Buffy the Vampire Slayer was, in many ways, a pioneer before its time. In 1997, serialized drama and paranormal primetime were so rarely seen they were each off the radar of most viewers (I'm probably one of a very few people my age who even know what Dark Shadows is). I fell in love with the writing first - among my other favorites, only Aaron Sorkin has anything approaching Joss Whedon's particular skill with fast-paced dialogue. I love Sorkin, dearly, but he didn't alter my vernacular. After I got into Buffy, I discovered that I could converse entirely in pop culture references (which is of some value humor-wise, Juno notwithstanding), and create an adjective by adding -y to the end of any noun. (The less likely the noun, the better.)
Buffy was a study in iconoclasty. I'm not just talking about the fact that one of the most beloved characters attempts to rape the titular lead, though that is an exemplar of what I mean. The main characters referred to themselves as Scoobies, but each individual found themselves uncomfortable in his or her role - simultaneously embracing and challenging the traditions of the ensemble cast.
The Mentor, haunted by his past, struggling with a charge who grows beyond his tutelage without ever fully embracing it.
The Witty Sidekick who knows and mourns that he's just a witty sidekick, unable to grow beyond his role.
The Brainy Sidekick who does grow beyond her role - she discovers her personal power, and it nearly eats her alive. She alone of the original gang finds pure love (with another woman, in what is essentially treated - brilliantly - as an aside), and the loss of that love sends her on a path of destruction very few iconic heroes are ever given the license to take. Yes, she is redeemed, but in a very real way that never truly closes the door on her inner darkness.
The Love Interest, who began as a one-dimensional angst-machine, and grew into a truly conflicted human (so to speak) character. His moment of greatest happiness seals his fate; in order to seek redemption for the crime of achieving that happiness, he must leave his love (and venture on to the best spinoff ever).
And the Hero. The Hero, whose darkness is tied inextricably to her gift. The Hero, who is often profoundly unlikeable. Smart of mouth, dismissive of friends, dangerously self-destructive, unlucky in love, needlessly secretive, prone to unwise snap decisions and often unable to cope with the consequences thereof. She neglects her family - as all Heroes must, but Whedon (unlike most comic book writers and nearly all TV drama writers) knows this is not a selfless sacrifice. This is the very essence of selfishness. Buffy knows how to stake vampires - she does not know how to be a daughter or (later) a sister. So she stakes the vampires.
Yes, by the end of her journey, the Hero becomes a Leader and the head of her own family - but it is the very end of her journey, the last twelve or so episodes of the seventh and last season. If George Lucas read The Power of Myth and embodied its principles in Star Wars, Joss Whedon read it and challenged each principle directly in Buffy. Some of those principles stood up in the end; some didn't. But it was engrossing to watch, wondering which would stand and which would fall.
Buffy is to be forgiven for its role as the genesis of an era in which vampires aren't for slaying anymore (razzmfrazzm sparkling razzmfrazzm daylight razzmfrazzm).
Plus, like I said, best spinoff ever.
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