Welcome back to Rewatching Smallville, my weekly dive into the iconic series that explores Clark Kent’s journey before becoming Superman. Whether you’re a long-time fan or new to the show, you’re invited to join in each Tuesday as I revisit episodes and share my thoughts and observations. Be sure to share your own memories and theories in the comments below!

After the character-focused intensity of “Onyx,” Smallville shifts gears dramatically with “Spirit,” a body-possession prom episode that feels like the television equivalent of comfort food—familiar, unchallenging, and probably not particularly good for you, but satisfying enough in the moment. It’s the kind of episode that every high school-set show is contractually obligated to produce at some point: the Senior Prom episode, complete with decorations, drama, and in Smallville‘s case, a disembodied spirit jumping from body to body in pursuit of a plastic crown.

Let’s be clear from the outset: “Spirit” is filler. It doesn’t meaningfully advance the season’s mythology, doesn’t represent a turning point for any character’s arc, and won’t be remembered as one of the series’ standout hours. But here’s the thing—there’s nothing inherently wrong with an occasional filler episode that exists primarily to give our characters a moment to breathe and engage with normal high school experiences before graduation pulls them in different directions. The problem isn’t that “Spirit” is filler; it’s that the particular flavor of filler it represents has become exhaustingly familiar by this point in Season 4.

The Possession Problem (Again)

We need to talk about how many times this season has trafficked in body possession and personality swaps. Let’s do a quick count: “Transference” gave us the Lionel/Clark body swap that was actually one of the season’s highlights. “Spell” had the witchy trio taking over Lana, Chloe, and Lois. “Sacred” brought back Isobel to possess Lana yet again. And now “Spirit” gives us Dawn Stiles playing musical chairs with the bodies of Martha, Lana, a student, Harmony, a nurse, Lois, Chloe, and briefly Clark.

That’s not a trope that’s getting tired BY Season 4—it’s a trope that’s exhaustingly overused IN Season 4. At a certain point, you have to wonder if the writers’ room just has “someone gets possessed” on a wheel they spin whenever they need a standalone episode concept. The prom setting doesn’t inject fresh energy into this worn-out premise; it just means we get to see possession happening while wearing formal wear and standing next to crepe paper decorations.

The repetition is particularly frustrating because body possession episodes require our main cast to play against type, and while that can be fun in isolation, it becomes tiresome when it happens every few weeks. We’ve already watched Tom Welling play evil Clark, Kristin Kreuk play possessed Lana multiple times, and Erica Durance play witch-controlled Lois. The novelty has worn off, which means “Spirit” is asking us to be entertained by a concept that’s already outstayed its welcome this season.

When the Actresses Outshine the Concept

That said, credit where it’s due: several members of the cast manage to make their “Dawn” performances entertaining despite the tired premise. Kristin Kreuk and Erica Durance, in particular, nail the shallow, self-absorbed mean girl energy that defines Dawn Stiles.

Kreuk’s “Dawn-as-Lana” is delightfully off-putting, all bossy commands and social calculation wrapped in Lana’s usually gentle demeanor. The jarring contrast between Lana’s typical earnestness and Dawn’s narcissistic manipulation creates an effective dissonance. When “Lana” orders the prom committee volunteers around like servants or flirts aggressively with Billy before trying to electrocute him, Kreuk commits fully to the bit. She understands that the humor comes from playing Dawn’s vapid cruelty completely straight rather than winking at the audience.

Erica Durance gets less screen time as possessed Lois, but she makes the most of it. The image of Lois in that revealing pink gown, announcing to Clark that he’s taking her to prom “whether he likes it or not,” is memorable primarily because Durance plays it with such conviction. And her later confusion—”What the hell am I doing in a dress and what the hell am I doing at your prom?”—lands perfectly because Durance has always understood that Lois’s appeal lies in her refusal to suffer foolishness, even (especially) her own.

