I wanted one thing from Good Omens Three – and that was for it to happen. In 1989, even before the publication of their first joint novel, Neil Gaiman and Sir Terry Pratchett brainstormed a sequel. It would be called 668: The Neighbour of the Beast, and would feature new characters, like the Archangel Gabriel. Aziraphale would, in one scene, for presumably good reasons, watch an R-rated film in small increments to try and discern the plot. And Pratchett knew exactly, nearly word for word, how it all should end. Sir Terry Pratchett’s dying wishes to Neil Gaiman were to televise Good Omens and tell the rest of the story, which, in 2019, he began to do.
“In my eyes, Good Omens Three is both an absolutely perfect and very flawed film”
Good Omens Three could have been a fifteen-minute cartoon or a six-episode series, and so long as it was (a) televised and (b) finished, Pratchett’s wish would have been fulfilled. From this perspective, series two served to set the events of series three in motion, and (what would have been) series three would serve to make sure that the last ten minutes happened. As long as they achieved these aims, the Good Omens team would have done right by Pratchett. And I think, from that angle, they did.
On a personal note, I cannot overstate how much I adore Good Omens. I have absorbed everything (from the New Years’ Resolutions that Gaiman and Pratchett wrote for Aziraphale and Crowley in 2005, to the KitKat advert that inspired it in 1987) with an enraptured and uncritical eye. Anything in the Good Omens universe is more than good enough for me, really, by virtue of it being in the Good Omens universe. I believe you could put a 90-minute video of black and white blobs moving around a bookshop with David Arnold’s score over the top and I would still sit there vibrating in excitement. (Come to think of it – I actually have done that).
I am labouring under three layers of cognitive dissonance here. My desire for Good Omens to pay proper tribute to Sir Terry has been satisfied, so as an undiscerning Good Omens devotee, I am thrilled. As a reviewer, I feel more complicated. And so in my eyes, Good Omens Three is both an absolutely perfect and very flawed film. Since the book’s publication, reviewers have gone for pun-filled extremes – I do not think the series was ‘heavenly’, though, and I do not think the film was ‘hellish’. I think, like its central theme, it demands a bit more nuance.
“I think, like its central theme, it demands a bit more nuance”
It would be impossible to write a nuanced review without addressing the difficulties that Good Omens underwent. Owing to allegations of sexual assault, Gaiman stepped away during production, and, consequently, what would have been a full series dissolved into a Theseus’s Ship of a film. On board the ship: Gaiman (somewhat, having jumped overboard), Pratchett (very slightly), John Finnemore (wonderful in his own right, but only there to tie up some plotting), and Peter Atkins and Michael Marshall Smith (who began to steer it post-Gaiman departure).
The Gaiman–Pratchett alchemy of the book is unreplicable, but tonally the film makes a good effort. The glorious oddities of Adam’s storyline in series one, for example, are somewhat paralleled by an endearingly mundane and pizza-touting Jesus. The costumes (by Kate Carin) are, as ever, gorgeously idiosyncratic. The dialogue remains vibrant and witty (though less sharp). Plot-wise, it feels the effects of its doubtless uncomfortable accordioning, but rallies quite well against them. The pacing is off – especially in unfair comparison to series one – and smaller plotlines are not given scope to reach their conclusions, but the central characters were handled well, and I think this is what most of us wanted.
I say this next part, however, with a slight caveat, because I have harboured a characterisation quibble for some time – since series two, in fact.
Aziraphale and Crowley, in the book and series one, were foils to each other. Book-Crowley had a general distaste for things like compassion, but was partial to the hedonism and company of Earth. Book-Aziraphale, for the most part, did not have much regard for the rules of Heaven, preferring instead to surround himself with the self-indulgent pleasures of earth, and breaking rules when he believed he knew better. The notion of saving the world for the love of it itself was a subplot – somewhat dwarfed by the unpleasant prospect of what would be waiting for them in hell and heaven respectively, should it end. Over time, Aziraphale grew into his own as a rogue vigilante law-breaker and Crowley, begrudgingly, developed a fondness for humanity.
“Crowley was fast-tracked, then, and stagnated, perfected – his only discernible flaws being disillusioned apathy and loving too much”
The Crowley of series two, though, is not “just a little bit, a good person” – he is the goodest of the good. He saves children, helps Aziraphale realise his folly, saves children again, helps Aziraphale realise his folly again… The Crowley we see in series two does not need any significant character development; he has been complete since the beginning. Certain scenes in series two (especially in the ‘minisode’ set in Edinburgh) read less like Crowley and Aziraphale learning to get on, and more like platonic dialogue. Crowley provocatively and magnanimously leads Aziraphale to the natural, ethical, out-of-either-box conclusion. His rejection of human compassion is purely cosmetic, in his scowls and snarls and attempts to look more evil than he is, but he’s already very much made up his mind. Ultimately, Crowley is not between heaven and hell, he is above them.
You can doubtless see sartorial similarities between Crowley and Gaiman, but the connection runs deeper. The unpublished Good Omens prototype William the Antichrist features an in-between-ish hybrid of Crowley and Aziraphale, a demon who (I would argue) ultimately has more in common with the former than the latter. This demon was an affectionate parody of Neil Gaiman, by Terry Pratchett.
I therefore have two interpretations of Crowley’s apparent shift into trans-celestial infinite wisdom, leaving Aziraphale behind to continue being humanly flawed and illogical. One is much less charitable than the other, and it is this: I do, partially, believe that Crowley became a subconscious vanity project for Gaiman. It is difficult to overlook the correlation between the time when he assumed full creative control and Crowley’s transformation into a creative, artistic visionary, who did not so much “saunter vaguely downwards [towards hell]” as heroically rebel against an incomprehensibly cruel despot.
“Considering the difficulties that this film went through, it has rallied extremely well”
My second interpretation is that all of this was supposed to set up Crowley’s final choice. If you take Book-Crowley at the start of his journey (only begrudging Hell because it’s personally convenient), and place him at the end, I think we all know he would not make the decision he made. (At risk of huge spoilers, I’m leaving this unsaid). Essentially, we needed quite extraordinary amounts of character development, and Good Omens series one did not get there. Crowley was fast-tracked, then, and stagnated, perfected— his only discernible flaws being disillusioned apathy and loving too much, for the next series and also the film.
I do not think this will detract from anyone’s enjoyment of Good Omens Three, though. Ultimately, it is a moving, funny, pacy and thrilling end to a decades-long story. Though it hardly needs saying, Sheen and Tennant are superb. Any faults in the script are more than compensated for by their peerless on-screen chemistry, and Sheen’s impressive knack of seeming like a vessel for (in this case, celestial) possession. I’ve gone from being staunchly opposed to any ending with even the faintest hint of unhappiness, to entirely supportive of one. It was written with Pratchett magic and beautiful catharsis, and felt like an ending very true to its beginning.
Pratchett’s dream has, I believe, been fully realised, and carried out with grace, passion and care. Considering the difficulties that this film went through, it has rallied extremely well, and managed to preserve both the beautiful love story at its heart, and the humanism in its veins.
