Really great post, op. Iâve always known that these little details re: Crowley and his relationship with hell affected me on a deep, instinctive level, but I havenât quite been able to put my finger on the why, or the commonalities between these fleeting instances of cruelty, the pattern underlying them, and their emotional significance. Seeing all of these laid side by side really offers a view into the sort of existence Crowley has led up to the false Armageddon.
At the risk of hijacking, Iâd like to talk about each of these moments a little bit, just because I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings on them.
1. The fire from signing the contract
Honestly, as far as I can tell, this is the moment when the show first became emotionally significant to me. I went in knowing very little except what Iâd read in about two dozen book fanfics, and the character intros for A,C, and Adam on the GO Lexicon. So I was basically watching blind, and I was going âhmmm, interesting narrative voice, great intro, oh whoâs this flash bastard with a drunk girl walk,â and then the contract signing happens and I was likeâŚoh.
That moment caught my attention. I didnât know what exactly about it did, but it did.
Looking back there are a multitude of reasons: the viscerality of the moment, the immediacy of it, and the cruel sense of surprise - who would expect signing a contract is going to involve having your hand nearly burnt to a crisp?
But also the way that Crowley deals with it. He isnât surprised. A little caught off guard, perhaps, and the expression of pain is more than real enough, but there is no panic, no protest, no confusion. Only a sense of annoyance and exasperation, shaking the fire off as if his hand being on fire is nothing.
Itâs also a really texually ambiguous moment. Weâre not explicitly told why signing the contract would ignite a small fire. Perhaps it was the enchanted paper. Perhaps it was the power of the sigil Crowley has drawn. Perhaps itâs just what happens when hell performs rituals like this. Basically we donât know from whence the fire springs in this scene: is it hell, or is it Crowley?
But wherever it comes from, the sense of danger and abusiveness is the same. Whether itâs a form of imposed self abuse, where one is forced to prove oneâs identity and provide consent in a way that harms oneself, or a more direct and upfront form of aggression involved in the everyday bureaucracy of hell (if the paper is what causes it), this moment is saying to me:
This is what being bound to hell means. Itâs being stuck in the middle of a fire physically as well as otherwise, with no way of getting out.
Itâs constant mistreatment and injury, and the pain and violence is so pervasive that it has extended even to this relatively minor action, that you really canât trace it to its origins. The mechanism is insidious: you could be the one hurting yourself, or thatâs what theyâll tell you, and you arenât in a position to prove one way or another.
The ambiguity in terms of the source of this specific pain also alludes to a larger relationship of pain, that ties together the three characters on screen. You canât really distinguish, in this scene, between victim and perpetrator, the aggressor and the aggrieved. The power relationship is complex no matter from which angle you look at it. We can talk about Ligur and Hasturâs exchange: how they seem in agreement, yet despite their mutual disdain for Crowley and seeming trust for each other, Ligur explicitly states âitâd be a funny old world if demons trusted each other.â We can look at their dialogue charged with casual threats of bodily harm, how it goes from the specified âLigur will give his right armâ, from Hastur, to the unspecified âsomeoneâs right arm,â which is definitely used to intimidate Crowley, but might also just be an honest statement. He doesnât care whose body is at risk of injury: hellâs violence is senseless, and it will take itself out on whoever happens to be within range. We can look at the fact that Crowley is being coerced into an act of evil, an act that will bring harm upon billions of humans if no actions are taken to rectify it (and oh boy does he try to rectify that), and despite that, how utterly impossible it is for him to escape that role, no matter his personal feelings. ( Not to mention: âYou will be a tool of that glorious destiny.â What does being used as a tool like that do to oneâs psyche and sense of self?) We can talk about how Hastur and Ligur deliberately throws Crowleyâs statements of self-defense back at him (âthey love me down thereâ), turning his verbal shields into their rhetorical weapons.
