Look, I’m not even going to pretend at some kind of ‘objective’, whatever the Hell that means, or clinical discussion of Good Omens. The 1990 book, a collaboration between Neil Gaiman and the late Terry Pratchett, two of the greatest fantasy writers of the modern age, is a masterpiece and one of my favorite books ever written by anybody ever about anything. I’ve had to buy multiple copies because I keep foisting mine on unsuspecting friends and never seeing it again, and honestly it doesn’t bother me because however much that’s cost me is nothing compared to the knowledge that there’s more people out there reading and loving Good Omens.
So, yeah, I’m invested.
Gaiman and Pratchett are brilliant writers on their own, but that collaboration, coming right as their careers were really starting to pop, brought out the best in both men. Pratchett’s genius for plotting and narrative structure provided a rock-solid framework that Gaiman’s other prose work often lacks, while Gaiman’s anarchic imagination lent the story a wild, dangerous edge that Pratchett’s formality didn’t often feature.
From pretty much the moment it was published, Good Omens was under threat of adaptation, usually involving some former member of Monty Python or other. It became a running joke that for as widely loved and well-known as the book was, it was never going to actually make it to screen. Pratchett passed away in 2015, and that seemed to be the end of the matter, as Gaiman vowed that as the book had been a collaboration between the two of them, no adaptation could go forward without Pratchett.
That changed when Gaiman received a letter written by Pratchett himself, to be delivered after his death. In the letter, Pratchett urged Gaiman to make the Good Omens adaptation that they both would have wanted, and so Gaiman put every other project on hold in order to finally, finally bring Good Omens to life.
The six-part miniseries premiered on Amazon Prime last week, and it faithfully adapts the story of Crowley, (David Tennant) formerly ‘Crawley’, the demon who took the form of a snake and tempted Eve, and Aziraphale, (Michael Sheen) the angel at the gate of the Garden of Eden. The duo were assigned to Earth by their respective sides and charged with tempting humans to evil and goodness, respectively. But the demon and the angel quickly realized that humans are capable of both evil and goodness that Hell and Heaven could never conceive of, and so the duo have spent the last few millenia just kicking back and enjoying each fresh disaster and miracle that humanity comes up with it.
That all changes when some demons drop in on Crowley and hand him a baby in a basket. It’s the Antichrist, and soon Judgement Day will fall upon the earth. Crowley and Aziraphale become determined to avert the apocalypse, kicking off a bizarre, hilarious series of misadventures that comes to include witches, witchfinders, maggots, aliens, Atlantis, Tibetans, hellhounds, books of prophecy, did I mention the maggots?, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, nuclear war, and did I mention the maggots because there’s so many maggots you guys.
I loved the Good Omens show, but like any good nerd I am of course not completely satisfied. So, below is my exhaustive, entirely-too-long breakdown of what worked and what didn’t in the Good Omens miniseries. Read on for the heavenly, the hellish, and inbetween.
WHAT WORKS: Aziraphale and Crowley
This is the beating heart, the narrative engine, and comedic lynchpin in Good Omens, the one element upon which all else rests, the one thing you have to get absolutely right above all others to be considered even kind of a success.
And they nailed it.
It should be noted that neither Tennant as Crowley nor Sheen as Aziraphale is doing an exact approximation of their character from the book. Sheen’s Aziraphale is much more tormented about the nature of his friendship with Crowley, and all his various other indiscretions away from Heaven’s orders, while Tennant leans hard into Crowley’s rock star nature. The trailers didn’t sell me on Tennant’s approach, but the second he struts out of his car with Mick Jagger hips and a droll greeting to his fellow demons, I was all aboard.
Tennant and Sheen have astronomical chemistry no matter what historical or cosmological scenario they find themselves in, and the Good Omens show leans hard into that bond. It was a running gag in the book that the demon and angel were mistaken for a gay couple, but it’s no joke on the show. As written by Gaiman, and played by Tennant and Sheen, the Crowley/Aziraphale bond is fully a romance, all buried longing and stolen, lingering glances. Funny and sweet and just wicked enough to be interesting, Crowley and Aziraphale are Good Omens in a microcosm, and the show does more than right by its iconic central duo.
