Could Crowley Be The Ultimate Romantic?

Could Crowley be the ultimate romantic?

(aka why this character is imprinted into our souls, as in Aziraphale’s as well)

I was thinking about Anthony J. Crowley, as people do, wondering why I became so fond of a demon snake in sunglasses from a fantasy comedy. Yes, he’s a cool demon snake in sunglasses shaped as David Tennant, and that’s might be enough, but other than that… how could this happen? What charm does this character exude that attracts so many of us? (Yes, Aziraphale, I'm talking to you too.) There's not a right answer - people relate to fictional characters for multiple reasons. But I want to talk about the undeniable aura of romanticism that Crowley embodies and that, more or less consciously, many of us perceive.

First of all, when I talk about romanticism, I don't mean the term in a sappy, cheesy kind of way. l’m referring to the magnetism of those larger-than-life characters, who are capable of great feelings, actions and passions, often misunderstood and with a sense of self-loathing, but kind-hearted and willing to perform acts of self-sacrifice. Is it really possible for our demon snake to have some traits of the romantic hero archetype? Let’s see.

Troubled past. Since romanticism and tragedy are usually connected in fiction, it isn’t uncommon for romantic characters to have a tragic past. Crowley was once a powerful angel, a star maker, but he was also naïve, childish and a little bit silly. We see him admiring the stars, giggling and wrinkling his nose. He was innocent. He was sure he was loved by God. Then he dared to ask some questions and Heaven rejected him, cast him away from his stars and gave him eyes like those of a snake to prevent him from seeing those same stars clearly again. This heavy trauma, never truly overcome, is still affecting Crowley’s present: the cynicism, the weariness, the distrust, but also his vulnerability are consequences of that. The worst part?

“I only ever asked questions. That's all it took to be a demon in the old days. Great Plan? God, you listening? Show me a Great Plan. Okay, I know you're testing them, you said you were going to be testing them. You shouldn't test them to destruction. Not to the end of the world.”

In moments of suffering, Crowley still raises his head and dares to ask Her questions, questions that will obviously remain unanswered.

The outsider. Romantic heroes are almost always outsiders. There is something that sets them apart from everyone else. Our former angel, former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell, a non-human being living amongst humans certainly falls (no pun intended) into this category. Not human and yet more than human, Crowley has a sense of freedom and a strong personality: he defies conventions, he cannot live according to the laws imposed by the system, but only on his own side, however lonely it is. We see his tendency towards isolation: a demon different from the others who wanders the Earth, without a proper home, who needs a safe space to rest and so lives in his car, in a constant survival mode.

Painful present. That fragile, peaceful existence on Earth, always on the verge to be destroyed. Not satisfied with taking his stars away from him, heaven isn’t done with Crowley yet. There’s always something - the armageddon, Jimbriel, the Metronome - that comes to haunt him, to freshen up his heavenly trauma. Endowed with a strong personality on one hand, victim of circumstances on the other - a textbook example of a romantic character - Crowley feels that he doesn’t deserve to be loved. But that doesn't mean he doesn't want love. Despite his attitude "I don't need anyone, I can stay on my own and run away if necessary” he ends up for always staying and doing everything he can for his Angel. That’s why when Aziraphale tells him “you’re at liberty to go” we see Crowley sitting in his car, exhausted and defeated. Those words mean “you have the liberty to go and be alone, because you’re worthless”. This is not what Aziraphale meant, but it’s what Crowley heard. Of course this sense of unworthiness comes back in the last 15 minutes, when Crowley, after Azira’s rejection, really feels to be unloved and unlovable. Nothing but a tempting demon after all.

Dramatically brooding. “What's the point of it all? Heaven, Hell, Demons, Angels. That it's all... well, pointless”. This is unavoidable. Textbook romantic characters usually are tall, dark, handsome, and brooding. The grumpy ones with a heart of gold. And Crowley is no exception. He’s indeed grumpy - Muriel can confirm it - he has trust issues, he reacts sharply when Aziraphale calls him nice, because he sees that word as a reminder of his angelic self. Crowley is the one who is supposed to be the bad guy but, despite what he has suffered, is still kind. However the struggle can become dangerous.

“I want insurance.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why not?”

“It would destroy you. I'm not bringing you a su1c1de pill, Crowley.”

“That's not what I want it for. Just insurance.”

We know that Crowley will use the holy water against Hastur. But that brief moment, as he softly says “why not?” makes you wonder what Hell did to him that a fate worse than discorporation became an option. And why Crowley seems to accept it with such a calm resignation.