Hell is open melee in which the villain is everyone and no-one. Itâs who knows how many beings, all mired in eternal misery and pain, with nowhere to take it out on but each other. The only thing one is in control of is not how much pain one receives (as we see from Crowleyâs treatment; heâs escaped to Earth, and yet still completely within hellâs sphere of influence), but how much pain one gives back. Crowley tries his hardest to remove himself from this perpetual loop of suffering, choosing only to arm himself for the worst eventualities. Even so, his hand is forced in the end.
(gif credit to dailygoodomens)
Ligurâs destruction, while played partially as a joke, is highly disturbing when looked at from a non-comical angle. The death is incredibly painful. Listen to Hasturâs screams, look at his grudge against Crowley at the trial. Is it Crowleyâs fault that he had to kill Ligur? Surely not. But is it Ligurâs fault that he had to hunt down Crowley? Iâm not certain that it is, either. Heâs just another cog in the infernal machine, acting on orders, doing his job.
Itâs even more disturbing if you take Crowleyâs sense of self after the Fall into account. Being a demon is a central part of his post-Fall identity, because being a demon is being something, while being a Fallen angel is, essentially, to be nothing. The two parts of the description are non-compatible. Itâs a description of failure, of absence rather than presence, and to adopt that as oneâs identity would have been highly self-destructive - for any member of the Fallen, and especially for Crowley, who has, from what we gather, committed no serious crimes to warrant being thrown down.
(And then again, itâs not clear that every other member of hell has. Somehow I have an inkling Crowley is not the only collateral damage suffered in the War of Heaven.)
And yet, when you look at what being a demon entails - itâs just more psychological massacre. Imagine having to center your sense of self on a role that actively hurts you and destroys you, little by little, day by day. Imagine having to depend on an institution that inflicts so much pain on you, and at the same time demands from you the same kind of wanton destruction.
The relationship here is abusive to the extreme, the psychology of it borderline cannibalistic, the co-dependency resembling the Stockholm and the Lima.
This moment is, in a word, a microcosm of the ecology of demons.
2. Satanâs possession of Crowley in the car
The jauntiness of Bohemian Rhapsody masks the graveness of what happens in the scene. I think, if not for the music, Iâd have to step away from my computer for ten minutes every time I come across this scene on a rewatch.
(Although thereâs a whole other essay in terms of how the lyrics of the song interprets the scene and Crowleyâs introduction, as well. Which - oh boy.)
The rape undertones is pretty blatant and self-explanatory, I feel like. Consider also the way Satan talks to Crowley on the radio (which youâd only learn thatâs him from the script book.) Compared to Gabrielâs interactions with Aziraphale, Satanâs treatment of Crowley reminds me much more of the sort of handy, boundary-challenged behaviour typical of workplace harassment, especially from people in a position of disproportionate power over those lower than them in rank.
Aside from that, there is also the fact that had Satan ended their transmission just half a second later, Crowley would have been flattened by the lorry, along with his Bentley. Sure, he wouldnât have died, only discorporated, but the pain would have been enormous. And if heâd let the Antichrist die in the process, you know that would only mean more punishment for Crowley while he is down in hell waiting for a replacement corporation.
The sheer disregard for his personhood here is staggering.
And then again, an argument can be made that maybe this isnât disregard. Maybe this is intentional. The near-miss from the lorry could easily have been a message, a threat, an (I imagine) incredibly effective form of intimidation.
See how easily I can destroy you. I donât even need to lift a finger. You are utterly in my control.
Some excerpts from the script, because this really is an awful scene to read:
3. Airfield, Satanâs impending arrival
(gif credit to larygosomens)
JustâŚlooking at the shot makes me uncomfortable. I donât know if thatâs the same for anybody else.
This moment can get a little lost in the middle of the one-long-scene that is the first half of episode 6, I feel like, but here weâre really seeing the culmination of Crowleyâs centuries-old fear and abuse from hell coming into play. Notice heâs the only one falling to the earth from the sheer force of Satanâs rage.