WHAT DOESN’T WORK: There’s still not enough for Aziraphale and Crowley to do
Who’s to say why Good Omens proved so difficult to adapt for so many years. The reasons are no doubt, heh, legion. But I imagine one of the stumbling blocks must always have been a bit of structural wonkery that sidelines the central duo for much of the book. Basically, after a hundred or so pages of their wonderful double-act making a mess of the end of days, Crowley and Aziraphale go their separate ways and promptly drop out of the narrative almost completely. Instead the book spins off to touch on the many different players in the apocalypse, only checking in on the angel and demon sporadically. And the duo don’t get reunited until the very end, at which point they’re almost entirely irrelevant. That’s very much in keeping with the thematic underpinning of the story (it’s humanity that saves the day, not arcane and mystical forces) but it was always something of a disappointment.
Gaiman preserves the narrative structure of the book almost exactly, and so, once again, there comes a point where the demon and the angel drop out of the story. Gaiman tries to compensate by giving Sheen and Tennant a bit of business while they’re off in the margins, including a lengthy flashback charting their journey over the centuries from enemies to frenemies to actual friends to bestest of best friends, but there’s no escaping the feeling that the show about the angel and the demon is an entirely different show from the apocalyptic business happening elsewhere. Every time the show cuts from the apocalypse to follow Crowley and Aziraphale, the story grinds to a halt. And every time the show cuts from Crowley and Aziraphale to follow the apocalypse, the show becomes significantly less funny and fun. It’s a division that never gets truly resolved.
WHAT WORKS: Frances McDormand as God
The funniest character in the Good Omens book isn’t Crowley or Aziraphale or any of the heavenly host, hellish hordes, or human inhabitants. Nope, the funniest character is Gaiman and Pratchett in their role as narrator, filling in each bit of narration with jokes and asides and tangential bits of tomfoolery that are hilarious even on the second-third-fourth-fifth-etc. read.
This would seem to be impossible to incorporate organically into a filmed version of the story (and, indeed, every so often Gaiman does transfer narrated bits into spoken dialogue, like Tennant remarking that he didn’t fall so much as “saunter vaguely downward”. As a book-fan, these moments delighted me, but they may stick out like awkward thumbs for someone who doesn’t know where the line originated) but the device of having the narrator be God Herself allows Good Omens free-range to cherry-pick the best bits, as well as include concepts and plot points that are require a bit more explanation (like the nature of Dog, the entire inciting baby-swap incident, etc.).
And who better than Frances McDormand to voice the Almighty? With her inimitable blend of honey and steel, McDormand’s presence as the otherwise-absent deity deftly steers Good Omens through its myriad tangents and roundabouts.
WHAT DOESN’T WORK: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch
And on the flip-side, here is a literary device that never really gels in this new format. The prophecies (both nice and accurate) crop up throughout the book, and it’s some of the most playful material Pratchett and Gaiman ever penned, as they found delightfully convoluted ways for Olde English to elliptically describe modern matters. The prophecies do not end up playing as big a role in the endgame of the story as you might expect given their prominence throughout the story (they guide Newt and Anathema to their spot in deactivating the apocalypse but that’s about it) but who cares? They’re a shaggy bit of fun and an endlessly inventive feature of Good Omens’ comic universe.
But in the show, there’s just never enough time to flesh out the book, or its importance, or the nature of the prophecies. Gaiman leaves out a key piece of information regarding why the book, for all its accuracy, isn’t as helpful as it ought to be (Agnes Nutter was a smart woman, but she was also a half-mad woman living in the 17th century trying to describe planes, cars, computers, etc.). Instead of being an oddball bit of color, the Agnes Nutter stuff falls flat much of the time, even as some gags (such as Newt’s horrified reaction to learning that not only was his tryst with Anathema prophesied in the book, but generations of her family have jotted encouragement [and suggestions] for them both) continue to work like gangbusters.
WHAT WORKS: Shadwell and Madame Tracy
There may be no single performance that diverges as wildly from their book counterpart than Michael McKean as Witchfinder Sgt. Shadwell. The Shadwell in the book is a braying lunatic, turned (to quote another Michael McKean-featuring property) to 11 at all times. As written, Shadwell is an aggressive flurry of oblivious idiocy who’s lovable because he’s harmless beneath all his bluster, and sort of adorable in his pathetic nature. McKean can play the heel like nobody’s business, but his Shadwell is a more subdued, melancholy creation. He still asks everyone he meets how many nipples they have, but there’s a sweetness to Shadwell that McKean brings front and center, and a rumpled sort of dignity that makes you damn near respect his dogged determination, this despite the aforementioned nipple fixation.
