Last night we finished watching season 5 of "Buffy," and this morning, when I awoke and lay there thinking about the events of the finale, I felt the type of pain in my heart that afflicted me after seeing The Return of the King. This time it was gentler--for one thing, the series isn't over for me yet, whereas LoTR was through, and that was half of the hurt--but still it's there, hovering around my thoughts all day. With RotK the other half of the sadness was empathy; I felt like I had just said goodbye to Frodo and Gandalf and Bilbo at the Grey Havens; and with "The Gift" this tenderness is empathy too.
Sure, I know Buffy isn't dead for good--there are two more seasons for cryin' out loud (though I do not know how she comes back, so don't spoil me, please)--but what matters is that all her friends believe she's dead, and we have to helplessly watch them stand around stricken and weeping. *sniffle*
So I guess actually it's more like the fall of Gandalf at Khazad-Dum, or the Choices of Master Samwise. Exquisite grief with a big ol' shot of confident hope.
I also feel I should say something about Glory: well, I hate her of course; but also I love watching her. A spoiled snotty bitch of a god--what a perfect villain for Sunnydale! Clare Kramer truly shone in her manic performance.
I hear season 6 is "dark." I can appreciate dark, as long as it's not dull. I look forward very much to the angstiness.