#ballet!good omens

[nohaijiachi]

I want to see Aziraphale do the apology dance in S3.

But not in modern day. I want to see him do the apology dance in a flashback, mostly because I literally just want to see Aziraphale doing the apology dance. (He'd be so friggin cute!!!!)

He shouldn't do the apology dance in modern day because that implies he was entirely wrong and Crowley was entirely right. He's not. They are both right and wrong at the same time. That's it that's the post.

[bird-slayer-brainrot]

Three steps forward into the light.. - Good Omens au

Good omens ballet fic - Aziraphale as a noble and Crowley as a ballerina and their strange little friendship. Read tags for more.

Being a man of good status, wealth, and shy demeanor, Aziraphale was abundantly aware of his own flaws. He had learnt them young, and spent his time masking those inadequacies.

Particularly, Aziraphale was all too aware of the sin of greed.

It was the story of the first woman Eve that Aziraphale had become fascinated with this. His governess had reacted harshly to Aziraphale's questions, and had had to threaten him with taking away his literature lessons if he didn't stop. Aziraphale had sorrowfully accepted this. But it did not stop his want to know.

He quite liked books, and his collection had grown substantially as he'd gotten older. He was the only child of wealthy parents. He didn't mind this, as it gave him plenty of times to read. The irony of having no choice but to seek companionship in the people he read about

Apart from this, Aziraphale had all the strappings of a fine Englishmen of quality lineage. He had developed a taste for fine foods and wines, and was known to indulge in these pleasures. He was a decent enough conversationalist on the occasions where he chose to venture out into society. He was well liked amongst his staff, extended family and social circle. He was, overall, quite content with his position in life.

There was a knock at the door of his study. Aziraphale gently set the book he was reading down. His housekeeper, Mrs Williams, entered the study and curtsied.

"Sir, your carriage is out front as you have requested."

"Very good." Aziraphale nodded, checking his timepiece. It was a quarter to six, and the ballet was set to start at 7:30pm. Aziraphale pondered this for a moment. He had not yet had dinner, but it would have to wait until after the show. Mrs Williams left the room, her quiet footsteps tapping down the hall. Aziraphale took that moment to once over his appearance, flattening out the cuff of his shirtsleeve before heading out the door.

The resounding thunk echoed against the stage walls. Crowley gasped as the floor punched against his bare feet. Freezing, Crowley listened for any sign of footsteps.

He would be punished if they found him here, practicing, when he was supposed to be asleep. But the risk was worth it for the rest aching, used muscles would bring him once he returned to bed.

He'd been doing this almost as long as he'd been apart of the company. In the beginning, it had been a way of getting a little extra practice in. He never danced more than two hours of those nights. Eventually, however, he had started coming because he couldn't sleep. It was his routine now. But tonight, it brought him no comfort.

Crowley slid on his sweater and tugged on a pair of tattered socks and stood up. He climbed the stairs to his room, carefully, avoiding all the ones that creaked. He opened the door to his small room slowly. Returning to his bed, he shut his eyes, knowing he wouldn't sleep.

Beatrice, their company manager, had broken the noise exactly a month ago, deliberately having waited until their morning rehearsal had ended, to make the announcement.

Crowley hadn't heard it, but he had known what she was saying even as a siren blared in Crowley's head upon her condemnation. That evening, he had thrown up. The next day, Bea had sent him out of rehearsal upon his arrival. Crowley slept that day, and rehearsed that night.

The last month had been the only time in years that Crowley had managed to sleep decently at night. The combination of extra rehearsals for their final performance, and the pressure that accompanied auditions for every ballet company he could reasonably aspire to join left his worn down. But the alternative was poverty.

As a male ballerino approaching physical decline, Crowley was all too aware that he had run out of time. It would take a miracle to find another position after Solar completed their last show. Crowley had only ever danced. He was nothing else.

La Sylphide's opening night approached fast. The ritual the dancers observed on concert days was undertaken slowly. It remained unspoken, the shared fate of the dancers. Crowley had known most of them his whole life.

The noise of the audience claiming their seats echoed through the small rehearsal room behind the stage. While they had a month of shows planned, a sense of finality claimed him.

As a performer, he knew what to expect when he stood in position on the stage. Someone was counting beside him. He breathed in. The curtains rose.