McKean’s gentler take on Shadwell also lends his relationship to Miranda Richardson’s Madame Tracy a genuinely playful, even flirtatious vibe. In the book, Shadwell hurls endless invective at the psychic/courtesan neighbor, but McKean all but purrs the “Hoor of Babby-lon” lines, while Richardson is all suppressed giggles and defiant ladyship. While their eventual romance is waaaaaaay down the bottom in terms of overall screen-time and importance to the story, it’s some of the sweetest material in the quite-sweet Good Omens, cozy and intimate in a way that the rest of the show is sometimes too busy and wacky to achieve.
WHAT DOESN’T WORK: Newt and Anathema
Your mileage is going to vary on this one, as I’ve always found Newton ‘Newt’ Pulsifier and Anathema Device, on their own and together, to be last among equals within Good Omens, and nothing in how the show tweaked and depicted either character made up the difference. Both Pratchett and Gaiman have, for much of their careers, leaned heavily onto the trope of, ‘Hapless Idiot Bumbles to Heroism, and the Cool Girl Who Rolls Her Eyes But Loves Him Anyway’, and Newt and Anathema are so deliberately cut from that cloth as to be utterly boring.
I don’t want to blame either Jack Whitehall as Newt or Adria Arjona as Anathema, as their material just isn’t as strong as the juicier stuff that Tennant and Sheen and the ensemble involved in that part of the show get to play. But both actors deliver very stilted performances, as though they are unsure whether to play their scenes towards either comedy or sincerity and instead end up stuck somewhere in between. Gaiman twigs the story enough so that Anathema gets to be slightly more active in her own fate, but Tiffany Aching or Coraline Jones, she is not.
WHAT WORKS: The New Stuff
As faithful as Good Omens is, (and it is at times exhaustively thorough in porting over the book) Gaiman still used the time afforded by the miniseries format to stuff it full of new ideas and characters that make for a cinematic version of the story that is as dense as the novel. So this time out, we actually get to see Heaven and Hell and get a sense of how both managements conduct business. Heaven is a spacious, shimmering, and quite cold penthouse view, while Hell is a squalid, over-stuffed basement office like something out of Terry Gilliam’s last nervous breakdown. And a couple times an episode, Jon Hamm pops up as the archangel Gabriel, playing this ancient celestial being as a cross between the airheaded authority of Michael Scott with the chilly, dead-eyed detachment of Patrick Bateman. Hamm’s having a fine old time, ably toggling from a dunderhead to something much more dangerous.
Gaiman also included a lengthy flashback sequence (it takes up half an episode) charting Aziraphale and Crowley’s evolving relationship. Besides offering an excuse to put David Tennant in a number of wild hairpieces, this stretch allows Gaiman to play through multiple different genres, from Biblical epic to spy thriller to 70’s crime caper. That the show can go from the sickening despair of the crucifixion to the gleeful heights of silliness of Tennant Minister-of-Silly-Walks-ing around a church speaks to the huge range of emotion and story possible within Good Omens. It may be new, but it feels utterly of a piece with what came before.
WHAT DOESN’T WORK: There’s still so much missing
Even as faithful as it is, even at six hours at length, even still, there are scenes from the book that hit the cutting room floor that break my heart not to see realized in the show. Some of that is just preference, a kind of dumb entitlement that my favorite bits are special and great, your favorite bits can go screw. Gone is the heart-stoppingly beautiful episode involving a Londoner helping a tree magically grow. Gone are the moronic bikers who try to join in on bringing about the end of days, only to meet hilarious grisly ends. Gone are the scenes fleshing out how the Horsemen have been interacting with humanity, material that is as funny and white-hot furious as anything either man ever wrote. Gone is Aziraphale’s misadventures body-hopping across the globe until he finds his way back to London. Oh, so the maggots get included but not these A+ scenes and moments?
