by Neil Gaiman
CROWLEY
You what?
AZIRAPHALE
I gave it away! They looked so miserable. And there are vicious animals, and it’s going to be cold out there, and she’s expecting already, and I said, here you go, flaming sword, don’t thank me, and don’t let the sun go down on you here . . . I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.
CROWLEY
(drily)
You’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.
Aziraphale does not notice the sarcasm.
AZIRAPHALE
Oh. Thank you. It’s been bothering me.
In the distance, Adam uses the flaming sword on some poor lion. Aziraphale winces.
CROWLEY
I’ve been worrying too. What if I did the right thing, with the whole eat-the-apple business? A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing. Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one.
AZIRAPHALE
No. Not funny at all.
The thunderstorm begins in earnest.
Buddy Holly’s song ‘Everyday’ plays, beginning with a tick tick tick and . . . Every day, it’s a-getting closer . . .
106EXT. SOHO, LONDON – AFTERNOON – 2007
TITLE CARD: ELEVEN YEARS AGO
Establishing shot of Aziraphale’s bookshop A. Z. Fell & Co., Booksellers. It’s a run-down secondhand/antiquarian bookshop of the kind you used to see lots of in London . . .
107INT. AZIRAPHALE’S BOOKSHOP – AFTERNOON – 2007
Aziraphale is answering the phone. He has not changed since we saw him as an angel. He looks like a happy, affluent, used-book dealer. He’s a kind-looking gentleman whose sartorial style runs to bow-ties. He thinks a little tartan is nifty, and would use the word nifty with pride. His bookshop is chaotic, crowded, glorious, dusty. He is sitting at a desk piled high with books.
AZIRAPHALE
. . . I would need to check the shelves, but I know I have a first edition, 1740, of Past, Present and to Come, Mother Shipton’s Yorkshire prophecies. Red Morocco binding, only slightly foxed. I think I’ve priced it at about four hundred pounds. I also have several later, less desirable editions. I’ll set it aside for you. Well, we do specialise in early editions of books of prophecy. Is there anything else you’re looking for?
Aziraphale looks through the window. (The phone conversation continues over this.)
Outside on the street, a MOTHER, holding too many bags and dealing with the meltdown of a SMALL CHILD, lets go of the stroller her BABY is in.
The stroller is rolling towards the street and the cars.
Aziraphale, irritated, concentrates. The stroller loops around and miraculously rolls away from the traffic and back into the hand of the mother, who doesn’t notice anything. Aziraphale looks pleased with himself.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)
The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter? I’m so sorry, I can’t help you. Of course I know who she was: born 1600, exploded 1656. But there are no copies of her book available. I’m not holding out on you. You could name your own price for a copy . . . No, I can’t name my price, I don’t have it. Nobody has it.
He writes down a phone number.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)
There really is no need for that kind of language.
108EXT. BT TOWER, LONDON – EVENING – 2007
It’s 7:30 p.m. in midsummer; the streetlights are going on, and people are leaving their offices. One person is going to work: Crowley is wearing stylish, very black sunglasses and a very nice suit. He is carrying a clipboard and a Thermos flask. His hairstyle is perfect for somewhere around a decade ago. He glances around a little theatrically. He puts on a day-glow orange donkey jacket.
He hangs an identity card on a lanyard around his neck. Then he walks in to the BT Tower building lobby.
109INT. BT TOWER, LONDON. LOBBY – EVENING – 2007
A security desk. Behind it, a bored female SECURITY GUARD does a crossword.
CROWLEY
Rataway Pest Control.
SECURITY GUARD
I thought your lot weren’t due in until tomorrow morning.
CROWLEY
Preliminary inspection. Traps go down tomorrow. My job’s to tell them where to put them.
SECURITY GUARD
I’ll take you up there.
She gets up from the desk.
SECURITY GUARD (CONT’D)
Don’t touch anything you don’t have to. Lot of important stuff, that floor. Mobile phone services, that sort of thing.
110INT. BT TOWER, LONDON. LIFT – EVENING – 2007
Crowley and the security guard are in the lift.
SECURITY GUARD
It’s terrifying. I put down a tuna sandwich yesterday, never saw it again. Health and safety closed off the top floors as a health hazard until you lot get here.
CROWLEY
We’ll soon see them off.
SECURITY GUARD
Sunglasses?
CROWLEY
It’s my eyes.
111INT. TOP FLOOR BT TOWER, LONDON. LIFT – EVENING – 2007
The lift dings, and Crowley steps out. The floor is empty. Night lighting. But we hear a SCRATCHING.
Crowley looks around.