There were roses in his room. There was always roses in his room. Luckily, Eric had decided to sit them out of the way after the sharp word Crowley had had with him last time after petals had fallen all over his writing desk.

It was a success, earning a four minute standing ovation. Bea had told him afterwards. Crowley couldn't say he cared exactly. While he had underdoubtedly danced well, the years spent in this same, familiar routine of practice, fittings, show, crowds had dampened the effect a successful show had had on him when he was young. He had skipped out on celebratory drinks with the other dancers. What he wanted now was to crawl into bed and hibernate. His limbs shook with exhaustion, and he was tired too.

If he had expected some grand revelation by the end of the second act, he would be disappointed. He shut his eyes, and tried to sleep.

Applause followed the finale of the ballet. Aziraphale watched as the dancers took to the stage once more to bow. When he exited the auditorium, he removed his coat. It was a warm night. His servant waited for him with the carriage, and he climbed in.

-

It was the strange way James - or the ballerino playing him - approached each step of the dance with a miserable foreknowledge of his own tragic fate.

Aziraphale could admit he was one for these indulgences. It wasn't unusual for Aziraphale to reserve a box at a particular opera or concerto he liked several nights in a row. But it was this uncanny dancer that was the reason Aziraphale found himself at the theatre again the next night. It wasn't as though he intended to try and speak with the dancer, or even the head of the company. He just wanted to see it again.

When he left the theatre, he immediately regretted sending his carriage back to his house. The weather had changed dramatically in the few hours since he had arrived. Aziraphale was fond of walking, however, and it would give him time to think. He wasn't sure whether he was upset, angry, or vindicated when the ballet ended again that evening with jubilant applause. Indeed, he spent the entire evening locked on to the lead, watching for any change from his debut. Yet there was nothing but the same melancholic sadness that shadowed each move. Aziraphale found in infuriating.

A loud thumping noise to his right spooked him out of his post-show haze. Aziraphale realised he had ventured past the stage doors, where a small group of people had gathered.

At the forefront of the group was James.

Aziraphale had intended to hurry past the group, not wanting his silent, unaccompanied walk to be interrupted by people he would undoubtedly be unable to escape speaking with if they approached him to speak. He had also become well used to silent escapes. It was easier to merge in to the background of finely dressed nobles when nobody was there to speak to you. Aziraphale had gone unnoticed until the death of his parents. But years of evasion had served him well. Nobody questioned you excusing yourself when they don't even know why you're there.

There was a commotion, and Aziraphale watched as a young brunette girl he immediately recognized as the love interest to the protagonist suddenly shot forward before falling to the floor. Without realising it, he had stepped forward.

"Excuse me."

Crowley turned his head quickly. A well-dressed gentlemen, likely a theatregoer trying to speak to the dancers at the stage door, was frowning at them. Crowley snarled. This was the last thing he needed. The nonsense with Anna's lover's appearance, demanding to speak to her as she tried to get away, was already making his head hurt. Now, some fancy guy appearing suddenly, likely trying to speak to one of the girls. He didn't want to deal with this.

"What is the meaning of this?" the gentlemen demanded. Crowley stared at him. The gentleman stood patiently, one hand resting in the other. Suddenly, Anathema broke free of - Christopher, that was probably his name - and latched on to Crowley's arm, which caused him to scowl.

"Nothing's the matter here." Crowley stated firmly when it became apparent that no one else was going to speak. While Crowley immediately hated the posh prick, daring to interject himself in their personal manners because none of them could reasonably say anything about it. But, to his credit, it seemed to work on Anna's worthless ex. Until he lunged forward and hit the man.

Crowley pulled him off and shoved him away. He slid to the ground and reached for the gentleman's hand to pull him up. The man made a noise as he brushed the dirt off his back with one hand, frowning and saying something under his breath at the same time.

Crowley turned at the sound of yelling. There was a scrambling as the observers, the other dancers, moved to inform the police of what had happened. Anathema had moved to stand beside Crowley and the gentlemen, who had finally finished swiping the dirt away, and was now looking pensively at Crowley. It was then that Crowley realised that their arms were still joined together, and quickly let go.

"My, that looks terrible," announced Anathema as she reached up to graze the bruise forming on the gentlemen's cheek. Crowley looked at the man, who watched Anathema hesitantly.

