TV has given us some amazing characters to follow over the years, and not all of them
are good guys. Who are the most memorable villains in television history? Does a brat sitting on the
iron throne make the list? What about a certain owner of a fried-chicken joint? Keep watching!
Everything about BBC's "Sherlock" series made it a fantastic modern reimagining of Arthur
Conan Doyle's literary detective classics. Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman did
exactly as well as you would expect as the titular Holmes and his assistant,
Dr. John Watson. But the most fun character to watch here might be Holmes' archnemesis, Moriarty.
Played delightfully in the series by Andrew Scott,
Jim Moriarty is supposedly the world's only "consulting criminal.” It might be a position
made specifically to mock the "consulting detective" position of his foil, nemesis,
and obsession, Sherlock Holmes. We wouldn't put it past him. He seemed to know he was playing a part.
"Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain."
For his own amusement, he starts forcing Holmes to solve timed mysteries,
with the price of failure being the execution of hostages. After revealing himself to Sherlock in
one of the series' best scenes, he continued toying with and torturing the famed detective,
even going so far as to steal the Crown Jewels just to draw him out into the open.
We won't spoil the ending of this legendary match-up, because if you haven't seen the
series yet, we don't want to give you any excuse to keep putting it off.
Based on the comic series of the same name, Amazon Prime's "The Boys" asks a simple question:
what if superheroes were real, and owned by a major corporation? The answer is pretty ugly and
wildly entertaining. The show's Superman stand-in, played by Antony Starr,
is Homelander. He’s a chisel-jawed day-saver and an arrogant, psychopathically violent sadist
who secretly despises the people he's sworn to protect. Like most sociopaths in real life, he's
capable of hiding this disdain behind a handsome grin. Money and power help ensure that a carefully
crafted image of broadly popular do-goodery is maintained. But not even that can hide the
danger that lurks behind those crystal blue eyes, which can turn into red lasers at any moment.
As the show goes on, we learn increasingly
disturbing details about Homelander's true origins. The show is ongoing,
so it remains to be seen what villainy he'll get up to in future seasons.
“Wow, that’s impressive.”
Yes, Mr. Burns is a cartoon character, but nothing about this man is safe for children.
Like the obscenely wealthy elite he hilariously satirizes, Burns is completely out of touch with
the lives and experiences of the filthy peasants surrounding his gated estate.
Always followed by doting manservant Smithers, Burns is so detached from reality that he doesn't
even bother pretending to understand or care about others. It's rare to see the energy mogul without
that iconic evil grin and those steepled fingers. He throws his money and power around without a
care in the world, using both to do whatever he wants. He acts like he's above the law because,
as evidenced by the fact that the authorities refuse to go near the guy, he is.
“This court rules in favor of Montgomery Burns.” *Burns laughs.*
In one episode, it's implied that Burns likely killed his own 11 siblings just to position
himself as the sole heir to his family fortune. In another, we learn that his mother is still alive,
at age 122, but that he doesn't speak to her because she constantly belittles him
and had an affair with President Taft. In another "Simpsons" classic, we learn Burns' father was
in the Civil War, that he still has "Confederate Slave Holdings" in his investment portfolio, and
that he likes to bribe local officials to get what he wants. We suppose none of this is surprising.
"Dexter" might've ended on a rough note—at least before its 2021 revival—but at its peak,
it was must-watch prestige television. Based on the 2004 novel "Darkly Dreaming Dexter" by
Jeff Lindsay, the story follows the titular Dexter Morgan, played by Michael C. Hall.
He’s a forensic tech who works for the police in Miami, analyzing blood patterns at crime scenes.
However, when nobody's looking, he's also a serial killer who targets murderers who
were either let off on technicalities or otherwise insufficiently punished.
In Season 4, we meet Arthur Mitchell. Like most John Lithgow characters, Arthur seems like an
upstanding, tax-paying family man. He’s the last person on earth you'd expect to be a serial
killer with three decades of experience under his blood-stained belt. That's exactly what makes a
bubbly, impossible-to-dislike actor like Lithgow such a perfect casting choice. It turns out that
Arthur, AKA the Trinity Killer—so named because he murders in sets of threes — bases his killings
on his defining childhood trauma. We won't go into all the gory details here, but both the method and
the victim of each murder are patterned after his ill-fated family members. Even more, all of these
family members suffered gruesome deaths indirectly traceable to an accident he caused when he was 10.
It's tragic, horrific stuff. But that, and the mystery surrounding the crimes that leads to
thrilling manhunts, is exactly why the character represents "Dexter" at its horrifying best.
Most great villains inspire anger, fear,
and revenge fantasies. The Borg, a parasitic cybernetic alien race in the "Star Trek" universe,
inspire despair and hopelessness. That's a chilling but effective place to start.
If surrender is the go-to option, you know you're dealing with a truly frightening baddie.
In one sense, this is an entire alien civilization, so putting them on here
is almost like including all Nazis or the Empire from "Star Wars." But "Star Trek:
The Next Generation" fans know that while the Borg can assume the appearance of any creature,
it's actually a single organism, known as a hive mind. It's not an unheard-of science
fiction concept—"Rick and Morty's" Unity and Beta-Seven characters spring to mind,
as well as the Flood from "Halo"—but it's rarely, if ever, been done quite this well.