Every surface is alive. A nose. Sharp teeth. A twitch of a tail. RATS. Hundreds of them! Tiny sinister red eyes glowing at us from all over. A beat, then they move – they are coming towards us!
Crowley walks forward. He takes out his Thermos, unscrews the top, pours himself a cup of steaming tea.
And Crowley . . . smiles.
CROWLEY
Beautiful job! Thank you all so much, men!
A lady rat chirps angrily.
CROWLEY (CONT’D)
And, yes, obviously, ladies too. Nice job! You can all go home. And, yeah, stay cool.
112INT. COMPUTER ROOM – EVENING – 2007
He walks into a room filled with computer and BT equipment. All of it old-fashioned and out-dated: the computers of yesteryear, and some cables.
Lots of green and red lights flashing.
Crowley pours his tea onto the unit. Then he pours the rest of the tea from the Thermos.
All around the room CONSOLE lights start to flicker. Something electronic buzzes.
113INT. COMPUTER ROOM – EVENING – 2007
Console lights flickering. And then they start to GO OUT.
114INT. BT TOWER, LONDON. LOBBY – EVENING – 2007
Crowley exits the lift. The security guard is back at her desk.
SECURITY GUARD
That was quick.
CROWLEY
Left something back in the van.
115EXT. BT TOWER STREET – EVENING – 2007
Crowley walks out of the lobby. Quick cuts: on the pavement is a BUSINESSMAN on an old-fashioned pre-smartphone phone.
BUSINESSMAN
No, I understand. That’s why we have to close this now. So. Seventy grand. Our final offer. What do you say?
And then he shakes the phone. Tries redialling, and we follow Crowley, who is taking off his jacket, past people on the pavement: a WOMAN . . .
WOMAN
No, Gavin, you can pick me up here. I’m on the corner of . . . can you hear me? Hello?
. . . and a TEENAGE BOY.
TEENAGE BOY
Look, I know I kissed her at the party. But I mean, that doesn’t mean I wanted to dump you. I’m really sorry. I’m really . . . hello? Hello?
Over this we can hear a telecom voice saying, ‘We are sorry. All circuits are busy.’
And Crowley is smiling. What a wonderful day.
He reaches his car, a beautiful vintage Bentley sports car, and sees a note – ancient brown paper under the windscreen wiper. Puzzled, he opens it and reads.
He looks at his watch. He’s late. It’s no longer a beautiful day.
He drives away, at speed, leaving the crumpled note in the gutter, where it begins to burn.
&n
bsp; 116INT. CROWLEY’S BENTLEY – EVENING – 2007
He reaches down and finds a CD. We can see the CD label: it’s Mozart. Slams it into the CD deck in the car. A driving song by Queen begins to play . . .
And as he drives, we see a TITLE CARD with GOOD OMENS on it, and hear our GOD:
GOD (V.O.)
Good Omens. Being a Narrative of Certain Events occurring in the last eleven years of human history, in strict accordance, as shall be shown, with The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter.
TITLES SEQUENCE
117EXT. A WOOD – NIGHT – 2007
A small wood, near a church.
GOD (V.O.)
It wasn’t a dark and stormy night, but don’t let the weather fool you. Just because it’s a mild night doesn’t mean that the forces of evil aren’t abroad. They are. They are everywhere.
Rising from the ground are two very evil-looking gentlemen: one squat and monstrous, LIGUR; one tall, thin and no less monstrous, HASTUR.
They reach down, and, carefully, pick up a wicker picnic hamper. And head for . . .
118EXT. A GRAVEYARD – NIGHT – 2007
A small country churchyard. Possibly ruined. Rather creepy. We move through it slowly . . .
It’s misty, and brrr.
GOD (V.O.)
Two demons lurk at the edge of the graveyard. They’re pacing themselves, and can lurk for the rest of the night if necessary, with still enough sullen menace left for a final burst of lurking around dawn.
Hastur has been hand-rolling a tobacco cigarette. He puts it in his mouth, lights it with a flame from his fingertip. In the flame’s light, we get a good look at them.
They don’t have horns, they wear vintage suits and shabby raincoats, but they aren’t human. Weird eyes. Skin like frogs, or pitted with terrible acne. They are trying hard to pass for human, but not even the fog is helping.
LIGUR
Gissa drag.
Hastur hands him the cigarette.
HASTUR
Bugger this for a lark. He should have been waiting for us.
LIGUR
You trust him?
Ligur gives the cigarette back.
HASTUR
Nope.
LIGUR
Good. Be a funny old world if demons went around trusting each other. What’s he calling himself these days?
HASTUR
Crowley.
119EXT. ROAD – NIGHT – 2007
Crowley, still speeding, looks in his rear-view mirror. A police car, behind him, turns on its blue light.