"Oh dear. That's not good," the gentlemen responded. He turned his eyes to Crowley and, when they briefly met, Crowley felt an uncomfortable tug in his gut.

"Let's get you upstairs and treat it. You can't go out like this." Anathema stated, tugging the gentleman in the direction of the stage door before he had time to object.

-

Aziraphale had insisted the entire way up to what he expected was Anathema's room that he was fine, but Anathema wasn't hearing it. Anathema opened the door at the end of a short hallway lined with identical doors to a small room covered in roses.

Aziraphale was told to sit at the desk before Anathema left the room. The male, who Aziraphale had not yet learnt the name of, was reaching above a tall closet for a box. Aziraphale watched, wanting to help, but knowing he had no idea what he was doing, he remained where he was and waited.

The man rummaged through the box as Aziraphale watched. Neither of them said anything. After a moment, he found a short piece of gauze. Nodding, he shoved it into his pocket and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Aziraphale said worriedly.

The man turned, and looked at Aziraphale with confusion.

"Going to get ice." he finally said. Aziraphale realised it was the first time he'd heard the gentlemen speak.

"You don't need to." Aziraphale stood up. Then, realising he had stood up for basically no reason, fiddled with his hands.

"I mean." he inhaled. "I'm honestly fine."

"You're not." he pointed to his own head. "You've got a bruise."

"Umm." Aziraphale took a step forward. "Genuinely, I'm fine. Thank you for your help, umm."

"Crowley." the man stated blandly.

"Crowley." Aziraphale repeated. "I'm, umm, Aziraphale. And really, it's no bother. I wouldn't want to burden you."

Crowley sighed, which surprised Aziraphale until he realised that this was a normal reaction by people who dealt with Aziraphale long enough.

"Look, just let me get the ice. Wait there." and then he was out of the door before Aziraphale could object.

When Crowley returned some five minutes later, he was both the gauze-wrapped ice and a large coat.

"What's this?" Aziraphale asked.

"Coat. From costume. It's cold outside. Here, ice."

Aziraphale held it against his cheek, wincing at the contact.

"I've sent for a carriage. It should be here within the other."

Aziraphale hummed., and took the coat, resting it on his lap. Crowley, meanwhile, took a seat on the bed, not saying anything.

"Anathema, umm. has a lot of admirers."

Crowley looked up at him. He was, to Aziraphale's surprise, wearing sunglasses. But Aziraphale had manners, and didn't ask why.

"These? They're mine. This is my room."

Crowley watched as Aziraphale's eyes widened at this. He couldn't help but find humor in the mans bashfulness. It had been the last thing he had been expected from the nicely dressed gentlemen. Really, he had pinned Aziraphale all wrong.

"Well, they're all quite lovely." Aziraphale stated awkwardly. "And well deserved, I mean. I didn't mean to imply I didn't think you're worthy of roses."

Crowley wanted to pry, but the other man likely wouldn't appreciate it. Luckily, he didn't have to. Before Crowley could say anything in response, Aziraphale cleared his throat silently.

"It's just that, I noticed the way you dance for, for James, is so melancholic. I wondered why, but I didn't have the opportunity to ask."

Crowley blinked at the statement. It was no question, Crowley was well aware Aziraphale believed his own statement, and didn't require the validation. Crowley looked at the man, silent for a few moments.

"I suppose you're right." Crowley stated. Aziraphale did not say anything for a moment, and Crowley didn't either.

"My apologies." Aziraphale said after a long moment of silence. "I didn't mean to overstep."

Crowley nodded at him absently. To his credit, Aziraphale didn't say anything after, which was just fine with him. Crowley was not in the mood to argue whether or not Aziraphale was right or not. He had had enough of chattering elites with too much to say for a lifetime. He would agree if it made the time go by quicker.

The carriage pulled up outside their building and Aziraphale stood up slowly, still looking at Crowley but not saying anything. Crowley supposed he felt bad for what he had said earlier, or at least awkward about the silence that had come after. Before Crowley had the chance to offer to walk him down to the carriage, Aziraphale was saying something. Crowley blinked up at him.

"Thank you, dear, it was very kind of you." he was fiddling with the collar of his coat, and avoiding eye contact. Crowley watched as he smiled hurriedly at him, before making his way out the door quickly. He did not turn around, and Crowley did not speak as he walked away.