At other times, it feels like Gaiman preserves the set-ups to jokes, but leaves out the punchlines. So he keeps the split-second glimpse of an elderly, Elvis-esque fellow working happily in a diner, but he leaves out the moment when Death remarks that he never touched The King. And he leaves in the bit of narration encouraging the audience to pretend that the disposable baby in the original Antichrist switch ended up living a happy, normal life, but he leaves out the bit where it gets confirmed that this happy ending actually happened. Good Omens the book is as deceptive in just how tightly plotted and carefully orchestrated it ends up being, but the show ends up being a fair sight more scattershot.
WHAT WORKS: The Beginning
The first episode of Good Omens is as confident and nimble a comedic piece has been since, I don’t know, Russian Doll earlier this year? Between establishing the ‘rules’ of this world, explaining the nature of Crowley, Aziraphale and their bond and agreement, and laying out and deploying the convoluted Antichrist switcheroo that sets the story into motion, that is a lot of business to handle in one go, but Gaiman’s script makes it look easy. The zingers fly easy, the cast rattle off exposition without ever sacrificing character, and the visuals flit delightfully back and forth from absurd to creepy and back again. It’s funny and light, but with just the right amount of teeth to let you know that you are off the edge of the map, and there will indeed by monsters. Good Omens doesn’t exactly ‘peak’ in this first episode, as there is so much great stuff in all five later episodes, but that first hour is a magic trick stuffed with endless delights.
WHAT DOESN’T WORK: The Ending
Good Omens ends with a deliberate anticlimax. All the hosts of Heaven, all the legions of Hell, and the whole wacky ensemble assembled over the course of the book suddenly find themselves completely stymied a second away from Judgment Day by the only force on Earth more powerful than the hosts of Heaven, the legions of Hell, and everything in between: An 11-year old who does not want to do as he is told. But as hilarious, fitting, and even somewhat profound as this climax plays in the book, it all lands with something of a thud on the show.
Part of that might be that Gaiman, for who knows what reason, suddenly veers off-book in a few major ways, attempting to fix something that wasn’t broken. So instead of Adam having his friends construct DIY versions of the Four Horsemen’s insignia (i.e. a wooden stick-sword instead of the flaming sword wielded by War) only to have these hokey, kid versions win out, now the Horsemen just sort of stand still while each member of the Them in turn pick up the flaming sword and stab them. Gone also is the rousing moment when Aziraphale and Crowley march towards what they believe is certain doom in an effort to protect the humans from a rising Lucifer only to be saved by Adam wishing the Great Beast, his father, away. Instead, Crowley and Aziraphale rush Adam to some kind of…mind desert? I guess? and explain to Adam what he needs to do.
I wonder if the sheer tonnage of plot simply got the better of Gaiman. In the book, the combination of Adam resetting the universe and the inability of the human mind to handle the unfathomable cosmic scope of the apocalypse results in everyone being confused as to what exactly happened. But in the show, I expect the finale to leave people confused simply because so much incident is crammed into the last hour that even with McDormand’s narration and even with Sheen and Tennant reading reams of exposition to guide you through what’s going on, it’s all a bit off a muddle.
In the end
I have my nits to pick, obviously, but my reaction episode-for-episode was a feeling of profound relief and gratitude that this story got adapted this way. Whatever rough patches or missteps may occur, Good Omens is every bit as heartfelt, clever, weird, and laugh-out-loud funny as the book, and Sheen and Tennant are so indelible as the central duo that I’m going to have to work to forget their particular cadences whenever I next read the book.
Good Omens, in all its forms, is a celebration of humanity, rejoicing in everything beautiful and horrifying within us as a species. It brings the human race to the precipice of absolute annihilation before delivering the planet to safety thanks to a boy who is neither angel nor demon, but is instead maddeningly, gloriously human.
Maybe the property would have been better served if it was adapted by someone who wasn’t quite as close to the material as one of its original authors, but as I watched Crowley and Aziraphale clink their glasses in a toast to the world, all I could think was, ‘Yup, this feels right.’ It’s never been a secret that Gaiman and Pratchett put a lot of themselves into the angel and demon, a comparison exacerbated by the authors’ own publicity photos which featured Gaiman decked out in black with his trademark glasses while Pratchett was decked head-to-toe in white.
Pratchett didn’t get to see maybe his greatest creation (I mean, I love Discworld and all but…) get brought to life, so instead Gaiman has written himself and his friend the happy ending they didn’t get the chance to share.
Job done, crisis averted, and now you can relax and enjoy the earth as it spins.