CROWLEY
No.
And now the siren starts.
CROWLEY (CONT’D)
I do not have time for this.
120EXT. POLICE CAR – NIGHT – 2007
Two POLICE OFFICERS are thrilled to be doing a high-speed chase in the fog. No, really they are.
OFFICER FRED
The nutter’s doing a hundred and ten. In the fog. You know what this means?
OFFICER JULIA
We get to do a hundred and fifteen. Brilliant. What the hell kind of car is that?
OFFICER FRED
Vintage Bentley, I think. Come on, nutter. Pull over.
CUT TO:
121INT. CROWLEY’S BENTLEY – NIGHT – 2007
The noise of the siren is starting to get to him. Crowley, irritated, snaps his fingers.
CUT TO:
122INT. POLICE CAR – NIGHT – 2007
OFFICER JULIA
(into police radio)
In pursuit of a speeding vehicle. Vintage Bentley. And we’re . . .
The police car engine makes a whining sound, and then it slows down and stops.
OFFICER JULIA (CONT’D)
We’re having mechanical problems. Over.
CUT TO:
123EXT. POLICE CAR – NIGHT – 2007
The police car, on the side of the road. Fog. The car’s steaming. They open the bonnet.
We move from Officer Julia to Officer Fred: they look horrified and confused. And now we look at the engine.
Where the engine ought to be is . . . staring up at us . . . RATS?
124EXT. A GRAVEYARD – NIGHT – 2007
Ligur and Hastur, still lurking. Hastur crushes the dog-end under his foot. We can see a little more of the object behind him.
A car’s headlights approach in the fog.
HASTUR
Here he comes now, the flash bastard.
LIGUR
What’s that he’s drivin’?
HASTUR
It’s a car. A horseless carriage. Didn’t they have them last time you was up here?
LIGUR
They had a man walking in front with a red flag.
HASTUR
They’ve come on a bit since then.
A car door slams.
HASTUR (CONT’D)
You ask me, he’s been up here too long. And he wears sunglasses, even when he dunt need to.
We look from Hastur’s TOAD-LIKE eyes to Ligur’s FROG-EYES, and we suspect why Crowley might want to wear sunglasses.
Crowley is sauntering up the path. He stops. They stare at him.
HASTUR (CONT’D)
All hail Satan.
LIGUR
All hail Satan.
CROWLEY
Er. Hi guys. Sorry I’m late, but, well, you know how it is on the A40 at Denham, and then I tried to cut up towards Chorleywood—
Hastur interrupts him.
HASTUR
Now we art all here, we must recount the Deeds of the Day.
CROWLEY
(‘We do’? Oh, I remember this.)
Of course. Deeds. Yeah.
HASTUR
I have tempted a priest. As he walked down the street and saw the pretty girls in the sun, I put Doubt into his mind. He would have been a saint, but now, within a decade, we shall have him.
Ligur makes approving guttural throaty noises, as if this is the best thing he’s ever heard.
CROWLEY
(politely)
Nice one.
LIGUR
I have corrupted a politician. I let him think a tiny bribe would not hurt. Within a year we shall have him.
Hastur hisses approval. They stare at Crowley. Him next. But that’s good, because he has the BEST one . . .
CROWLEY
You’ll like this.
We look at their faces and know that they won’t.
CROWLEY (CONT’D)
I brought down every London-area mobile phone network tonight.
There is a baffled silence.
HASTUR
Yes?
CROWLEY
It wasn’t easy. I had to send rats into the BT Tower, and I had to pour tea into the network controller, while the backup system was offline for maintenance . . .
HASTUR
And what exactly has that done to secure souls for our master?
CROWLEY
Oh come on! Think about it! Fifteen million pissed-off people? Who take it out on each other? Who take it out on everyone else? Ruined days. Ruined nights. The knock-on effects are incalculable . . .
LIGUR
It’s not exactly . . . craftsmanship.
CROWLEY
Head office don’t seem to mind. They love me down there. Guys, times are changing. So, what’s up?
Hastur reaches down and picks up the object at his feet. Some kind of wicker basket. He hands it to Ligur, who grins unpleasantly . . .
HASTUR
This is.
CROWLEY
No.
LIGUR
Yes.
CROWLEY
Already?
HASTUR
Yes.
CROWLEY
And it’s up to me to . . .?
LIGUR
Yes.
CROWLEY
You know. This sort of . . . well, it really isn’t my scene.
LIGUR
Your scene. Your starring role. Take it.
HASTUR
Like you said. Times are changing.
LIGUR
They’re coming to an end, for a start.
CROWLEY
Why me?