[tchoupiraterie]

They were a punk, she was an opera singer

They find each other in the 80’s, one was tempting a big opera fan, and the other was the favourite singer of the said man.

[cleomcdonald]

This is my story for fairy-tale bang! A retelling of the ballet Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky. First chapter today, second chapter tomorrow, and remaining chapters once a week after! Please leave kudos, comments and share with you friends if you enjoy it! 🥰

[brstudios]

New postcard print in my shop!

https://www.etsy.com/shop/BlueRoseArtStudios

[duke-hastur]

I stole your frog and make it wear this 🥰

Should I get matching outfit for you?

I already have one.

[milandsk]

Ineffable Girlfriends | F!Aziraphale x F!Crowley | Ballet AU

(they're just teenage girls, happy ah fanfic because we're children of divorce, leave me alone)

⭑˚₊‧° ♢ 𓆩♡𓆪 ♢ °‧₊˚⭑

When Aziraphale walked into the studio there were already ballerinas from other private school. She couldn't help but notice how dark-themed their leotards were.

“Aziraphale! How nice of you to come.” her headmaster Gabriel said.

“Why wouldn't I?” she didn't really like him.

He just chuckled and pointed to a short person next to him.

“I want you to meet someone. This is Beelzebub, headmistress from the other school.”

The individual came closer and Azi shook their hand.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s very nice to meet you too.”

Azi smiled politely. Gabriel and Beelzebub looked at each other with mysterious expressions.

“I think it's time to let the students know of our decisions.” said Gabriel. He clapped his hands getting everybody's attention.

“Come here guys! We got something to say.”

Blonde girl stood weirdly by Beelzebub's side while the other students mixed with each other, trying to get the closest to the headmasters. She noticed tall girl standing next to her. She raised her head to look at her. She had red hair tied into a messy ponytail. When she looked at her Azi shyly looked down at the floor.

“Together we made a decision for the two main roles of the Royal Opera House play to be distributed between the two schools. Which means the roles would be Aziraphale as the White Swan and Crowley as the Black Swan.

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Crowley didn't find that surprising at all. She was the best and she deserved this role.

She has heard of Aziraphale before - the best ballerina at the Heaven’s Private School of Ballet.

The headmasters finished announcing the other roles.

“We’ll start the rehearsals in half an hour.”

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After four hours of training Azi could feel her whole body becoming sore. The next few months are going to be amazing, won't they?

They only practiced scenes from the first act today so she didn't have the chance to rehearse with the other lead. There was a possibility they wouldn't meet each other at all at the rehearsals because Black Swan appears later on.

Blonde girl felt both anxiety and excitement in her chest. Over the last few years she became less and less interested in dancing. Her pressuring parents gave her the ultimatum - if she'll do good at ballet this last school year they will let her go study English Philology at the expensive university. Getting the leading role was already half of the success.

She walked out of the building, heading towards the metro station. Even though it was mid-October the night was so cold Azi regretted that she only wore a thin coat.

She put on her headphones and headed into the city.

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The next day Crowley walked into the Heaven’s Private School of Ballet. She would much rather prefer if the rehearsals were in her school. Yesterday she just went in after her headmistress and she didn't think of remembering the way into the studio. She was relieved when she heard footsteps at the end of the hallway.

The girl had blonde - almost white - fluffy hair and was walking with her headphones on. She was that short ballerina from yesterday, Crowley finally realised.

“Hey” she shouted “lead girl!”

The girl took off her headphones and turned around confused. Crowley quickly walked up to her.

“Sorry, I don't know which way to go.”

“Oh!” Azi exclaimed “I can show you.”

“Thanks.”

Two of the girls began to walk. The headphones on Azi’s neck were still making a quiet noise.

“I love that song.”

“What?”

“I said I love that song, ‘Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy’.” Crowley nodded at Azi’s headphones.

“Really? You know them?”

“Of course.”

Blonde girl smiled.

“I'm Azi by the way, I'm playing the-”

“-White Swan” Crowley finished. “Yeah, I know. I'm Crowley. I play the part of Black Swan.” She said carelessly with her hands in her pockets.

Azi’s smile widened.