But that canât be the only thing. Even after he straightens up, he sits on the ground, half paralyzed.
We can speculate on whether heâs bowled over by psychic pressure or physical pain, but here it doesnât really matter. Itâs probably a combination of the two, practically interchangeable here, one reinforcing the other echoing back to the other, a vicious, neverending cycle of panic and fear and pain, and worst of all, despair. Â
For Crowley, the character whoâd raised himself from the ground with nothing but sheer force of will and an active imagination, to be brought low again, sent to crawl upon the ground as if he had never been anything other than the Serpent, has to be the utmost form of humiliation and depersonalization. Seeing it in action, for me, is deeply upsetting and sickening, and I think itâs meant to feel this way.
This is what hell does to Crowley. They name him Crawly, dismisses his later choice of name (âwhatâs he calling himself these days?â), remind him again and again that he is no better than any of them, and that he can never, ever escape. They strip him down with torments, physical or otherwise, until heâs nothing but fear and hopelessness, and itâs only Aziraphaleâs insistence and imperative that he âcome up with somethingâ that spurs him into action - not to save himself, but to save everyone else.
But look at how hard Crowley tries to be better than what hell wants him to be. Heâs the most human of all of them, in terms of physical presentation, philosophy, as well as identification. He participates in human art and culture. He makes friends among humans. He drinks himself stupid for a week over the Inquisition. He speaks up for the unfairness of the human condition, repeatedly, as well as other animalsâ. He never lays a hand directly on any single human - nor angel nor demon, for that matter, except when he absolutely has to, re: Ligur & Aziraphaleâs execution. One is self-defense; another is defending someone else, someone he loves.
I think youâre absolutely right in saying that these moments taken together constitute a kind of relentless disregard of personal boundaries and autonomy, that Crowley has been subjected to ever since his Fall. Itâs even more tragic (when you can set aside how funny it is for a moment) to think about how in the books, Crowley proposed their new method of communication to headquarters, and theyâve now used it to hound him further. Whatever his reasons in proposing the new solution - seeking approval? Pride over his own creative intelligence? Trying to get an assignment over with? - Absolutely does not warrant the amount of punishment he has received over this throwaway contribution.
The result is that Crowley lives in constant awareness of hell, all around him, capable of intruding on his every living moment. He has never really gotten out of hell, in a way.
He is never surprised to see demons on the telly, or to hear their voice coming through the car radio. He is ever ready, ever prepared to give them a response thatâll get them off his back. Heâs always planning the next step, always considering the next contingency, always looking over his shoulder.
Hell might not have the dystopian mass surveillance capabilities of heaven, watching over everybody all the time, but theyâre plenty capable of keeping a tight watch on the only demon among their kind thatâs semi-permanently stationed on Earth. In terms of what hellâs behaviour does to Crowley, the effect is practically identical with the former. In a way, Aziraphale is one in many. His insignificance is his weakness as well as his shield; despite heavenâs outlandish technology, it wasnât until Armageddon that Michael grows suspicious and goes rifling in the archives for proof of Aziraphaleâs transgressive behaviour.
(gif credit to larygosomens)
We get the sense, however, that Crowley stands out in a glaring and unwelcome way in hell. Heâs too obviously different, not even trying to hide it. Going into hell in full human gear, sunglasses in place, speaking about some human invention? Come on. Coupled with Satanâs âfavouritismâ, this results in a kind of concentrated animosity, hatred , and distrust that we can presume has only grown over the centuries, and which is primarily represented through Hastur and Ligur.
Hellâs hatred is personal. Heavenâs hatred is impersonal. Neither is better or worse, but in practice, their effects play out in different ways on Crowley and Aziraphaleâs lives.
Iâd also like to look at another scene in the same vein.
(gif credit to psherman42wallabyway)
This is one of my favourite scenes in the whole show. Itâs got a really weird, funky vibe to it, thatâs a lot less upfront, less cheeky, and a lot darker than the tone of the rest of the show.
