Misc. @the-next-jeneration - Tumblr Blog

As a known villain-enthusiast, I figured I’d write up how I assess them as storytelling devices. Like, whether they’re enjoyable characters is up to taste, but whether they’re good writing requires critical assessment. This is a rather long post, so here is a summary:

Learning how to critique villains is a great way to identify skilled and passionate storytellers. They embody the ideas and decisions that the writer feels are incorrect. While some narrative devices are more subtle (local politics unfolding in the background, color or song cues, scene settings, etc.), villains are dramatic. That is a person designed to be wrong! They intentionally draw the audience’s focus for important steps of the story. When a writer stumbles on that, it reflects poorly on the entire work precisely because of that focus.

This post is going to get into the following key components of an effective villain:

They highlight the wrong conclusion about a key issue in the story.

They should be a symptom of either a larger issue in the narrative or the one they fixate on.

They don't need to be evil, and, in many cases, that label is a hindrance.

As the average age of the target audience and/or the length of the story increases, villains should be more frequently correct in their beliefs and choices.

They evoke strong emotion appropriate to the genre.

They don’t need to be antagonists, and antagonists don’t need to be villains.

They raise the stakes: the world will become worse if they are left unchecked.

Their strengths and weaknesses should be directly tied either to the central theme of the story or their opponent's character arc.

Their ending is consistent with the theme of the story.

If included, a villain redemption arc must have 4 components: (1) an external stimulus causing (2) a choice to deviate from their plan and (3) a corresponding shift in their worldview, and those result in (4) action that matches the strength of their new conviction.

They should not be included in a story if any of the above causes distraction or discordance with the main plot line.

Of course, there’s spoilers to follow, so reader beware.

First, some definitions. These are definitely not perfect, but they're how I keep these narrative issues separated in my own head.

A villain is someone whose wrong actions/beliefs are relevant to the plot/themes. An antagonist is someone who acts in direct conflict with the protagonist. The protagonist is the character that the audience follows in a story. Sometimes villains are protagonists, sometimes they're antagonists, and sometimes they're neither. This post addresses villains regardless of their other roles in a story.

I am intentionally using a vague word like “wrong” in that definition because villains are versatile tools. What is the core message or theme of this story? What is the wrong conclusion? What did the villain get right before they fucked up? At what point did this take a downturn? Can this be fixed before it’s too late? How can it be fixed? A well-designed villain can be used to answer most, if not all, of those questions without any reference to another character. When a villain is included in the story, each of the topics below is a point where the writer should be using that character to bolster the narrative.

Villains highlight the wrong conclusion about a key issue in the story.

The point of a villain is to be a bad example. A job well done requires the author to have a thorough, intimate understanding of the themes, plot, and other characters, and then showcase each of them through that villain.

In other words, the villain cannot be conceived before the protagonist's arc is decided. The author needs to have a plan for the protagonist's character arc and plot because that is going to be the audience's focus for the entire story, and the villain is meant to emphasize a key problem for that character. Even when the villain is the protagonist, their purpose as the protagonist must be determined first before any villainous aspects should be addressed.

That said, villains should be minimized or omitted for any issue that doesn't culminate in a climax. Villains are dramatic: once outed as a villain, the audience will watch everything they do. That level of focus is difficult to match with other narrative devices, so the optimal use is to direct it at key issues. For other topics, antagonists are a better fit (discussed further below). If the writer does not intend to address some core aspect of the story or worldbuilding, then it shouldn't significantly involve the villain.

A poorly done villain often reveals how the author failed to grasp something, either as a concept or in execution. Again, by definition, a villain is someone the author disagrees with. People are usually much better at making themselves and their own opinions look good than they are at portraying people with opposing viewpoints. A skilled storyteller commits to giving villains a good faith dissection rather than merely attacking a strawman.

Of course, more complex stories may warrant the use of minor villains, an ensemble, or a Big Bad Evil Guy standing above the rest. The depth and time spent on each villain should match their overall importance to the main storyline. Perhaps a lesser villain will feature in a particular episode/chapter addressing their connected theme, but they shouldn’t be emphasized by the writer outside of that relevance.

