Good Omens truly is a delight. The mini-series, based on Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s 1990 novel of the same name, came out in 2019. Starring the brilliant David Tennant and Michael Sheen, who are both powerhouse actors and absolute chameleons in whichever role they take on, play a demon and angel, respectively. At its core, the show is about an unlikely/forbidden friendship that is struck up between the two over a span of six centuries, and who secretly work together to put a stop to the Apocalypse which is set to happen in current day. That is Good Omens summed up in one sentence; but today’s post will not be delving into the show’s plot points or narrative structure. Rather, it will be looking at the relationship between Crowley (Tennant’s demon) and Aziraphale (Sheen’s angel) and how the show canonizes queerness and explores the gender spectrum.
Seeing the relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale unfold is legitimately thrilling. Crowley’s dry wit and Aziraphale’s sunny demeanor create perfect harmony. More than anything, we see the complexities unfold between the two of them, becoming instant friends even despite their supposedly opposite doctrines (Heaven vs. Hell). The way Crowley is able to coax out a level of deviousness in Aziraphale, and vice versa with Aziraphale coaxing out moral goodness in Crowley, results in a Yin and Yang type situation. They balance each other out. Rather than following their respective sides’ rules, they follow their instincts and, ultimately, their hearts.
One of the inevitable byproducts of the relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale—both in the books and the show—is the massive fandom that came out of it, Ineffable Husbands.
This is the official “ship” name (short for relationship), and honestly? It makes complete sense. Though we never see physical or sexual interactions take place between the two characters, we see love unfold nonetheless, which helps to remind us that physicality is not the only way to express romantic love. Though it’s unfortunately a trope that we have been fed for a long time, especially in mainstream storytelling mediums, it’s one we should try and abandon. A meaningful relationship between characters does not have to culminate in a kiss, in sex, or any physical interaction at all in order to be validated. In fact, it does not even require expressing the words “I love you” – because though words matter, it is often within the actions that we see love properly unfold.
While some may interpret the relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale as merely platonic (which in itself is a valid interpretation), there are many of us who interpret both the covert and overt nuances of their relationship as something more than platonic friendship. Now, here’s where I’ll get into why it’s so important for the relationships in storytelling that hint at queerness to be openly accepted and encouraged by its creators.
First, let’s delve into the opposite of what I just described: queerbaiting.
Queerbaiting is a marketing technique for fiction and entertainment in which creators hint at, but then do not actually depict, same-sex romance or other LGBTQ representation. They do so to attract (“bait“) a queer or straight ally audience with the suggestion of relationships or characters that appeal to them, while at the same time attempting to avoid alienating other consumers.
Wikipedia
Despite the incredibly dubious nature of this marketing ploy, queerbaiting is something that countless shows and films have done. Sherlock (2010 – 2017) notoriously did this with Sherlock and Watson, but a few other major shows come to my mind. One is MTV’s Teen Wolf (2011 – 2017), wherein the writers blatantly rejected the Stiles/Derek (“Sterek”) fan pairing even though the onscreen chemistry was unbeatable. I’d also be remiss not to point out the longstanding Dean and Castiel (“Destiel”) ship on CW’s Supernatural (2005 – 2020), whose relationship status continues to be embroiled in a tug-of-war between creators and viewers. Even though the third-last episode of the series excited longtime Destiel fans by offering a scene that potentially canonizes the Dean/Castiel relationship, we won’t truly know if this is the case until the finale airs later this week. Depending on how the show ends, we will see whether or not this relationship was executed in a way that’s either harmful or beneficial for the queer community.
Needless to say, it has continually taken a toll on queer people and allies to be constantly rejected, patronized, shamed, made fun of, and defended against simply for “daring” to pick up on the obvious queer subtext in shows, films, and books. It’s absolutely unfair to be conditioned to think that we can’t normalize queer storylines between characters: and yet, we must not bat an eye when heterosexual pairings get slapped together, even when there is a complete absence of chemistry or sense behind doing so. It’s unfair to expect queer audiences to rejoice at any inkling of subtext we can get, and to think we’re satisfied at not having the real thing. But queerbaiting is simply not good enough, and in fact, is actively harmful to the queer community by not giving us true, fully-formed representation.
