EVIL GENIUS

 Wendall--every other Thursday

A lot of my screenwriting students struggle with creating antagonists, so I’ve spent time lately ruminating on some classic movie villains, to see what they have in common and what separates them. My conclusion is that most of them fall into one of three categories. 

 

The first type of film villain exudes a pure, almost cartoonish evil—think Margaret Hamilton’s Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz, Heath Ledger’s Joker in The Dark Knight, Will Farrell’s Mugatu in Zoolander, Alan Rickman’s Sheriff of Nottingham in Robin Hood, Dan Ackroyd’s Grocer in Grosse Pointe Blank, Faye Dunaway’s Diana in Network, or Javier Bardem’s Anton in No Country for Old Men. They are all in their way grotesques and caricatures, but potent ones.

 

Who wasn't afraid of The Wicked Witch of the West?

The hair flip! The sneer!

 

These characters represent the darkest part of the Id—the part the Superego is supposed to control. Even though these characters are often written as over the top, this does not diminish their ability to be terrifying or to harm the protagonist. They will use anything to achieve their own ends.

 

The late Heath Ledger owns "over the top."

 

The other crucial aspect of the “cartoon” villains is that they are seeking to destroy the existing status quo and creating a new one in which they are more powerful/relevant/rewarded. 

 

Faye Dunaway won't stop until she runs the Network.

 

The second kind of villain represents authority and order gone mad. These villains are made of a colder evil and their goal is the opposite of the “cartoon” villain’s–-they are obsessed with maintaining the status quo and protecting their personal power.

 

Examples of this type include Louise Fletcher’s Nurse Ratched in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Hugo Weaving’s Agent Smith in The Matrix, Tommy Lee Jones’s Federal Marshal in The Fugitive, John Huston’s Noah Cross in Chinatown, Tilda Swinton’s executive in Michael Clayton, Bill Nighy’s Sir Bernard Pellingham in The Constant Gardener, James Cromwell’s LAPD Captain in LA Confidential, James Mason’s Kincannon in The Verdict, or Michael Shannon’s Strickland in The Shape of Water. This kind of villain also appears in comedies, in characters like James Atherton’s EPA agent in Ghostbusters or the millionaire brothers in Trading Places.

 

Least nurturing nurse, ever.

 

He doesn't care.

These villains are particularly dangerous, because they are usually in positions of power and can manipulate both the protagonist and those around them. They are part of the system and they understand how it works. So it’s much more difficult to fight this kind of cold evil, and, in the case of Cuckoo’s Nest, Chinatown, and The Constant Gardener, the authoritarian villain succeeds in thwarting (or destroying) the protagonist.

 

Money always wins.

 

The interesting thing I found in watching all these films is that the best “cartoon” and “authoritarian” villains usually only appear five or six times. Otherwise, they can overwhelm the story.  Perhaps we are worried about what they’re up to when they’re off screen?

 

However, the third type of villain, the “mentor antagonist,” is more ever-present.

 

"Greed is good."

 

Examples of these kind of antagonists include Michael Douglas’s Gordon Gecko in Wall Street, Denzel Washington’s Alonzo in Training Day, Jack Nicholson’s crime boss in The Departed, Judi Dench's school teacher in Notes on a Scandal, and to some extent Anthony Hopkins’s Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs, though he has cartoon elements as well. 

 

Keeping Ethan Hawke off balance.

 

These mentor/antagonists can also operate to great effect in comedies, with characters like Shirley MacLaine's mother in Postcards From the Edge, or Meryl Streep's magazine editor in The Devil Wears Prada. 

 

Shirley MacLaine's actress mother is the quintessential mentor/antagonist.

 

In each case, the antagonist is initially someone the protagonist admires or they represent something the protagonist wants. Often the main character approaches the mentor, as in the case of Charlie Sheen’s Bud in Wall Street, Jodie Foster’s Clarice in The Silence of the Lambs, or Ann Hathaway’s Andie in The Devil Wears Prada.  

 

In my opinion, there is a consistent pattern of encounters in these stories. The initial “meet” involves humiliation—the antagonist verbally insults the protagonist and accuses them of being either silly, inadequate, or not worthy to even approach the ‘throne.’  But the insults are soon followed by praise or a vote of confidence and this dynamic alternates early in the story, constantly keeping the protagonist off balance. There’s usually a “honeymoon period” before the antagonist’s true agenda is revealed at the midpoint. 

 

The boss from hell.

 

This mentor relationship also involves at least one moment of vulnerability, where the protagonist sees the antagonist at a disadvantage or in a powerless position, which complicates the moral choices to follow.

 

Ultimately, though, the protagonist must either leave or betray the mentor relationship in order for them to complete their rite of passage.

 

These kinds of villains are more complex to write, but they are also the ones who most frequently win Oscars, so they are worth serious study.

 

 

 

I’d love your views on whether these categories apply to crime fiction as well.

 

--Wendall