Free Seven Seasons of Buffy: Science Fiction and Fantasy Authors Discuss Their Favorite Television Show (Smart Pop series) by Gilene Yeffeth

couple years ago, before they turned into twigs, too. Like Kate Winslet, the curvy English rose, long may she bloom) that suggests a painterly quality to Miss Benson’s looks. Lovely she is, but she is not perfection (her eyes a bit too large, heavy-lidded and far apart, her lips overfull and perhaps not as precisely-shaped as one might like) but her idiosyncratic appeal is unforgettable, haunting, much like the models used again and again and obsessed over by artists like William Waterhouse(the mermaid is the flower-seller is the nymph who finds Orpheus’s head), or Dante Gabriel-Rosetti (willowy redheads clutching, variously, pomegranates, lilies, or serpents), or Degas’s shadowy dancers, or Renoir’s ubiquitous gold-and-pink bather. In Andrew Wyeth’s paintings of longtime model and sometime-lover Helga, we see a glimpse of Tara, too: the soft green tones in her skin and hair, the hint of a secret smile on that closed mouth, the nature-spirit trappings of tree-lined country roads, sere meadows, and frosted windows. Helga’s loden-green coat becomes Tara’s pale-brown suede jacket; one a forest, the other a fawn.
    Color and texture touch our senses as surely as pheromones scream “sex” to the neocortex; and the show’s costume design plays upon subtle character traits ranging from the culturally literate to the mythic. Willow’s togs toggle between numerologically pertinent sports jerseys and gypsy thriftshop tops. Buffy slinks, capitulates, and kicks butt in badass leathers, near-nude colors, and soft ruffles. And Anya just plain owns it, baby, whether in tight denim or creamy bridal satin. But in Tara’s clothes (and the sometimes-slouchy, always comfortable way she wears them) we are not swept into flights of fancy, but grounded; not aroused, but soothed. Watch those reruns for the greens and browns that dominate; earthy, yes, but also, according to the color theory of costume design, a sign of a character who is alien, other, or somehow separate from the crowd. Green and brown, the hues of the tree-hugging neopagan, the teenage witch who is too self-conscious to go garbed in goth black.
    Not for Tara the nylon sweats and baggy sweatshirts emblazoned with Nike and Tommy Hilfiger insignia—nor the artificially-distressed dark blue dungarees, or the overalls, or the cargo pants and wispy tank tops of the Abercrombie & Fitch clones. We get a frequent suggestion of the pastoral, as channeled through her Southern California retro-hippie garb. Flowing skirts, clingy shirts, color palettes Derek Jarman might have approved of, hip pagan logos, ultra-feminine stylings often trimmed with beads, feathers, shells (more of the pagan, elemental connection) or other ornaments—often, as with the other cast members, her sartorial details are highly suggestive of the emotional tone of the moment, a wry comment upon a plot movement, or a connection to other characters. Remember the green shirt with the hemp leaf outlined in green rhinestones? Cleverly masked by a pendant crafted from a single peacock feather? What about the medieval corset get-up from the musical episode? That scene by the pond looked lifted straightfrom a Renaissance faire, complete with dancing wenches. There’s a Celtic myth flavor to it, the spreading trees by the water; is this Avalon? Are these two beguiling priestesses of Arthurian times, Nimue and Morgan Le Fay; straight out of a pre-Raphaelite painting by Burne-Jones? Close your eyes and smell the orchard. Listen to the birds.
    Ah, the musical episode. How can one fail to wax rhapsodic about Amber Benson’s singing voice? A pure, shimmering soprano, but with a power and warmth behind it that belies Tara’s tendency to stammer and pause before speaking softly. We saw her improvement with this, her growth in confidence as her relationship with Willow progressed and she felt loved and validated. The song “I’m Under Your Spell” celebrates this flowering forth of self (even as it is an ode to