Villains should be a symptom of either a larger issue in the narrative or the one they fixate on.

This is one of the more common flaws that I've encountered. Most villains believe they are solving a problem. A lot of stories fall short of answering, "what is a better conclusion?"

Caveat: this isn’t necessary for all genres. Genres that rely on gaps in understanding don’t need to supply answers. Comedy, horror, short fiction, and any other story focusing entirely on a plot about “stuff went wrong” don’t necessarily benefit from telling the audience what the problem is. Eldritch horror stories, for example, are specifically about encounters that the characters and audience do not understand, but they may still feature villains.

This facet is more noticeable in stories about problems that affect large populations. Whether it's a social heirarchy, a government structure, a natural disaster, resource shortages, etc., it's something that requires more than removing villains from seats of power or ending a plan. The nature of the solution will vary widely, especially across genres, but the writer should be concerned with the exact thing the villain had been.

As an example, in a lot of contemporary stories involving revolutions by lower classes against an oppressive upper class, the key conflict of the story is that the revolutionaries have resorted to an unconscionable option for the sake of success. Whether it's genocide, biological warfare, nuclear escalation, etc., the climax is about stopping a villain from successfully employing that option. However, a solid number of those stories end with the status quo or with minor concessions by the upper class. Each of those is a problem. If they stuck with the status quo, the story is that the oppressed should accept their station, even without hope or promise of improvement. If there were minor concessions, then the message is that drastic threats of violence are necessary for even the smallest concessions. Neither of those is a very satisfying story, and in most cases, neither were the writer's intended takeaway. Unfortunately, that sort of message often gets baked in because the unspoken implication of “don’t resort to these tactics” is “accept your place”—unless an alternative is presented within the story.

Of course, the challenge for these sorts of stories is how to convey a better option without getting on a soapbox in the narration. Villains are an efficient option to challenge the protagonists (or their opponents if they're protagonists) on these issues. “If you're so determined to stop me, then what are you going to do about [XYZ]?” It's a great way to weave in the author's intended message through some exposition or by seeding internal conflict for the protagonist to grapple with after the two separate again. This can even be brought up by other characters in discussions about the villain, without requiring a direct confrontation. Whether the opposition achieves that goal isn’t necessary either; it’s enough to introduce it and start the path toward it, letting the implication become “that’s not happening yet because that would be the next story.”

While stories don’t need to answer every question, ignoring the villain’s concern conveys that the writer doesn’t care about that issue. In that case, why include it as the villain’s motivation? What benefit did that complication bring to the story? Useless or unintended elements should be cut from a story to avoid muddling the themes, and failure to do that with a villain demonstrates subpar storytelling.

Villains don't need to be evil, and, in many cases, that label is a hindrance.

Evil is a moral label. Some stories aren’t concerned with addressing how to be a good person, what should happen to bad people, etc. That is certainly a most common framing for a villain in Western media, but it’s not the only one. Stories don't need to convey a moral to be great.

Sometimes the villain cares deeply for others, is motivated by saving people and doing good, and checks all the boxes for a hero, but the means they resort to are absolutely fucked up. Their arc often involves realizing a terrible act is “necessary” to achieve their desired result, and because they believe that result is worth the travesties, they commit. The audience can debate whether that means the villain is good or evil, but that is beside the point; the problem is that they’re doing something they shouldn’t, regardless of the moral label attached to it. Stories like this often include a message that there aren’t good/bad people, only good/bad acts, which also means that people cannot attain a moral label, and therefore the villain cannot be evil. (The Dune novels are a fantastic example of this.)

Sometimes the villain is someone dedicated to a cause that has long since careened into villainy. Their personal morality doesn’t match with what they do because duty or honor requires them to act this way, and to forsake that obligation is also failure. No matter what they choose, they will be trampling their moral ideals. Pretty much any story about well-meaning military, police, government, or other duty-bound characters following a chain of command after the bad guy takes control is an example of this. Some stories focus on the interpersonal conflict arising out of that, and others stories might focus on the internal cognitive dissonance and psychological fallout of such circumstances. These stories often posit that there is no such thing as pure good, and since everyone must commit evil on some level in the course of pursuing a moral standard, we cannot assess anyone (including the villain) on morality alone. These also tend to be stories that include a redemption arc (discussed below), though they very frequently involve some sort of dramatic sacrifice in the process.