Allison Mack’s “Dawn-as-Chloe” works well in the climactic scenes, particularly the jarring shift from Chloe’s genuine humility to Dawn’s entitled self-aggrandizement during the Prom Queen acceptance speech. The moment where “Chloe” gushes about how being Prom Queen is her “lifelong dream” and how “Dawn Stiles really deserves the crown” is effectively cringe-inducing—we can feel the crowd’s confusion and growing hostility, which makes Dawn’s violent spiral into attempted arson feel earned.

Annette O’Toole’s “Dawn-as-Martha” doesn’t quite reach the same heights, though that may be more about how the character is written than O’Toole’s performance. Dawn-as-Martha is written as ditzy and flirtatious rather than mean and manipulative, which doesn’t quite track with what we know about Dawn’s personality. Still, O’Toole commits to the weirdness of Martha dancing to loud pop music and eating ice cream straight from the carton, and her delivery of “Sue Ann Gardner is a big fat hoe” is absurdly funny.

Chloe’s Crown and Character Growth

If “Spirit” has a genuine character moment that feels earned rather than manufactured, it’s Chloe winning Prom Queen. This could have been pure wish-fulfillment fantasy—the smart, snarky outcast triumphing over the popular mean girl through the power of being likable. And honestly, it kind of is that. But it works because we’ve watched Chloe evolve significantly over four seasons, and especially over this season since learning Clark’s secret.

Early-series Chloe could be abrasive in her pursuit of truth, often prioritizing the story over the people involved. She could be manipulative when pursuing her romantic interest in Clark, and her jealousy of Lana sometimes manifested in subtle put-downs or pointed observations designed to make Lana look bad. That Chloe probably wouldn’t have won Prom Queen, and frankly, she wouldn’t have deserved to.

But Season 4 Chloe, post-secret revelation, has softened considerably. She’s channeled her investigative energy into genuinely helping people rather than just chasing stories. She’s supported Lana without the undercurrent of rivalry. She’s been there for Clark in ways that demonstrate real friendship rather than romantic calculation. Her article denouncing the “obsolete archaic tradition” of prom royalty as something that “ruins the high school experience” feels consistent with her character while also showing growth—she’s critiquing the institution without being cruel to the individuals involved.

Clark’s line to her at the prom—”Remember all those regrets we were talking about? I think not seeing you with a crown on the top of your head would be at the top of the list”—is genuinely sweet because it acknowledges how far she’s come. The students voting for Chloe as their “battle cry” against the popularity hierarchy makes sense as a narrative device, but it also feels like the show acknowledging that Chloe has become someone worth celebrating.

The Kryptonite Knowledge Continues

One of the episode’s more significant developments is Chloe witnessing Jonathan use meteor rock to force Dawn’s spirit out of Clark’s body. It’s another piece of the puzzle falling into place for Chloe, another element of Clark’s alien biology that she now understands. Just as her learning about his abilities has enriched their relationship rather than complicated it, her continued discovery of what makes Clark the Kryptonian that he is works well for both characters.

Chloe’s knowledge of Clark’s secret has become one of Season 4’s consistent strengths. Unlike Lana, who will eventually learn the truth and make it all about betrayal and trust issues, Chloe has proven herself worthy of the knowledge. She protects it, uses it to help Clark, and doesn’t treat it as a weapon or a burden. Her pretending to be knocked out during the boiler room confrontation so she can witness what happens without drawing attention to her consciousness shows the kind of strategic thinking that makes her valuable as a confidant.

The episode doesn’t make a big deal of this moment—there’s no dramatic reveal, no tearful conversation afterward—and that’s exactly right. Chloe simply adds another piece of information to her growing understanding of her best friend, and life continues. It’s the kind of organic character development that happens in the margins of the main plot, which is often where Smallville does its best work.

Jonathan Kent: Professional Victim (Continued)

We need to address the Jonathan problem again because it’s becoming genuinely ridiculous at this point. Jonathan gets knocked down the stairs by possessed Chloe in the episode’s opening flash-forward, leaving him apparently injured enough that he can’t pursue her or stop the school from being burned down.