In the "Star Trek" universe, the process by which The Collective assimilates its
innumerable victims is technological rather than biological. Nanoprobes are perhaps a
little less unnervingly frightening than slimy tentacles invading your face holes and wrapping
themselves around your brain. However, when you realize the Borg also assimilates,
uses, and learns from the technologies of its captive, constituent drones, you realize
that the Borg are a major threat that even the crew of the Enterprise can't handle on its own.
Even with multiple Emmy awards and near-universal critical acclaim,
one can argue that HBO's "Deadwood," set in a late 19th-century western mining town in South Dakota,
is still one of the most slept on TV shows in recent memory. The show, helmed by David Milch,
features a mix of fictional and historical elements and follows the titular community's
ascent from a frontier camp to a thriving little town. The characters are great too,
even if they're fictionalized versions of actual figures like Seth Bullock, Calamity Jane,
Wild Bill Hickok, and Wyatt Earp. Everyone brings their A-game throughout the series,
but Ian McShane's Al Swearengen —murderer, pimp, gangster—is the slick glass of chilled
bourbon you're really looking forward to when you sit down for an episode.
“Alright, then.”
We're not quite sure how McShane pulls off making such a reprehensible person so oddly charming and
enviably cool, but he does. He makes an absolute meal out of every line, sneer,
sip, and trigger pull. But like all great villains, he was never flat or one-note. As
Rolling Stone points out, the bar-owning mobster might exploit the titular town,
but he'll be damned if he lets any other crooked politician or oil baron get their claws anywhere
near it. Just don't mistake that for altruism. We're positive that's only because he's invested
so much time and energy positioning himself in the center of the town's institutions and wants
to fiercely protect his investment. Regardless, Swearengen is not someone you want to mess with.
As evidenced in the infamous finale, the powers that be didn't know exactly how
to end smash hit mid-2000s drama "Lost." But man, was it a wild ride getting to that point.
The story follows the de facto leader Jack Shephard, Sawyer, Hurley, Kate,
and the other marooned survivors of doomed Oceanic Airlines Flight 815. At the beginning of the show,
the plane crashes in the Pacific Ocean between Sydney and Los Angeles, kicking off the story.
You could make the argument that hunger, thirst, disease, exposure, exotic creatures,
interpersonal conflict, madness, and depression are the survivors' main antagonists. Still,
series creator J.J. Abrams and the other creative leads didn't want to go the predictable route with
this one. Instead, they filled the island with mysteries that kept viewers hooked for
years. Arguably the most compelling of these mysteries was The Others,
the mysterious denizens of the island. And one member stood out from the others: Benjamin Linus.
The monstrously violent methods Linus employs to protect the island's secrets are
chillingly offset by the character's awkward, neurotic, cagey mannerisms.
But actor Michael Emerson did such an amazing job that by the end of the show,
the character was a fan favorite who got his own redemption arc.
You could make the argument that every major character on HBO's game-changing
late '90s/early 2000s award-magnet megahit "The Sopranos" is a villain.
These are, after all, murderous, backstabbing mobsters we're dealing with.
But this ugly rose simply must go to Livia Soprano. Played by the brilliant
Nancy Marchand until her tragic passing in 2000, Livia is a cruel, vindictive,
unloving mother to mafia don son Tony Soprano. She even tries to have him killed at one point.
While that contributes to her placement on this list, it's only a part of the larger picture.
A hard upbringing and a rough marriage to Johnny Soprano ultimately forged her into a vicious,
passive-aggressive nightmare that everyone should fear becoming in their old age.
She generally leaves the shooting and killing to Tony and those he surrounds himself with. However,
she knows how to wield words like knives, spreading lies and rumors to
anyone and everyone around her simply to disrupt their lives and relationships,
even to the point of violence. It truly does seem like she only delights in dragging
everyone down into the depths of utter joylessness with her.
“I know when I’m not wanted.”
Less-than-stellar final season aside, "Game of Thrones" gave us several years of peerless
prestige television. As any fan of the show or George R.R. Martin's books knows, there were
plenty of villains lurking in Westeros and beyond. There were Tywin and Cersei Lannister, as well as
Jaime—at least before his redemption arc. There was the Night King, who might've made this list
if it weren't for his insultingly anticlimactic demise. There's the Mountain, too, and Melisandre,
and Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish, as well as countless other minor characters. Ramsay
Bolton, a monstrous sadist who briefly rules Winterfell, gets an honorable mention here, too.
But the king of scoundrels award ultimately goes to Joffrey Baratheon. That's truly
saying something, if you think about it. Most of those other baddies were ruthless killers,
conquerors, and torturers. Joffrey, who briefly rules the Seven Kingdoms following the death
of Robert Baratheon, is a snot-nosed brat. He does have moments of violence,
like ordering Ned Stark's beheading and torturing and killing some women in his
chambers. But for the most part, Jack Gleeson's character makes the list for simply being
an utterly loathsome kid. He’s more fun to hate than most villains on TV.