Other stories ignore morality entirely because it just isn’t the point. These villains tend to be more subtle because their presence isn’t as offensive to the audience. Bureaucrats ruthlessly enforcing the rules in spite of unique circumstances, then getting overruled by a superior after a big display by the protagonist, are a fairly common villain trope in media aimed at children and young adults. It does happen in media for adults as well, though most often in comedies (My Cousin Vinny, Ghostbusters) or legal/political/professional dramas. These stories usually criticize overzealous commitment to systems, not because the systems or villains are inherently evil, but because excessive enforcement can unhelpfully inhibit good, health, fun, freedom, etc.

Villains can absolutely be moral/good/neutral people in the author’s perspective, framed as such in a story, and still be the bad guys.

As the average age of the target audience and/or the length of the story increases, villains should be more frequently correct in their beliefs and choices.

This is such a frustrating thing when writers muck it up. As stated, villainy highlights a wrong conclusion. Do you know what would ruin that effect? If they’re wrong about everything.

The thing about highlighting is that it’s only useful when done sparingly or with clear methods of differentiation. Highlighting a single line with one color or multiple lines with different colors can each be effective methods of focusing attention, but highlighting an entire page is a waste of effort. The audience doesn’t know what to look at anymore. The purpose is lost when it's overdone.

So too with a villain. A well-constructed villain needs to get some things right. That is a signal that those aren't the parts the audience should be concerned with. That works both for focusing on themes (if indeed that side issue isn’t important) or as obfuscation for a reveal later on (related to plot, motive, identity, etc.). This wealthy villain pays his taxes without complaint, donates to charity, and tips generously, so the story message isn’t about whether businessmen pay their fair share to government, give back to the people generally, or pays people for their labor. Instead, when the businessman turns out to be a financier of a warlord plotting a coup, we can ignore the question, “should the wealthy use money to help people?” and instead focus on “the harm of using wealth to enable oppression far outweighs any generosity that coincides with it.”

In most media, I prefer main villains to be correct on so many things that, at some point in the story, they would have been capable of swaying me to their position if not for a key theme. That is the gold standard because it points the audience right at the villain’s narrative purpose and explains why no one has managed to stop the villain before this plot line. After all, if a person is tolerable, useful, or personable except for this one thing, then they are likely to have many allies and defenses to prevent anyone from stopping their plans. While not every villain needs that level of honing, it is vital that the villain associated closely to the main theme is the one with the most clarity.

When a villain is wrong about most things, that clarity is lost. That extremism is only expected in children’s fiction, comedy, and short form fiction because those genres usually don’t explore any other facets of the villain anyway—the audience rarely gets a comprehensive look at that character. A villain is a portrayal of a person, and people are complex. Any longer forms of media require more time spent with the villain, and a two-dimensional character doesn't hold up well in those circumstances. When an author decides to structure a villain who is incorrect at every step of a story, there is meaning there: this villain is intended as an extreme example of everything the author dislikes. This story is intended to be propaganda.

Propaganda invites heavier criticism: What ethnicity did the author choose for this representation of someone getting everything wrong? What gender? What sexuality? What nationality? Social or economic class? Level of education? How does that compare to their opposition? If there’s someone who does everything right, what differences are there between that one and the villain? Those choices are just as intentional as the decision to frame the villain as so egregiously wrong about everything. Writers don’t get to pretend such decisions are meaningless. More often than not, when this happens, the writer's bigoted views are put on display. The villain absolutely did its job, so it's not an ineffective villain: it told me what the writer disapproves of and that the theme of the story is that type of person is inferior. It just turns out that now I have an entirely separate reason to dislike this writer and their works.

Villains evoke strong emotion appropriate to the genre.

I expect that most discussions about villains will include something about making that character entertaining or fun, but that isn’t quite the right mark. A proper villain is evocative in a way that matches the genre. There’s a lot of flexibility in this, so entertainment value is a safe bet. Some stories need a villain that raises tension in every scene, and others just need a laid back asshole to quip at the hero and be an obstacle. That said, sometimes a villain would be better if they aren’t fun.