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Over the next two months they occasionally talked and against the belief that two of the leads from two different schools would be rivals - they actually didn't mind each other at all. Azi didn't even realise when going to practice became something to look forward to. She didn't think of Crowley as her best friend or someone close to her but whenever she saw even a glimpse of her dancing for some reason she couldn't resist staring at her. She always wanted Crowley to start a conversation with her but when that happened she was being all nervous and sweaty. But then again when they didn't talk she was disappointed and wished to just spend some time with her? Azi thought that it was because she hated her but she genuinely liked her. She was confused.

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It was evening when Crowley walked into the studio. It was the day off so no one was there and she could practice in peace. She put her bag on the floor and took off her coat. The air ventilation working was the only sound breaking the silence. After stretching she began to dance her parts in quietness.

“Hi.” She heard a voice say.

Redhead stopped her turns and looked startled in the voice’s direction. Aziraphale had her blonde waves loose. Crowley only now noticed how natural and pretty they looked.

“I assume you're also here to practice after hours.” remarked Azi since the girl didn't respond. That was really stupid thing to say and she felt a little embarrassed.

“Yeah.” answered Crowley while making intense eye contact.

The girls rehearsed and didn't look at each other - at least not when the other was looking.

“Shit” Azi muttered quietly after a while. Crowley glanced at her in the mirror. Blonde girl placed her hands on her hips and breathed deeply. For some reason Crowley couldn't ignore her. She pulled herself together.

“Do you need help?” Why did she ask that?

“Oh… if you don't mind.”

Crowley walked up to her. Only two of them in a room. Azi shyly looked down.

“Um- There's a turn… I- For some reason I can't do that.” she stuttered.

Crowley came closer and stood behind Azi facing the mirror.

When Azi started turning Crowley was touching her waist helping her turn. After she finished Azi's face lit up. She turned around.

“Oh my God, it worked-” Crowley was so close, Azi could feel her breath touch her skin. Air ventilation still humming. Crowley's hands still on Azi's waist.

Blonde girl looked at her waist just realising that. Other girl softened her grip, hands falling loosely to Azi's hipbones. Crowley scanned her face trying to see any sign of disagreement.

She looked into redhead’s eyes feeling her cheeks becoming pink. She gently cupped Crowley's face, losing herself in her green eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” asked Crowley.

“Please do.” she whispered.

Crowley closed the remaining distance between their faces. At first it was just the soft brush against Azi's lips. She wanted to kiss her again but she backed up.

“I'm sorry,” said blonde girl avoiding eye contact. “I have to go.”

With that said she quickly grabbed her bag and rushed out the door.

Crowley was left alone.

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Azi couldn't sleep. She thought about this whole night. They were supposed to be friends, nothing more. And definitely not that.

She had to focus on the play, with everything at stake she couldn't afford to get distracted. It's a promise she made to herself.

Next day in the evening she went again to the studio. She told herself that it is to practice but secretly she hoped to see Crowley again.

In the hallway she already heard shuffling in the room. She stopped walking and took a deep breath. All of the sudden her mind had gone empty. She didn't know what to say - but most importantly - she didn't know what she wanted. The thought of Crowley’s hands on her waist made her chest heavy but in a good way.

She knew that it was just irrational distraction however she couldn't help the way she reacted to her.

Azi opened the door - there's no going back. When Crowley noticed her she stopped what she was doing. She didn't expect her. The redhead went for her bag wanting to leave.

“Don't go.” Azi stopped her.

Crowley stared at her, not saying anything.

“I'm sorry for yesterday.” she continued.

“You already said that.” replied Crowley “And you don't have to apologize.”

“I have to.” said Azi with a firm voice “I didn't mean to run out on you like that. I just… I guess I wasn't expecting that.”

Crowley nodded her head.

“But I enjoyed it. A lot.” Azi remarked shyly while the other girl came closer.

“I liked it too.”

They were just a few steps away from each other.

“I was scared that you would be a distraction to me, you know?” blonde girl said.

“I get that.” Crowley smirked “Aren't you scared anymore?”

Azi closed the remaining distance between them while looking up at her.

“I am.” she replied ”But I think you're a worth it distraction.”

Crowley smiled.

“Can I kiss you?” asked quietly Azi.

“Of course.”

[serpeni]

how a season managed to give me every thing i could’ve ever wanted while simultaneously shattering my heart goes to show how wonderful good omens is.

like yes the writing was incredible and the characters are phenomenal as always but neil gaiman i am IN YOUR WALLS

[ineffable-romantics]

AND YOU BETTER DO IT AGAIN

[salzsee-e]

Youtube randomly threw the gavotte variation from Flames of Paris at me and I can't help but think of Aziraphale dancing the gavotte

[emihotaru]

Aaaand this is the first finish one of my Dancers Dreamling!