Dramatic bitch (affectionate). Aka, oooh lord heal this bike. Basically the funnier side of the previous point. I talked about larger-than-life characters. Everything and I mean literally everything about Crowley is up to eleven. The snarky remarks, the cool clothes, the… I don't know how I should call them… Crowley’s sounds - do yourself a favor and watch this - the swag, the walk™, the conflictual relationship with chairs (to be fair, this can be a David Tennant’s thing), every single one of his movements is over the top. And, even when he sits doing nothing, Crowley still stands out. (Especially if he sits leaning so much to Aziraphale that he might as well turn into a snake and wrap himself around him like a scarf.)

Which leads to the next point.

Magnetism. The thing with romantic characters is that we are attracted to them. Otherwise, what would be the point? And Crowley of course is attractive, but he's much more than that: he's magnetic. Whether he's yelling "you're out of order" at a bunch of demons, or making fun of a bunch of angels, Crowley exudes charisma. His emotions are profound and attract those around him: the sheer force of wonder with which he looked at the stars was enough to attract Aziraphale. You can imagine beings of all kinds following him, you can think of him as a leader: he could be a duke of hell if he wanted to. And if you're still here, reading this mess just because I'm talking about Crowley, then you too have surrendered to his magnetism.

Connection with nature. What does convey the idea of ​​romanticism more than the nature as a living, infinite force? Crowley may have been cast out of Heaven, but he sure loves God's creations. Let’s see: goats, ducks, whales, dolphins, unicorns, gorillas (what are they putting in bananas these days?) and… nightingales. Crowley seems to be connected to all living beings and fiercely tries to protect them - in the series, at least. Maybe because they’re innocent, like he was when he was an angel. Not to mention that he’s a snake and that his plants are a reflection of himself.

Most of all, Crowley loves humanity. As the serpent of Eden, he literally kickstarted humanity, giving it the freedom of becoming what it is. He’s shocked by the Flood, he protects Job's children, he tries to avoid the Armageddon. Crowley is an immortal being, he has seen the best and the worst of humanity since from the beginning and still loves humans and their inventions (like his Bentley or… romantic movies).

Imagination. Romantics believed that imagination was the contact between the immensity of the universe and the mind of every being. Thanks to the connection between the mind and the physical world, the imagination is the key to the creative process. And it’s also what set Crowley apart from the other demons, what made him do his “hellish work” with very little malice, what allowed him to survive, driving the car into the fire of the M25.

Crowley, once a star-maker, is still a creative force. Because, deep down, he’s still an optimist, who tries to create love between Nina and Maggie. He’s still silly and a bit naïve. And, deep down, he’s also an idealist, who gives to Aziraphale the means to understand the system's flaws.

But Crowley is also capable of…

Great passion. *thinking about how to write the ALT description of the gif, giving up… it is what it is, read it or not, let’s move on*

We have seen how deeply Crowley feels with his entire being. He is passionate in all his emotions: the desperation when he believes to have lost Azira in the fire, the despondency with which he tries to turn to God in his flat, and of course the immense extent of his heartbreak in the last 15 minutes. Even the emptiness that Crowley experiences after losing Aziraphale to Heaven at the end is itself an all-consuming emotion, not a lack of one. And, if I were Mr. Brown, I would think twice before trying to hit on Aziraphale, so as not to incur the wrath of Mr. Anthony JealousofhisAngel Crowley. But, when it comes to Aziraphale, we must talk about…

Repressed feelings. Crowley may not be aware of his romantic feelings for Aziraphale (maybe), but everyone else can see them clearly.

“You've been together long?”

“Who?” (*facepalm* who? Come on, Anthony)

“You and your partner.”

“Oh, no, no, it's not... it's not like that.”

“It certainly looks like that from here. So you've just recently hooked up. You got a husband? Or a boyfriend? Is the book selling your bit on the side?”

“He's not my bit on the side. He’s far too pure of heart to be anybody's bit on the side. He's just an angel... I know.”

The way he says “I know” will be etched into my mind forever. Aside from that, we see how Crowley holds Aziraphale in high regard and at the same the level of his self-loathing. Aziraphale has such a pure heart, how could he, a demon, dare to think he could be with him? The scene is constructed as a moment of great epiphany: we see Crowley walking away from Nina mumbling the word "love". It's as if he's thinking: so… all this time… I've done nothing but love him?

The next scene is the one of the picture above. The most romantic scenario you could ever imagine: a French bistrôt, the red wine, the fairy lights, the red rose. (The rose is haunting me. Crowley's table is the only one with a red rose: did he choose it on purpose? Did he miracled the rose because he saw in a movie that red roses equal love? Why… ok, enough about the rose). Crowley literally whistles to Aziraphale to make him join him, but the angel - despite being totally smitten - doesn’t have time, because he’s organizing the Ball. The Ball which is just an excuse to have his Jane Austen-esque romantic moment with Crowley. The whole thing is so convoluted that I want to cry.