For example, in Pan’s Labyrinth, Captain Vidal (played by a well known Spanish comedian who had never previously ventured outside of comedy) in fascist Spain confronts a potential spy who claims that he was hunting rabbits with his son. Indeed, the man was carrying a weapon and a bag of supplies, and he has a younger man with him. Until that point, the Captain had been presented as extremely strict and hierarchical in every facet of his life, even with his new wife, but not necessarily bad. In full view of the man’s son, the Captain personally kills the hunter, declares him to be a traitor to Spain, then discovers the dead rabbits in the pack and ignores that he may have been wrong. The son is taken away without apology or aid—not even the food and supplies they had been carrying. Any audience expectation of mercy is shunted out the window because fascism involves seeing common people as either resources or threats, and nothing else. It’s a brutal, terrifying way to establish Captain Vidal’s role, that this character will not be fun or comedic, and what type of story the film will entail. We know without a shadow of doubt that if Captain Vidal discovers what the child protagonist has been up to, he will kill her. He would kill that little girl without remorse for the slightest infraction against his control. An unavoidable dread surrounds Captain Vidal’s presence through every subsequent scene, even when he isn’t shown on screen. That brought the terror of fascism to a personal level in a horrifically efficient manner. Excellent use of a villain.

Because the core purpose of a villain is to highlight aspects of a story, stoking the audience’s emotion is a surefire way to guarantee everyone is paying attention. The most commonly used options are anger (unjust acts), disgust (socially unacceptable traits), and fear (unflinching violence). Regardless of which emotion it is, it should be something either unexpected or more extreme than encountered otherwise. These cues should be in contrast to the emotions evoked by positive developments. If the rest of the mood of the story is somber, inappropriate lightheartedness is an excellent contrast. If the rest of the story is tense action, an eerie calm is incredibly upsetting. There are many options for creating a discordant tone, and doing so not only emphasizes that this villain is wrong somehow, but also ensures that any dialogue or narration in that scene carries that same sense of wrongness.

Obviously, some stories involve villain reveals, so those high-intensity scenes shouldn’t occur until the right moment. In those instances, the method and circumstances of the reveal are a great vehicle to emphasize the villain’s narrative purpose, especially when done close to or during the story’s climax. That said, a shocked audience may have difficulty parsing complicated dialogue; sticking to a simple, overarching topic is a much better option for those particular circumstances. That’s why a villain monologue is such a common trope: it works.

When this sort of emotional turmoil is absent, I get the sense that the writer doesn’t know how to structure a scene to reinforce themes. This sort of narrative device isn’t necessary for every villain scene, but if only one scene in an entire story were to stoke the audience’s feelings, it should be the scene where the villain’s conclusion is front and center. Denouements and moments of triumph also obviously warrant strong emotional responses, but I prioritize the villain for a simple reason: why would anyone add a villain to a story if they weren’t going to demand the audience’s attention? If that type of scene takes away from the story’s purpose, then the villain does too, and they should be removed.

Villains don't need to be antagonists, and antagonists don’t need to be villains.

This might seem contradictory to the preceding points, but the fact is that protagonists cannot be expected to fix every problem they encounter.

Villains are supposed to reach the wrong conclusion about something core to the theme or plot. Antagonists are just people who work against the protagonist. For a lawyerly analogue, my opposing counsel is the antagonist (working against me, a plaintiff litigator) and their client is the villain (that fucker did Wrong, even if they never interact with me and haven’t done anything since). The lawyer isn’t wrong for simply being on that side; they’re doing their job, and their job is to be in my way. I’m not right for simply being on my side; I’m just the one telling the story. When assessing a villain and protagonist, we look at both characters in those conflicts. In comparison, an any conflict with a non-villain antagonist is entirely focused on the protagonist; the antagonist’s values, beliefs, etc. don’t really matter.