I'm obsessed with this AU right now, I want to read a full story with them maybe hating each over at first, and then fall in love so hard they can't spend a minute without the other...

I love drawing bodies, and I love anatomy, even if I got some work to do about it to understand how some muscles are moving (the shoulder blades are hard, believe me^^) and drawing ballet dancers is such a pleasure... I can't stop drawing them^^

I hope you like them and I hope you're ready to follow me with them^^

On the same time, I may have an idea about a Good Omens rope dancer Crowley/ Magician Aziraphale AU... (Can someone stop my brain, please??)

[littlelodell]

Because I must.

The Red Shoes (1948) — dir. Emeric Pressburger, Michael Powell

[noneorother]

Oh my god, season 2 is The Tales of Crowley Hoffmann

I guess this has to be a series now too. Part 1 l Part 2

When Aziraphale wants to perform a show-stopping magic trick in S2E4, he is shown the "Professor's Nightmare," a rope trick, and references "Prof Hoff himself" at the end of the minisode.

Because we love double meanings so much around here, I decided to actually watch the Powell & Pressburger epic opera film "The Tales of Hoffmann," assuming it was the another P&P easter egg and the other Hoffmann (not the magician) that was being referenced.

One, this movie is unhinged. Two, this season IS The Tales of Hoffmann. Allow me to explain...

There are shot for shot quotes literally everywhere throughout the season.

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Automaton Ball) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Ball"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Hoffmann watches Stella perform) & Good Omens Season 2 "The one with the zombies"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Clerk in Automaton Ball) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Ball"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Antonia, Hoffman & Antonia) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Clue Crowley & Aziraphale"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Prologue) & Good Omens Season 2 "The one with the Zombies"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Giulietta Banquet scene) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Clue Banquet scene" *By the way Hoffmann wears a goatee for this tale

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Prologue "Dragonfly dance") & Good Omens Season 2 Prologue "Before the Beginning" *This is Stella and un unknown devil drangonfly, NOT Hoffmann

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Antonia) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Clue"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Antonia) & Good Omens Season 2 "The one with the Zombies"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Automaton Ball) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Ball"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (End credits through Hoffman's glasses) & Good Omens Season 2 end credit scene.

Stella & Aziraphale. This one makes me laugh.

There are SO MANY MORE, but tumblr has an image limit. Seriously, it's nuts.

2. It seems simple and straightforward, but it's not at all

" Why would ambitious filmmakers simply film an opera? Many admirers of the work of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger have assumed that their decision to make The Tales of Hoffmann (...) was in some way an admission(...) that they couldn’t go on making their edgy, over-the-top melodramas after the rejection and interference they’d suffered (but) there’s a case for considering The Tales of Hoffmann as one of the finest and boldest works that Powell and Pressburger produced, so far ahead of its time as a wholly “composed” film, combining visual and musical elements, that it has still not been fully appreciated... Late in his life, Powell himself said that he thought it was one of the best films that he and Pressburger had made. What makes the film so remarkable is a series of paradoxes: the fact that it virtually reinvented the freedom and fantasy of silent cinema while making full use of Technicolor and a stellar cast of dancers and singers..." - Criterion, The lives of marionettes

3. The structure of the story is the same as the show

Here is the story of the Movie** (Not really the Opera that inspired it) In the prologue, we see the dance of the dragonflies onstage at a ballet. Count Lindoff (very bad dude) is spying on both the principal dancer Stella, and the audience member Hoffmann (who's admiring her). Lindoff is behind the scenery. During her dance, Stella passes a love note to her assistant for Hoffmann. The bad dude intercepts it out of jealousy. During the intermission, Hoffmann goes down to the tavern next door, watched by his sort of buddy in red, Nicklaus. People ask him to tell stories to while away the time, and so he tells 3 stories (actually four but we'll get back to that).