This comes one episode after Alexander shot Jonathan in the leg during the barn confrontation in “Onyx.” When I watched Dawn-as-Chloe strike Jonathan down with that fire axe handle, I actually said aloud, “Jonathan! Shot last episode and knocked out by a girl in this episode. Come on, man!”

I understand that the writers need to create stakes and jeopardy, and putting Clark’s parents in danger is an easy way to do that. Jonathan and Martha don’t have powers, they’re emotionally important to Clark, and John Schneider and Annette O’Toole are reliable actors who can sell physical peril convincingly. But at a certain point, it starts to feel less like “stakes-raising” and more like “the writers need someone to be in danger and Jonathan’s the easiest target.”

Jonathan has been heart-attacked, possessed, beaten up, hospitalized, infected, shot, and now knocked unconscious more times than I can count across four seasons. John Schneider deserves better than being the show’s perpetual damsel in distress. The character deserves better than being reduced to a plot device that exists primarily to be rescued or to motivate Clark into action. Let the man have some dignity, writers. Let him have one episode where he doesn’t end up injured, incapacitated, or in mortal peril.

The Missing Prom King and Sloppy Details

Here’s an oddity that bothered me more than it probably should: the episode makes a big deal about the Prom Queen announcement, but there’s no mention whatsoever of a Prom King. Chloe wins her crown, the crowd cheers, and… that’s it. No king announced, no couple crowned together, no acknowledgment that this is even slightly unusual.

The pilot episode established that Smallville High does traditional prom courts—Whitney and Lana were crowned Homecoming King and Queen in that first episode. So why does the Senior Prom, typically the biggest dance of the high school experience, suddenly have only a queen? It feels like sloppy writing, like the writers forgot that prom courts typically come in pairs.

I’ve never heard of a prom that didn’t have a full royal court—king, queen, and often a whole court of princes and princesses or similar titles. The omission is jarring enough to break immersion, at least for me. Was there a deleted scene where a Prom King was announced? Did the writers just not want to deal with the complication of having another character involved in the climax? Or did they simply forget that proms traditionally crown both a king and queen?

These kinds of details matter because they contribute to the world-building. When a show establishes certain traditions and then abandons them without explanation, it creates the sense that we’re not watching a real place with consistent rules, but rather a television show where things happen or don’t happen based purely on plot convenience.

Dawn Stiles: Too Shallow to Care About

Let’s talk about our antagonist, Dawn Stiles, played by Beatrice Rosen in her actual body and by various cast members once she becomes disembodied. Dawn is a stock character we’ve seen a thousand times: the popular mean girl who cares more about social status than actual human connection, who spreads rumors and manipulates people to maintain her position at the top of the high school hierarchy.

The problem isn’t that this character type exists—mean girls are a real phenomenon, and high school social dynamics built around exclusion and cruelty are worth exploring. The problem is that Dawn is too one-dimensional to be interesting. She has no depth, no hint of vulnerability or complicating factors that might make her sympathetic or at least understandable. She’s just mean because the plot needs her to be mean.

This shallowness is compounded by the “special guest antagonist” syndrome that plagues shows like Smallville. Dawn is supposed to be this ultra-popular queen bee who everyone fears and respects, but we’ve never seen her before in 83 previous episodes. We’ve never heard her mentioned. She doesn’t exist in the world of Smallville High until the exact moment the plot needs her to exist, and she’ll vanish completely after this episode ends (because she killed her actual body).

It’s ridiculous when shows do this—introducing someone who’s meant to be a major presence in the social ecosystem of a school we’ve been watching for four years, but who somehow never appeared before. If Dawn Stiles was really such a dominant force in the Class of 2005, we should have seen her in background shots, heard her name mentioned in passing, witnessed her influence on the social dynamics we’ve been watching unfold. Her sudden appearance and equally sudden importance feels artificial, like a video game NPC who spawns when you enter a new area rather than a person who’s been living in this world all along.

The Stones Subplot: Still Spinning Its Wheels

The Jason/Lex/Bridgette Crosby subplot continues the season’s frustrating pattern of advancing the mythology in the most glacial way possible while simultaneously making the actual story less interesting. Jason discovers Bridgette Crosby’s body on the Luthor mansion grounds, confronts Lex about it, and then reveals he’s been working with his mother all along to secure one of the Stones of Power.

