Because Jaws Without The Shark Is Just Three Guys In A Boat
Seeing Cumberbatch playing some sort of genetically modified villain in the new Star Trek film has got lots of people, including my partner, quite excited. Half the excitement for me is the fact that you don't really know what's going on; there's just a lot of sound and quotes over said sound.The other half is basically my own interest in Cumberbatch's villain. There's some chat that he's a Khan-like figure (and it is technically Star Trek 2 following the reboot...) and - who's that? Carol Marcus? Genesis Device you say? A-well well well...
I have a special interest in good villains because they provide a perspective that's not encouraged in society (I should qualify this; I am not a sociopath, I am a nice guy. Plus real sociopaths never use parentheses; they always say what they intend first time round). The best villains in film and books, like Robert Mitchum's terrifying Catholic priest, give a completely different angle to the accepted one and encourage dual perspective, which I think technically makes something twice as enjoyable.
So what makes a good villain? A lot of this naturally enough depends on the viewpoint of the reader and it's true that YouTube has repositioned many of the all-time top film villains as monuments to farce and general silliness (see the multiple, multiple Downfall parodies and James Earl Jones's hilarious Darth Vader sketches as two excellent examples) which shows just hard it is to keep a bad guy bad (there are no parodies of Bardem's Anton Chigurh, I note).
Charlton Brooker (his Twitter nom de plume) has just done a typically absurd takedown of Bardem's Silva in Skyfall and Bane in TDKR. But he points out two key things; that presence has to mean something, i.e. their character must be compelling as a standalone, and that their schemes need to have both an impact on the character in a tangible way (i.e. there is a key change as a result of their action and their character arc changes the plot in a fundamental way) and usually contain a material gain (money, power etc) An element of style (not in the Vogue sense) generally helps too - both to establish character and to twist the plot, like an arm up the back, to their advantage.
So who are my favourite villains and why? N.B. The below is totally subjective bar the two ground rules established above.
Anton Chigurh
The second point of the triangle in McCarthy's No Country For Old Men is for me one of the best villains ever created - and McCarthy has done a few in his time. Chigurh's presented as a man completely apart from modernity - he seems almost primeval in his style and suits McCarthy's minimalist prose very well and it's easy (and maybe instructive) to view him as a sort of Angel of Death figure. His chilling encounters with various dead-end characters (who are all almost immediately killed) convey a vicious disdain for ordinariness and ambiguity which suit the absolutism of his beliefs and present an impassable psychological wall to the police chief chasing him. Chigurh moves a very straightforward plot along at breakneck speed - man finds drug money, takes money, is pursued for the rest of his days. The chase has metaphorical undertones of sin conceived in naivety and makes a fine job of creating a deeply compelling good vs evil narrative - and how coarse the world can be against acts of fallibility.
Professor James Moriarty
Less a villain than a heroic construct and a manful attempt by Conan Doyle to bring the curtain down on his erstwhile detective, Moriarty is presented in The Final Problem as the genius behind the multiple crimes involving murder, larceny and kidnapping throughout Europe at the end of the 19th century. Holmes depicts the maths prodigy as a spider at the centre of his web, sitting silently and waiting for his victim to walk into the trap.
The fact Moriarty only appears once - and briefly - in the whole of Holmes's oft-discussed career is cleverly reverse-engineered by ACD as the validation of his ingenuity, staying away from the limelight and allowing his henchmen to do his bidding. Moriarty's sole confrontation with his nemesis is spare and simmers with violence and the raw conversation that ensues does enough to establish him alone as a genuine psychopath in the Baker St canon. Almost a shame he cops it at the end.
Magnus Pym
Le Carre's subtle beast is an unforgettable and humane take on a con artist of many colours. Pym is a diplomat of redoubtable esteem who leaves his family to spend his final days under a false name on the English south coast, having sold state secrets to the Soviet Union as a double agent. The father-son dynamic is allegedly based on le Carre's own relationship with his father, and is turned over and over in the son's hands as irrevocable and fatal evidence of his blighted nature. Pym spends his life creating a narrative and a backstory for himself and his involvement as a diplomat in the British government appeals to both the created and real Pym for the same reason. Le Carre intertwines the two competing identities flawlessly and presents an irrefutable case for the downfall of his antihero following the first fateful meeting with the Czech spy, Axel. Conspicuously less sinister than the first two, Pym's hugely appealing to me for his moral ambiguity. Although undoubtedly not a hero for his actions and multiple deceits he's maybe the author's best example of a man finally unable to tell the difference between right and wrong.
Dracula
Yes, really. Although it's absolutely fair to say the book is a shocker and nowhere near deserving of its renowned classical status thanks to two-dimensional characters and some truly baffling character behaviour, the title character has been analysed to death (pun not intended), rewritten and played in so many guises in multiple contexts in multiple eras it'd be frankly silly to leave him (it?) out. The potency of the character lies in Stoker's clever manipulation of the multiple notes, diary dates and news articles, which each portray a presence never quite there. Absence certainly makes the heart grow fonder here and his appearances result in radical changes in character; all but Van Helsing fall under his ancient spell.
One of the most consistent interpretations of Dracula is that of the id attacking the ego and overcoming it. Freud's assertion that the ego maintained the 'reality principle' in the self lends this analysis lots of weight, the idea being that Dracula's power is simply a manifestation of the pleasure principle destroying the reality before it, acting selfishly and without interest in consequence. The sexual nature of his conquests further adds credence. Credit where due - Dracula is undoubtedly schlocky in parts but presenting such a compelling literary example of the fundaments of 20th century psychology takes some nous at least. And you wouldn't have had Gary Oldman in those sunglasses either.
Milo Minderbinder
Heller's savagely funny capturing of capitalism at the centre of the Second World War is embodied in the squadron's mess officer. What appeals so strongly about Minderbinder is his complete fastidiousness and conscienceless nature to people; like Chigurh but in a fundamentally different way his interests are singular and pursued with ruthless logic. Interestingly some of his characteristics are based on real life; his phrase "what's good for Milo Minderbinder is good for the country" is apparently based on Charlie Wilson's quote regarding General Motors in a Senate hearing in 1962.
Minderbinder is one of the only villains in the list who does not meet his deserved end in the conclusion of Catch 22 but in eschewing convenience Heller gives Minderbinder a longer sentence; as one of the best characterisations of a system which is frequently only a tip of the scales away from the sort of lunacy on show throughout.
Pinkie Brown
The last name on my list and for me, all the more compelling due to his age. Brown is several years younger - in Dracula's case, hundreds of years younger - than every other character on this list, and yet because of it he is the most vicious in a fundamental way. Greene wrote the novel to question the ideals and moral weight behind the Roman Catholic Church and deliberately positioned good and evil side by side in Pinkie and Rose (which, you'll notice, actually depict the same colour - a shade associated with love - only one of them is a blurry, ambiguous description whilst the other is cast as the definitive article). By making the godless honest-to-goodness Ida Arnold the hero, the inference is complete; faith is a seed in the soul, growing or withering depending on the attention lavished upon it. Brown's fluctuation between psychopathy and moments of tenderness offer hope of salvation but the finest piece of composition is reserved for the 'wedding' of the teenage couple; never has a wonderful moment seemed bleaker, Pinkie's ineffable bitterness pervading the joy of Rose in her innocent yet devout understanding of the institutions of her faith. Greene wrote better books but he rarely improved upon this monstrous manchild.
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