We launch into 3 tales/minisodes in other times and places : 1. The Tale of the Ball of the Automaton where he falls in love with a robot. He is humiliated. 2. The tale of Venice (Giulietta) where he falls in love with a courtesan/double agent who crosses him. 3. The tale of Antonia, where he falls in love with a girl who feels trapped by her living dad, her dead mom and a mysterious bad dude (Lindoff). She is murdered in a ring of fire, but becomes a ghost and is resurrected and sent back to earth. At the end, we snap back to the tavern in the real world. Hoffmann reveals that these three women are all metaphors for how he feels about Stella, his true love. He's drunk and depressed now, thinking she never sent for him after the show. Stella arrives in the tavern looking for Hoffmann, ready to run away, but now accompanied by Lindoff (dressed as an angelic figure) who followed her. She looks to Hoffmann to save her, but he's too blinded by the fact that he doesn't think she loves him back to pick up on the signal. He gives up, and she goes back up the stairs guided by Lindoff. Her assistant (who was bribed by Lindoff at the beginning) is given the go ahead by Lindoff to go back to the tavern and taker over. They close the door to the tavern, while she walks up ethereal stairs with the bad dude. THE END.

The one story that doesn't fit into the minisodes and is told in the real world is Kleinzach. We understand by the end of this one that this is Hoffmann's self loathing about never being good enough for Stella, because Stella is perfect and Hoffmann is ugly and deformed. The main love interest attempts to steal Kleinzach's essence through a mirror by the end. 4. Powell & Pressburger recast four actors in new roles In The Tales of Hoffmann, P&P decided to recast four of the principal actors/dancers from the film The Red Shoes in new roles, wanting to recreate the magic that they brought to the first ballet film. Sound familiar?

5. Crowley is Hoffmann

"The Tales of Hoffmann" original 1881 costume concept for Hoffmann & Crowley costume sketch for S2E3 1827 Edinburgh. Glasses are a really important aspect for Hoffmann in both the opera and the movie versions of The Tales of Hoffmann. Hoffmann is gifted metaphorical magic glasses that he wears to be able to perceive his love in a way they aren't really in real life. In the opera, he wears dark glasses to shut out the real world, not just as a metaphor. Check out a modern day version of the opera's Hoffmann costume :

He's french and slamming a beer but you get it. Crowley also canonically loves watching movies. It would make so much sense that his minisode recountings with him and Aziraphale would resemble different styles of movie that he loves. Seeing as we see him drive away at the end as the last character, an argument could be made for him being the ultimate narrator of the story in season 2.

6. The original American release of The Tales of Hoffman had 14ish minutes cut out of it by the studio. So we all know by now that whole debacle about having the clocks jump 14-15ish minutes during the kiss?

"The Tales of Hoffmann found an audience far wider than expected, despite Korda’s misgivings about the movie’s running time and his decision to cut 14 minutes out of the film for its American release." - Criterion, The Tales of Hoffman

I have been unable to unearth what the difference between the American & British versions of the P&P Tales of Hoffmann is, if you know let ME know. I want to know! _____________________________________

And I HAVE SO MUCH MORE. This is long enough already so I'll save the more detailed stuff for a new post.

**The opera is a whole other beast. You can read about it here, but basically there's a lot more going on in the opera because the composer died before finishing it, and multiple versions exist after the original uncompleted score got lost IN A FIRE. Anyway. Here's part 2

[carowleysposts]

Good Omens makes me feel scary things. Let’s talk about it.

So, before I start, I think it’s important to clarify that I am neurodivergent. I have autism and GO is one of my strongest hyper-fixations ever. I am so emotionally and mentally invested in it I could talk about it for days on end and every single detail of this show makes me love it more.

But there’s a really really dark flip side to this love, and I would love to see if there’s anyone else who struggles with it too:

I think I care a little too much.

Although I am aware that this is somewhat “common” for people in the spectrum and my doctors all have confirmed I am not a complete nut case for it, I almost never feel comfortable admitting to those in my life that a piece of fiction has such a strong hold on me and my mental health. And as much as I love everything we’ve seen so far, all the little things I hear and read about season three give me heart-stopping waves of anxiety that are definitely not normal.

Like, I am constantly scared of what will happen, as if it was happening to me. And I know it’s embarrassing, but my brain is simply wired differently, and it feels so awful not being able to talk about it with my friends in real life.

Sometimes I feel like my day is ruined because I read someone say that they think S3 won’t have a happy ending, or that they probably won’t kiss or end up together or something bad like that. And even though I know it’s just fiction, it gives me stomach knots, as it is such a powerful part of my life and I think about is so much.