For marginalized groups—in this specific case both the queer community as well as for those who don’t conform to the gender binary—representation is everything. It’s tiresome to pick up on queer vibes only to know it will likely never be canonized (a word that, when applied to storytelling and history, means “accepted as genuine“). Though forums like fan fiction allow writers to explore queer and other underrepresented storylines without abandon, it is nevertheless important to have the people actively involved in the narrative canonize and make space for, or at the very least encourage, queer storylines.
I could go on and on about queerbaiting (I have in the past and will continue to do so in future posts), but, I digress.
In the Good Omens book, ethereal figures like angels and demons are not assigned a gender or genitalia: all the book says on it is that “angels are sexless unless they specifically make an effort”. Because of this factor, the spectrum of gender and sexuality is explored throughout the show, particularly in Crowley’s character, who adapts a gender fluid aesthetic throughout most of the scenes we see him in. As well, characters like the angel Michael and demon Beelzebub, who are historically classified as “male” characters, are played by female actors in the show. Many viewers also interpret Crowley and/or Aziraphale to be asexual, which is especially meaningful given that asexual representation in media is still very scarce. The best part about all of these deviations from traditional gender roles? No one blinks an eye about any of it in the show. In these ways, Good Omens is a show that helps take the pressure off of labelling ourselves (because though labels can be excellent and validating for some, they can also be very limiting and restrictive for others).
Here’s what Neil Gaiman, who is both co-author of the book as well as the creator, writer, and showrunner of the mini-series, had to say about the relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale:
What’s so rewarding about this statement is that the subtext of love is very clear. The show’s creator is not telling fans to quell their queer interpretations, but is in fact openly encouraging it. Even Michael Sheen, who plays Aziraphale, played his character as one who is in love with Crowley, and David Tennant who plays Crowley noted that any love story aspect is up to the viewer to interpret how they wish. This is what differentiates a show like Good Omens from shows that employ queerbaiting. Because if nothing else, Gaiman’s public statement on his Twitter essentially canonizes anybody and everybody’s queer interpretation of Crowley and Aziraphale.
Gaiman’s words, coupled with the fact that he actively encourages fans to write fan fiction and fill in the gaps how they please, shows that it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t confirmed it to be any one way or another. What’s important is that he’s confirmed that it is a love story, and that viewers can interpret the nature of this love and these two characters however they see fit, whether it’s queer, homosexual, asexual, pansexual, demisexual, aromantic, trans, nonbinary, or otherwise.
More creators should take a note from those like Gaiman, and understand that not wanting to “alienate audiences” by actually bringing queer storylines to fruition is legitimately ass-backwards. Because really, how is the world ever going to become more accepting if they don’t ever see anything other than straight cis-ness on their screens?
Good Omens is very much a show that is full of adventure and hope, ultimately showing us that love really can conquer all. Through its ups and downs, throughout any cheesiness or silliness, it brings us joy. It shows us a relationship between two characters who have been told that they are enemies, but who actually realize they are both good at heart and more complicated than they are “supposed” to be. And unlike so many shows and films that focus too heavily on the tragic side of being queer, there is no “Bury Your Gays” trope in Good Omens. Because as much as it’s important for storytelling mediums to show narratives of queer tragedy, pain, and hardship, it’s equally as important to show queer narratives that show us unadulterated happiness and other complex storylines (ones that have been endlessly granted to heterosexual narratives).
Representation is incredibly important, and it’s about time that we start normalizing the spectrum outside of cisgendered heteronormativity in mainstream media. In Good Omens, what we learn is that Crowley and Aziraphale find beauty in identifying more with human behaviours, values, and morals than their respective sides of Hell and Heaven. They realize that they have each have their own independent autonomy, despite all odds.
So if a couple of otherworldly beings can learn from us, why can’t we — as storytellers, creators, and audiences — learn from them?
~ Z ~