All that said, villains are usually antagonists. It’s a very efficient way to structure a story, so it is a preferred option for shorter or simpler narratives. That isn't a flaw. It's a completely valid way to handle these roles. Whether the villain should or shouldn't be an antagonist depends on the themes. Is a person versus person conflict necessary to resolve the problem that the villain is highlighting?

For example, if the key theme is about the catastrophic damage caused by climate change, a direct conflict with the villain could distract from that. Many disaster movies focusing on climate change feature villains that ignore or exploit it, and rather than meet their end through conflict with the protagonists, they usually end up ruining themselves. That makes sense given that climate change is a phenomenon that cannot be stopped by an individual and that it doesn't discriminate as to who is affected. There's plenty of other themes where similar story structures are more effective than the protagonist causing the villain's downfall. Those stories don't benefit from direct conflicts with the villain, but that character added to the narrative regardless.

Sometimes a character is necessary for the protagonists to have a concrete victory at a certain point in the story, but there’s no thematic conclusion yet. Villains would distract from that, but antagonists wouldn’t. For example, a middle point in the story has the culmination of a coming of age arc for a main character, but the final conflict is still on the horizon: a sports competitor has to end their growth arc by winning at regionals before shifting to the main rising action involved in going to nationals. Introducing a local rival with no significant bad qualities would allow the audience to focus on the protagonist’s growth, and the villain in the later arc doesn’t lose any presence or effect by having a predecessor.

All that said, some characters shift over time, especially in serial media. An antagonist of the week in a superhero comic might be the dastardly Big Bad villain in a special release and then back to a background problem in the next. Villains should only be used to extent that they will help the audience understand the full scope of the themes. Regardless of genre (except maybe satire/parody), the villain shouldn’t be causing problems “on screen” beyond the scope of their purpose, so unless the dramatic brawl between villain and hero adds something other than cool visuals, antagonism is just wasted time.

Villains raise the stakes: the world will be worse if they are left unchecked.

Any villain that fails to raise the stakes is an example of poor writing. Why should the audience care about a villain if there is nothing to lose should they succeed? It is a complete failure to use such a dramatic narrative device to highlight a non-problem. Even if a villain is not an antagonist, they need to be a threat.

In order to achieve that, the villain needs to have strengths necessary to achieve their goal. When villains don't have a skill or a resources necessary for their plan, there should be a relatively straightforward method for them to fill that gap. For example, a warmongering monarch might lack the manpower from her own lands to continue conquering neighbors, so she has her army conscript soldiers from annexed territories to put on the front lines. Of course, these power gaps are also excellent points for conflict with the opposition, and that can be worked into the plot. By shaping the villain into a formidable power in the world, the protagonist (or their faction, allies, etc.) has to step up and find a solution to the plot problem before the villain ruins everything. It adds time pressure to the protagonist’s goals and allows for logical opportunities to foil the villain’s plans.

When the villain is incompetent, that tension is lost. Within the story itself, of all the possible characters in this made up world, this was the one the writer focused on. Why hasn’t someone already stopped them, and why should the audience care what they’re up to? Why is the writer wasting the protagonist’s time on this character? That reflects poorly on the story because that conveys that there’s not a real a risk of failure or a bad ending; if there was, the writer should have focused on that instead! So, why include the villain at all?

Unless the story is parody, nothing is as disappointing as a story where a villain succeeds or fails because of something stupid. It can be funny, it can be an oversight or mistake or gap in knowledge, but it should never be because of stupidity. That tells me that the writer couldn’t up with something clever because they’re stupid—they used a complex narrative device without thinking it through—and they expect me (a member of the audience) to applaud. Absolutely not.

Villains' strengths and weaknesses should be directly tied either to the central theme of the story or their opponent's character arc.

Building off the last point, a villain should be competent in a narratively convenient way and have convenient weaknesses. In many story structures, a villain antagonist is a wonderfully efficient option for the protagonist hero to grapple with a key character development or plot climax. The best villains are those whose weaknesses are ones that the protagonist is capable of exploiting; it helps establish the protagonist as an appropriate perspective for this story. However, that logic needs to work both in the direction in which it was planned, and backwards from the opposite view.