I have even come as far as to take breaks from Tumblr and mute some words on some social media platforms so that I won’t read Neil’s responses to questions - because they ALSO make me fear terribly and give me crippling anxiety, like when he said it won’t be romantic, or when he says stuff that make me worry for the future - and won’t hear speculation or even be reminded of other stuff people say.

And before anyone asks: Yes! I am fully aware it sounds absurd. And yes, i absolutely do feel crazy and embarrassed about it, but unfortunately this is the reality of many people in the spectrum and many neurodivergent people in general.

I do work, I am a ballet teacher and an author, so of course I have many other things to worry about and do and of course I have a life full of responsibilities and relationships and different pursuits to keep me from actually thinking about it nonstop. But still, even though I am busy and distracted most of the time, every now and then these feelings and worries come and punch me in the gut, and it completely paralyzes me for long moments. I feel kinda sick? I don’t know.

So I guess what I am trying to ask is: do you guys know of anyone who feels the same? Like, is there anyone else who feels like their mind has been absolutely taken over by fiction-related anxiety? And also: what should I do about it? I feel like absolutely no other piece of fiction compares to this one, and my mind simply won’t stop.

Help pls.

[benzedrine-calmstheitch]

Good Omens season 2 referencing Powell & Pressburger films

Crowley's angel hair is modeled after Kim Hunter's hair as June in A Matter of Life and Death (1946).

Maggie's shop is called The Small Back Room in reference to 1949's The Small Back Room.

The red ballet shoes on the door of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death are a nod to The Red Shoes (1948). (Note : the klaxons sounding in Heaven at the end of episode 1 are said to be a nod to the alarm bells in The Other World in A Matter of Life and Death. Personally, I don't think they sound at all alike; they are only similar in both being alarms. Plus, it's an audio reference, which I don't have the skill or patience to include here. But it's there!)

In The Small Back Room, Maggie has a poster for the film Stairway to Heaven displayed. A Matter of Life and Death was released under this title in the US.

The tartan hills welcoming Aziraphale to Scotland are a reference to the tartan hills welcoming Joan to Scotland in I Know Where I'm Going! (1945). And of course, the third episode is itself titled "I Know Where I'm Going."

Jim drops the book My Best Games of Chess, 1924-1937, by Alexander Alekhine, onto a table in the bookshop repeatedly as he is discovering how gravity works. This book is featured prominently in A Matter of Life and Death.

When Aziraphale enters The Resurrectionist pub in Edinburgh, I Know Where I'm Going! is playing on both televisions (I'm pretty sure I found the right scene to match this screenshot). You can also make out the name 'Pressburger' on one of the posters in this screenshot, but we'll get to that later. . .

The family name on the mausoleum where Aziraphale and Crowley hide out with Elspeth and Wee Morag is Archers. It's never clearly seen in the show, but it can be seen in this BTS photo of the model used for Crowley's embiggening. The Archers was the name of Powell and Pressburger's production company. The interior of the tomb and the urns outside the full-size set also reference the Archers, and Powell & Pressburger individually.

In Mr. Arnold's record shop, one of the posters on the wall is for a UK music tour; either the band or the tour is titled Met By Moonlight. This is referencing Ill Met By Moonlight (1957), the final film Powell & Pressburger made together. (I personally think this one is a reach, as the title of the film is a line from A Midsummer Night's Dream and thus not really clockable to the outside viewer as a direct Archers reference, but apparently the intent was there so we're counting it!)

The Pressburger posters are more clearly visible during the Gabriel and Beelzebub rendezvous scene in The Resurrectionists pub. We can see they advertise 'Pressburger Scottish Lager,' which is of course a nod to Emeric Pressburger himself. (Unclear if Michael Powell has his own label that we just don't get a clear view of. . .)

-- -- -- -- --

I clocked a couple of these myself, but they are all referenced in the X-Ray trivia on the Prime Video player. Would love to know if anyone has clocked anymore that aren't divulged. . .

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

the real moral question in good omens

My people the maggots why is there so much discourse and fighting about whether our favourite bitchy angel or our favourite bastardy demon are right? I think it's time I cast the spotlight on what actually matters.

Bonus points if you can explain your answer with the level of detail and contextual clues that one would expect from a film studies or literature graduate!