Itâs funny, gory, creepy, disturbing, absurdâŚ.itâs one hell of a scene.
Itâs also one of Crowleyâs lowest moments in the entire show.
Heâs just learnt that heâd misplaced the Antichrist, confirmed that there is no way to find him (unaware that Aziraphale is keeping secrets), semi-broken-up with Aziraphale over running out on the whole fiasco, all in the span of a short few days. He spent hours planning an escape in the confines of his own apartment, knowing heâd never do it without Aziraphale, broke down and began questioning God, and now heâsâŚhere.
In an empty theatre, in the middle of the day, watching a cutesy, brainless childrenâs cartoon called âSaturday Morning Funtime.â
Itâs incredibly depressing. Heâs resigned to the fact that there is no way to cover up his failure this time, that hell is going to get him, and itâs only a matter of time. What does he do with that time? He has no other earthly ties significant enough to keep him occupied. Aziraphale refused his offer. So heâs here, stewing in anxiety, executive dysfunction, and a grim awareness of his own as well as the Earthâs bleak future, painfully aware of the second greatest fuck-up in his entire existence.
The hopelessness of the situation, the macabre thoughts probably going through Crowleyâs head (all the threats theyâd told him over the years, of what theyâd do to him if he slipped up), his utter paralysis in the face of impending disaster, contrasts with the twee, mindless innocence going on on the screen. Entertainment meant for children, meant to be comforting, safe, harmlessâŚ
Itâs an incredibly provocative scene already. And then what happens?
A bunny takes off his head piece and reveals a comic version of Hastur, jarring and incongruous. Grim reality intruding on fantasy escapism, interrupting the only comfort he has right now, even here. Even when heâs doing the only thing he can to keep himself sane anymore.
Hastur talks about Warlock telling him he âsmells of poo,â and itâs funny, itâs supposed to be funny, but what comes immediately before and after are anything but.
Remember how Hastur bit his own finger until it bled when he realized his mission is a complete failure. Remember the way Crowley had poured holy water into a pail, movements smooth, practiced, imagined and rehearsed a thousand times, just for this day.
The possibility of his own destruction, imagined and rehearsed and obsessively practiced until heâd perfected it.
Crowley affects ignorance first, bald-faced, deliberately, obnoxiously obtuse. And then he taunts Hastur, words as ever being the only defence he had against hell, before Aziraphale lovingly handed him a thermos full of holy water.
Crowley says nothing else, because there is nothing else to say. No explanations, no amount of pleading will change his fate. Hastur spews the usual threats at Crowley, except itâs real this time, the reckoning is at his doorsteps, and theyâre both aware of it.
And then Hastur exits the screen, leaving a trail of bloodshed behind him, comic and absurd and gruesome in art style of childrenâs cartoons; fantasy over, the illusion of comfort unceremoniously smashed to pieces.
Crowley, for the hundred-thousandth time in his life, gets up, calls up the reserves of his courage to face down hell, bet his whole life on his inventiveness and imagination, because he has nothing else.
Well, he has Aziraphale, too, in the form of the thermos.
I canât imagine his sense of relief, when after Armageddon is over (for now), he can finally, truly breath free of hell for the first time in six thousand years. There is probably a sense of listlessness, as well. When youâve been living under that kind of constant fear and anxiety for that long, I imagine adjusting to a semi-normal lifeâŚwill not be an entirely smooth process.
As well, now he can finally define himself in terms other than the non-choice that is âdemonâ or âFallen angelâ. He no longer has to depend on hell for a sense of self, identification, occupation, or allegiance. Now he has Aziraphale, and he has the humans, and theyâre on their own side.
I imagine Crowley going to the cinemas again, to watch plotless romcoms and childrenâs cartoons, except this time itâs not as a way to escape from the horrific reality that heâs constantly living. This time, itâs just fun.
And this time, Aziraphale is by his side, too.
annaxmalina
titsay
