Y empiezan las esquelas. En este caso, es un crítico del Evening Standard (lo bueno de las bitácoras es que siempre encuentras a alguien por ahí que piensa lo mismo que tú pero lo expresa mejor, aunque sea en inglés):
Buffy the Vampire Slayer has been, quite simply, one of the best written, best acted, most ingenious and most inventive TV shows of its era. It has combined and deconstructed a fistful of notionally incompatible genres: teen soap, supernatural horror, social satire, gothic romance, action-adventure and comedy, of both the slapstick and sophisticated varieties, all served up with crackingly witty dialogue and Hong Kong-movie influenced martial-arts action.
In the world of Buffy – or, as the show’s fans call it, the Buffyverse – the traumas of teenage life take on an uncomfortably solid reality. When Buffy, grounded by her mother, is caught sneaking out of her bedroom window, her mom points out that all teenage girls feel that if they can’t go out tonight, the world will come to an end, except that in Buffy’s case, it will. All teenage girls worry that the first time they sleep with their boyfriends, he’ll turn into a monster in the morning. Guess what…
It is, moreover, a show where moral questions are rarely clearcut. Good people can do bad things and bad people good, for both the right and the wrong reasons. Beloved characters can die – Buffy herself has died twice – and sometimes these are not supernatural deaths reversible by magic.