Grace Adler (Debra Messing) have one of those gay man/straight woman mind-meld things that might look far-fetched to the uninitiated but, trust me, "Will & Grace" gets it right. Best friends/roommates Will the mensch and Grace the shameless attention craver leaned on each other a little too much when the sitcom first premiered in 1998; it felt like the old network TV cop-out, sticking a gay man in a pseudo-marriage with a straight woman. But this season, Grace moved out (OK, across the hall), their respective love lives have picked up, and the show is funnier and politically tougher for it. Besides the NBC kissing protest ("But it's a gay network," argues Jack. "Its symbol is a peacock!"), a second episode May 2 satirized organizations of "former" gays that tout a "cure" for homosexuality -- although Jack, in typical on-the-prowl fashion, infiltrated the latter group only because he wanted to date its cute leader. "There are no straight men, only men who haven't met Jack!" he proclaims. The irrepressibly self-absorbed Jack (Sean Hayes) and his partner-in-crime, Karen (Megan Mullaly), an acerbic, boozing, fashionista who married for money, are Will and Grace without Will's self-discipline and Grace's neuroses. Jack and the divinely Mae West-ian Karen are absolutely without shame or self-editing; whenever they enter a scene, impish anarchy follows. They get the best lines in this razor-sharp comedy, the ones that make you gasp and wonder if the censor fell asleep at the switch. "Heterosexual marriage is just wrong!" exclaims Jack in one episode. "I mean, if God had intended man and woman to be together, he would've given them both penises!" Explaining to Jack that "Welcome Back Home" is a group of ex-gays, Karen tells him that the members have turned their backs on other men -- "and not in a good way." "Will & Grace" blurs gay and straight culture, does an inclusionary redecorating job on classic sitcom structure -- it's "I Love Lucy," except Lucy is Jewish, Ricky is gay, Ethel is a fabulous flamer and Fred is a cynical, liquored-up diva. To "Will & Grace's" triumphant year, add the big ratings for HBO's all-lesbian extravaganza "If These Walls Could Talk 2" and all of those openly gay male "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" contestants (with the camera cutting to their partners cheering them on in the "relationship seat"), and it has been a pretty amazing season for gays on TV. Take a weekend in Vermont, people -- you've earned it!
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