Then Crowley goes to deal with Jimbriel, because if there's one thing we know about Crowley it's that he loves to play the…

Knight in shining armor. For his angel in distress. A classic romantic trope. Crowley is brave and rescuing Aziraphale makes him so damn happy. Whether that means appearing into the Bastille, or hopping on the consecrated ground next to a font of holy water, our good old fashioned lover boy doesn’t leave Aziraphale on his own. And this isn't just about Aziraphale: Crowley stops time to delay Satan, leads the humans out of the bookshop surrounded by demons, risks and presumably suffers torture from Hell for helping Elspeth. Crowley is heroic in the most literal sense and has a remarkable sense of self-sacrifice.

Forbidden love. An epic, star crossed, forbidden love between an angel and a demon, hereditary enemies. They are each other's forbidden fruit. Forbidden and out of reach. But Aziraphale has disobeyed God, giving the flaming sword to Adam and Eve. He has proved to be willing to learn. He has offered Crowley an actual shelter, underneath his wing and in his bookshop. Aziraphale finds pretty Crowley’s yellow eyes, those eyes that Crowley believes he has to hide. Despite what someone (and Crowley) might think watching the final 15 minutes, Aziraphale wants Crowley exactly for who he is. They influenced, inspired and shaped each other for centuries to the point of becoming an “us”, a microcosm which is only the two of them. We see them help each other in situations of great danger, but we also see glimpses of intimacy, of domestic life, of what it could be if heaven and hell were out of the picture. We see them together at the Ritz, while the nightingale song is playing and Crowley is looking at Aziraphale like he’s more beautiful than his lost stars. And maybe with a bit of desire.

Ok, maybe a lot of desire.

Longing. Aka, can I watch? When I said they are each other's forbidden fruit, I didn't mean it only metaphorically. Prohibition increases desire. Aziraphale’s enjoying (himself) the food - despite heaven’s repressive teachings - and Crowley is (sexually) into watching Aziraphale while he’s allowing himself to have pleasure. This is not about the food, it’s the loudest subtext ever. And it’s not even that subtle. We have a flashback about it. And I know that the ox ribs scene isn’t supposed to be sexual, according to NG, but… or he’s making fun of us, or someone REALLY misunderstood the assignment. Crowley and Aziraphale are both into this. The romantic concept of the forbidden fruit has a strong sexual undertone. Freedom from Heaven’s oppressive system - from Adam and Eve onwards - also includes the freedom to choose whether and how to explore sexuality. Aziraphale knows that Crowley takes a voyeuristic pleasure into watching him eating and proceeds to eat in front of him on every chance he gets. We see him moaning while he enjoys his scrumptious meals and we see Crowley staring at him clearly turned on: the whole thing has an obvious sexual connotation and you can’t convince me otherwise.

This, on the contrary, isn’t sexual.

Tragic ending. Here we close the circle with the beginning: a tragic past, a tragic ending (for now).

"And I would like to spend..."

The pathos of this line, the way Crowley’s voice breaks, the attempt to conceal the tears, even the awkwardness: this is romantic. Tragically, desperate, heartbreakingly, but unapologetically romantic. Crowley allows himself to be vulnerable, showing himself without the barrier of sunglasses, and tries to explain what’s in his heart. Deep down, I think, all he wants is to be reassured to be loved, to be worthy, to be safe. But the moment he starts to speak he already feels defeated and that kiss which could have been the catharsis of previously repressed feelings ends up marking their farewell.

Whether the term is used in its most literary, in its more trope-y or in its most classic sense, from his tragic past to his rejected confession, Crowley is a romantic figure. His emotionality, his imagination, the creative strength, the need for freedom, the conflict with the system, the bond with nature, the being over the top, but also the pain, the suffering, the heartbreak in the last minutes contribute to making him a character more complex than you might expect from a fantasy comedy.

His relationship with Aziraphale is equally steeped in romanticism, perceivable, with ever greater intensity, in each of their interactions over the centuries. Whether it's subtext or what we see plain and simple on the screen, the love is there. Even the kiss, which isn’t supposed to be romantic in itself is a moment when “they’re at the center of their universe and everything is spinning around them”. One of the most blatantly romantic imagery you can ever imagine.

(Since along the way this post seems to have turned into a love letter to Crowley… yes, Aziraphale may have ghostwritten it.)