First, the writer needs to choose a villain that suits the protagonist and the plot. I’ve lined out plenty of reasons for that above, but in short, the villain should be actively engaging in behavior or building to a turning point that will impact the ending that the protagonist desires. It doesn’t need to impact the protagonist directly, but there must be a clear motivation to interfere with the villain’s plan. Thus, the villain’s strengths should be relevant to the theme or opponent’s arc—it’d be a waste of opportunity otherwise.

Once the protagonist’s needs are established, the writer needs to change perspective: the villain needs to make sense within the narrative whether the protagonist does anything or not. Generally speaking, any person would prefer a plan with requirements they would not struggle to complete. People like to do things they’re good at. A mad scientist is going to prefer mad science over politics. A corrupt politician is going to prefer bribery over a ray gun. If the plot demands a particular course of action, the villain should be designed to be someone who prefers that method and is damn good at it. Even in situations where a villain is forced to resort to something they don’t excel in, there should be a logical explanation for how this arrangement came about. Failure to achieve this breaks immersion.

The difficult part of discussing this facet is that it is the most versatile aspect of villain characterization, so there aren’t any rigid requirements. I wouldn’t even go so far as to say that a villain should be a foil because that limits them to mirroring a specific character. They don’t need to be foils! Sometimes, a villain should be bigger than that: Sauron in The Lord of the Rings trilogy could be compared to numerous protagonists, but he is not a direct foil of one, while lesser villains (Denethor, Steward of Gondor) in the books are.

For a vague example, let's say I want to write a story about a slave who is leading a revolution. The obvious themes would be the necessity of violence to wrest freedom from oppressors, that legal systems are always biased in favor of those already in power, that most people will accept oppression of others for the sake of economic benefit, and so on. There are many potential villains, but the best ones would be the owner, the lawman (chief of police, sheriff, judge, etc.), and/or the head of government (mayor, governor, etc.). Regardless of which one I choose, their respective strengths (color of law, weaponry, support of the ruling class) will require the protagonist to address his own weaknesses (lack of legal authority, resources, and social capital), which gives the plot shape. Those are the parts that will be addressed in the rising action of the story. In addition, the villain's weaknesses (over-reliance on demoralized slaves, personal immorality, bigotry, cruelty, apathy, etc.) each give options for what strengths to give the protagonist. Perhaps the protagonist's unfailing courage and camaraderie stokes the other slaves' will to resist and fight back, and it becomes a story about greater numbers overcoming the villain's strengths. Another option is that the protagonist stoops just as low and has no moral or social high ground, and the point of the story is that freedom should be achieved by any means necessary by anyone willing to fight for it. Yet another option is that the protagonist makes contact with a third-party, and they cooperate to overthrow the villains, because the villains' institution of slavery could not be tolerated by anyone with an unbiased view (outsiders with no stake in it). Whichever possibility is chosen, the strengths/weaknesses of the villains put a tint on the overall message: the owner would focus the story on individuals and allow for more intimate exchanges between characters, the lawman would be more of a philosophical story with impersonal distance, and the head of government would focus on social values and how to change the will of other people. I need to choose the villain that allows me to explore my preferred protagonist arc, and I need to choose the plot line that matches well with that conflict.

But that’s a bit cerebral. A simpler example: Gaston from Beauty and the Beast. He’s sexist, only wants Belle because she’s the prettiest girl in the village, and his ego demands the best of everything. There’s literally nothing else he finds attractive about her. He’s charismatic and appeals to the toxic masculinity culture of the town. He does not value intelligence or kindness, so many potential options for getting what he wants are closed to him. In the climactic conflict, Gaston whips the town into a mob by using his charisma to deceive them, has Belle and her father imprisoned in their own home, and goes to kill the Beast so that he can claim the mantle of hero and Belle for himself. Belle uses her intelligence to improvise an escape, and her kindness spurs the Beast out of inaction after it was established that nothing else had ever swayed his heart. While there may be other things to criticize in this story, Gaston is an excellent example of making strengths and weaknesses relevant to plot, themes, and other characters. Everything he did was as bad as, if not worse than, the Beast, his conflict with Belle allowed her agency and traits to shine, and his devotion to violence and ego caused his own death rather than Belle resorting to his methods.