Several problems here:

First, Bridgette Crosby’s unceremonious off-screen death feels like a waste of a character who represented a tangible connection to the Kryptonian mythology and to Dr. Swann’s legacy. She’s murdered between episodes, buried on Lex’s property, and then disappeared by Lex’s cleanup crew so thoroughly that Sheriff Adams reports no database has any record that anyone named Bridgette Crosby ever existed. It’s an ignominious end for a character who deserved better.

Second, Jason’s sudden heel turn into working with his mother makes no sense given everything we’ve seen this season. He’s been positioned as being against Genevieve’s schemes, protecting Lana from his family’s manipulation, trying to forge his own path separate from Teague family ambitions. And now suddenly he’s plotting and scheming with his mother, apparently having murdered Bridgette off-screen to secure an artifact? The show hasn’t earned this turn; it’s just declared it’s happening because the plot needs Jason to be an antagonist now.

Third, the entire scene where Jason shows Sheriff Adams where the body was buried, only to find a gazebo has been constructed there overnight and all records of Bridgette Crosby have been scrubbed from existence, strains credulity even by Smallville standards. Yes, the Luthors are powerful and wealthy, but constructing a gazebo and erasing all evidence of a person’s existence in less than 24 hours is absurd. It’s the kind of convenient omnipotence that makes the Luthors feel less like realistic antagonists and more like cartoon villains with impossible resources.

The stones arc has been wheel-spinning all season, introducing complications without building toward anything that feels meaningful or urgent. We’re supposed to care about these magical MacGuffins, but the show hasn’t given us a compelling reason why. What happens if someone assembles all three stones? What’s the actual threat? Why should we be invested in this treasure hunt beyond “the show keeps telling us it’s important”?

The WB/CW Prom Episode Template

“Spirit” hits every expected beat of the standard WB/CW high school prom episode. There’s drama about who’s going with whom. There’s relationship angst. There’s elaborate decorations and formal wear. There’s a live musical performance from a band that’s currently on the network’s approved playlist (more on that in a moment). There’s a dramatic revelation or crisis that threatens to ruin everything. And there’s a resolution that allows our main characters to have at least one perfect moment on the dance floor before the credits roll.

None of this is inherently bad—there’s a reason these tropes persist, and it’s because they work on a basic emotional level. Prom represents a milestone, a moment of transition between adolescence and whatever comes next. For a show about characters on the verge of graduation, a prom episode makes sense as a way to mark that transition.

But “Spirit” doesn’t bring anything fresh to the template. It’s going through the motions, hitting the expected beats without finding anything new to say about them. The “Look to the Stars” prom theme is generic. The decorations look like every other TV prom. The drama feels manufactured rather than organic. It’s fine, but it’s also completely forgettable—the television equivalent of elevator music.

Lifehouse and Musical Product Placement

Let’s talk about Lifehouse’s performance at the prom, which is the most obvious bit of cross-promotional synergy in an episode full of standard network television practices. The band performs multiple songs, including “Come Back Down,” “Blind,” “Undone,” and most notably “You and Me (Wedding Version)” during Clark and Lana’s final dance.

By my count, Lifehouse has appeared on the Smallville soundtrack multiple times across the first four seasons. They’ve contributed to both official Smallville soundtrack albums. And now they’re appearing as themselves, performing at the Smallville High Senior Prom as if it’s totally normal for a nationally-touring band to play a high school dance in rural Kansas.

The episode notes helpfully inform us that this guest performance helped “You and Me” stay on the US Singles charts for over a year, which tells you everything you need to know about why this appearance happened. This isn’t about serving the story or creating an authentic moment; it’s about Warner Bros. Records (Lifehouse’s label at the time) and The WB network (which aired Smallville) engaging in mutually beneficial cross-promotion. The band gets exposure to Smallville‘s audience, the network gets a “special event” episode they can promote, and the show gets some songs for its soundtrack.