If we’re being honest, plot armor may have played a bigger role in Walter White's
victory over Gustavo Fring than we'd like to admit. That's not to say the steps leading
to the iconic moment—in which the Chilean restauranteur/international meth kingpin
has his face blown off by a wheelchair bomb—weren't fought for and well earned.
But Gus Fring, played by the chilling and terrific Giancarlo Esposito, was Walt's better
in nearly every way. He wasn't much of a chemist, but he was every bit as brilliant as his top cook,
if not more so. He didn't have any of Walt's baggage, either: no terminal cancer diagnosis,
no family situation that was on the brink of collapse at any given moment,
no family in the DEA. Gus knew the players and the game like nobody's
business. Before he foolishly let Heisenberg into his operation, he had something Walt
never enjoyed: stability. It was all planned out, well-oiled, and running like clockwork.
It took everything Walt and Jesse had to get the drop on Fring, who spent much of
the series 10 steps ahead of every threat, our two meth-cooking protagonists included.
"The Wire," which examines a self-sustaining wheel of rot and corruption in early 2000s Baltimore as
a larger condemnation of society itself, is one of the finest pieces of television ever produced.
It's got no shortage of timeless villains. It has Stan Valchek and Bill Rawls,
two cut-throat, high-ranking cops who stop at nothing to climb up the ladder.
Then there are Stringer Bell and Avon Barksdale, two old-school gangsters
who run a heroin-slinging op in the city's projects. There's Maury Levy, a sleazy but
seasoned lawyer who represents the top dogs in the city's criminal underworld. Even our "heroes"
make enough questionable choices throughout the show that it's hard calling them that.
But the most chilling character on the show, and possibly any show, is Marlo Stanfield.
Young, hungry gangbangers who seek the "crown" of being the most feared name on the corners
are nothing new in the world of "The Wire." What sets Marlo apart is the sociopathic methods he and
his subordinates Chris Partlow and Snoop employ to get ahead. Before long, far more experienced
and established players are either dead, imprisoned, or cowering in fear. Perhaps their
greater experience itself was their downfall. They were so set in their ways that by the time
they realized this violent newcomer couldn't be contained with the usual methods, it was too late.
“Pawns, man, in the game, they get capped quick.”
The "Cigarette Smoking Man" is more of a foreboding presence in the early seasons
of "The X-Files," but the brooding face of the mysterious Syndicate eventually becomes
the primary antagonist of the supernatural series. Even after the Syndicate is destroyed, he remains,
always scheming to thwart Mulder and Scully's plans to reveal the existence
of aliens to the world, so he can soften up the planet for extraterrestrial invasion.
It sounds a little bit goofy if you've never seen the show, but actor William B. Davis turned the
character into a chilling embodiment of a shadowy government operative working an unseen angle.
Even as the show lumbers on and more about the Cigarette Smoking Man is necessarily revealed, his
true motivations and capabilities remain shrouded. Mulder and Scully only seem to know that he's up
to no good, trying to lay out the red carpet for aliens for reasons he's reluctant to reveal. Why?
"The question’s irrelevant."
Played by Larry Hagman in all 357 episodes of "Dallas," J.R. Ewing's villainous scheming almost
makes him sound like a maniacally laughing cartoon. After all, the amoral oil baron
spends much of the show's original run doing the villainous things you’d expect him to be doing.
The series made it clear that J.R. is such a ruthless overachiever because he never got
enough love from mom and dad, who showered his brothers with affection instead. From birth,
he had to fight for what he felt was his, only achieving corporate control after a stint in
Vietnam and after his brothers went their own ways in life. By that point, J.R. was thoroughly set
in the conniving, psychopathic ways that have made him such a fixture for so many decades.
But Ewing wouldn't have been the icon he is, on a show that ran for this long, if he were the flat,
one-note character suggested by his reputation. The show sprinkles in just enough tenderness and
vulnerability regarding his family that when he's betrayed or fails, you catch yourself
empathizing with a man who almost never empathizes with others. It's a testament
to Hagman's stellar, stable performance as one of TV history's best characters.
Just like in the Harrison Ford movie you might be more familiar with,
"The Fugitive" TV show follows Dr. Richard Kimble, played by David Janssen,
who's on the run from police detective Lieutenant Philip Gerard. He’s also seeking
the truth after being wrongfully accused of murdering his wife. All he knows about the
real killer is that the man had one arm and supposedly likes to bludgeon his victims.
Perhaps the best part about the One-Armed Man, played by Bill Raisch, is how little we see,
hear, or know about him. For the first three seasons, he can hardly be called a character
at all. He's only in a handful of episodes, 10 total, by the time the show wrapped up in 1967.
He serves primarily as a foreboding presence and a goal for Kimble. Like his hunter,
the One-Armed Man takes odd jobs and assumes various false identities while fleeing or hiding.
However, he has one advantage Kimble doesn't: the police are on his side.
Whenever he gets a tip as to Kimble's whereabouts, destination, or next goal,
he makes sure to hand it to the authorities in the hopes they'll arrest the Doctor.
It's a testament to Raisch's performance
and a stellar writing staff that a character so rarely seen could be such an effective Big Bad.
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