When that doesn't happen, it feels like a plot hole. Why hype up a villain to excel at worming his way into powerful social circles and then he never attempts to manipulate anyone in any scenes? Why make a villain so egotistical as to ignore security flaws in a key scene and then never have anyone take advantage? I’m not talking about trope subversion; I mean when a strength/weakness is added and then ignored. It's such an intrinsic part of the process for constructing a villain that failing to flesh it out demonstrates poor writing skills.

The villain’s ending is consistent with the theme of the story.

I truly do not care if villains get “what they deserve” in a story. Can it be satisfying to see villains contribute to their own failure? Yes, but they don’t deserve anything. They’re not real. Even if they were, people don’t deserve anything. You can’t earn an ending. The world doesn’t work that way, stories don’t work that way, and that line of thinking isn’t interesting. Catharsis is not about a character getting what the audience thinks they should, it’s about evoking emotional satisfaction, and limiting that assessment to whether characters get what they “deserve” is narrow-minded.

Because stories are not real, everything is on the table. The writer can do whatever they want to every single character. The most important issue is whether the outcome makes sense for what issue the villain was highlighting.

For example, if the villain is meant to be a focal point of corruption in a government structure, and the highlighted problem is that this person was tolerated by others because of the benefits they provided, deposing only that villain doesn't really fix anything. The people that let this happen are still there, and they'll find another person to do it the same way. Instead, a better resolution would be to turn that villain against their enablers, whether by threat or force or agreement. Maybe the villain is willing to testify against co-conspirators in exchange for a lenient sentence in a court of law. By definition, leniency means that the villain does not receive a fair punishment, but the problem is resolved and won't happen again. That demonstrates that the writer actually understands the issue they chose to address and that they're telling a story about a solution to a problem rather than fulfilling a base desire for punishment.

Of course, sometimes a key point of the story is wish fulfillment for punishment. The Count of Monte Cristo is probably the best revenge story ever written, with every single villain getting their comeuppance due the machinations of the wronged protagonist after returning from imprisonment and exile. Even better, the protagonist orchestrated the events so that each villain ultimately causes their own end through willful greed, ego, and cruelty. However, the key question is whether or not the protagonist is a villain too: at what point will he stop? When is it no longer justice? What about innocent bystanders? When faced with the decision whether to legally kill the only son of both his hated enemy and his former lover, Edmond Dantes finally decides to stop. This differentiates him from the villains, and the story allows the audience to determine whether to attribute it to morality, love, duty, etc. The story includes wish fulfillment because the ongoing audience consideration is “How many more times are you going to wish for this?” It felt good, it felt just, they “deserved” it, the world was better for it, but the point was that Dantes had other needs that he was ignoring by focusing solely on revenge. A core theme was that a desire for revenge is not inherently wrong—it springs from injustice and a desire for equitable results—but it isn’t the right answer to every problem. The villains’ ends fit in perfectly for the characters individually, the themes of the story, and the cultural backdrop of France before, during, and after the tumult of the Napoleonic wars.

Further, sometimes the “end” is just a pause. Many serials need the villain to remain a threat for future use, so that thread is left unresolved. This isn’t necessarily poor writing. However, those villains shouldn’t be intricately tied to a theme that requires a definitive resolution by the end of that phase. This type of arrangement requires extra planning because bringing back the villain will evoke those old themes, so either reviving the question or tying it into a new one is vital to a good story.

If included, a villain redemption arc must have 4 components: (1) an external stimulus causing (2) a choice to deviate from their plan and (3) a corresponding shift in their worldview, and those result in (4) action that matches the strength of their new conviction.

A proper villain redemption arc always has the same core message: people can change. It has absolutely nothing to do with earning anything because change comes from within; as soon as external approval comes into play, it’s no longer about change, it’s about relationships. The quality of a redemption arc has nothing to do with anyone other than the person being redeemed. If this type of arc doesn’t suit the story, it should not be included.

The four points listed above are necessary because they tie the villain’s arc to the plot. Why is the villain changing during this story? What does the writer believe is needed to correct course? Does the writer actually believe that people can change?