Again, this isn’t inherently objectionable—television has always existed in a complex relationship with commercial interests, and musical performances can enhance a show’s emotional resonance when done well. But it’s also impossible to ignore how calculated it feels, how much it prioritizes corporate synergy over storytelling authenticity.

Clark and Lana: The Inevitable Dance

The episode ends with Clark and Lana finally sharing a dance at prom, while Chloe and Lois look on and Jason watches from the shadows before storming off angrily. It’s supposed to be a sweet moment, and honestly, I thought it was. It’s inevitable given that the writers are clearly not done with the Clark/Lana pairing, and there’s something genuinely romantic about these two characters who’ve been circling each other for four years finally getting their prom dance.

Tom Welling and Kristin Kreuk have real chemistry, and the show knows how to shoot them in ways that emphasize their connection. The choice to use Lifehouse’s “You and Me” for this moment is manipulative but effective—it’s a romantic song that does its job of underscoring the emotional beat. And there’s something appropriate about Clark and Lana getting this moment now, before everything becomes more complicated, before secrets and betrayals and the weight of destiny pull them in different directions.

But I’m also mostly tired of the back-and-forth of the Clark/Lana/Jason triangle at this point. It doesn’t mean much knowing that Jason is just an obstacle to the Clark/Lana pairing, a temporary complication rather than a genuine threat to their eventual reunion. Jason’s angry departure after witnessing their dance is supposed to create tension for upcoming episodes, but it’s hard to invest in that tension when we know how this story ends.

The real emotional moment in this scene belongs to Chloe, who admits to Lois that “it still hurts” watching Clark dance with Lana, a reference back to the freshman Spring Formal where Clark abandoned Chloe to help Lana during the tornado. But Lois tells her that “Chloe is headed for bigger and better things than Clark,” which feels like the show acknowledging what we already know—Chloe’s story is going to take her beyond high school crushes and into a future that doesn’t revolve around Clark Kent.

Why Spirit Doesn’t Quite Work

“Spirit” isn’t a disaster. It has some entertaining performances, a nice character moment for Chloe, and it fulfills the basic requirement of giving Smallville‘s graduating class their prom episode. But it’s also a perfect example of how Season 4 has struggled with tonal consistency and creative exhaustion.

The body-possession premise is tired because the show has already used it multiple times this season. The prom setting doesn’t inject fresh energy because the episode executes it in the most standard, template-following way possible. Dawn Stiles is too shallow to be interesting as an antagonist. The stones subplot continues to spin its wheels without building meaningful momentum. And the various conveniences and inconsistencies—Jonathan getting hurt again, the missing Prom King, Jason’s sudden betrayal—create the sense of a show going through the motions rather than pushing itself creatively.

What “Spirit” really needed was either a lighter touch that leaned into camp and fun, or a more serious exploration of what prom represents as a milestone for these characters. Instead, it splits the difference and ends up being neither particularly funny nor particularly meaningful. It’s filler that doesn’t even have the courage of its filler convictions—it wants to be a fun standalone episode while also servicing the mythology, and it doesn’t quite succeed at either goal.

The episode works best in its margins—Chloe’s character growth, her continued integration into Clark’s secret, the actors finding moments of humor in their possessed performances. But those moments aren’t enough to elevate the whole into something memorable or essential. “Spirit” is the kind of episode you watch once, acknowledge that it happened, and then mostly forget about as the series continues.

In a season that’s given us genuine highlights like “Transference” and “Onyx,” “Spirit” reminds us that even good shows produce mediocre episodes. There’s nothing particularly wrong with it, but there’s also nothing particularly right about it either. It exists, it fills an hour, and then it’s over. For a show about a boy destined to become the greatest hero the world has ever known, that’s a pretty uninspiring legacy for an episode to leave behind.

---

What are your thoughts on “Spirit”? Do you think the body-possession premise was already tired by this point, or does the prom setting give it enough novelty to work? How do you feel about Chloe winning Prom Queen? And are you as tired of Jonathan getting hurt every other episode as I am? Share your memories and theories in the comments below!