The external stimulus is necessary because of the above point that the villain should make things worse if left unchecked. That check doesn’t necessarily need to be the protagonist, an opponent, or even a character; it could be a sudden change in circumstances, like war breaking out or a new faction coming into play. Maybe the villain achieves their goal and something goes horribly wrong. Regardless of the specifics, the cause should something other than internal rumination. A villain coming to a sudden epiphany in a moment of daydreaming is too convenient, to the point that it lacks any dramatic effect. That tells me the writer doesn’t actually understand why the villain would choose this course of action in the first place. Demonstrating what would shake them out of it is not easy, but it is vital to a proper redemption arc. Something new needs to break the villain’s intentions apart.

The next two parts can happen in any order: shifting perspective first and then a choice, or choice first while ideas solidify, or both at the same time. Maybe there’s multiple steps along the way for each. Any of those can be believable.

The shift in perspective means that the villain understands that they had made the wrong choice. Whatever the new problem is, they couldn’t stop it, can’t fix it, or need something they had discarded, and the reason for that deficiency is their current course of action. The new development is undeniable proof that they were going to fail or already had failed. They don’t need to accept this psychological change immediately—the timing and fallout should match the genre—but it should happen in response to that external stimulus. In addition, even if they grapple with it as the story progresses, the villain should not fall back into old ways over minor problems. They can ruminate or even obsess over inconsequential issues, but actions should be taken only for something significant.

Once the dramatic revelation has occurred, the villain needs to have agency for how to deal with this dilemma. Maybe the story even involves the villain fighting for that agency before they exercise it, and that may happen in tandem with coming to terms with their shattered perspective. There should be at least one moment (perhaps several) where the villain has the opportunity to revert to their original plan or take a new path. That said, making such a choice under threat of death or harm isn’t very effective. Choice also requires more than one option, so I don’t find “you’re going to die anyway” circumstances to be powerful redemption arcs. They can be suitable for tragedies, but they carry the implication that villains have to face death before they will change, which is not going to mesh well with many themes absent some other redemption arcs in the same story to compare it to.

Finally, there needs to be action that matches both the villain’s new beliefs and the theme of the story, and the scale needs to be appropriately comparable to the villain’s prior intentions. Maybe the villain drains hoarded resources to support the protagonist’s gambit, emphasizing the need to collaborate with and trust in others. Maybe the villain becomes a double-agent and sabotages the corrupt empire from within, demonstrating that good is not served by people refusing to engage with an ongoing problem. Maybe the villain redesigns their ray gun to kill cancer cells, so the message is that technology is only as harmful as the people using it. Whatever they do, the villain’s redemption arc will be just as important to the audience as the protagonist’s arc. They need to make an impact worthy of that effect.

I’ll also note what I omit from this: emotion, forgiveness, and justice. Emotions are irrational, so I don’t buy into the idea that any character needs to experience a specific kind of emotion for a certain kind of arc or story to be high quality. Choices do not require emotional congruence. As for forgiveness and justice, redemption comes from within, and these two facets require input from other characters or social groups. Redemption does not need someone else’s permission or validation. While these three things can certainly add to a redemption arc—and I’m sure people have preferences—they are not necessary aspects. It is entirely possible to construct a quality redemption story without them.

Schindler’s List is essentially a villain redemption story: Oskar Schindler (the protagonist) was a businessman who joined and benefited from the rise of the Nazi Party. He held fascist leaning ideals (people as resources, efficiency and profit over all else, etc.) and bribed officials to get his way, but he wasn’t overtly cruel. His experiences with the Jews forced to work for him gradually changed his perspective, and he took small steps to make their lives easier or safer—against the wishes of the Nazi government. Eventually, he reached the point that he decided to engage in treason to try to save as many as he could, not only spending his ill-gotten fortune on selfless bribes, but also risking his own life, freedom, and station. There are several scenes that emphasize what would be done to him if his plots were discovered. Schindler ultimately saves hundreds of Jews and is not destroyed for it. Those he saved even work to protect him from the consequences of his past deeds. But his final scene shows that Schindler is crushed by his own conscience and laments that he could have done more. He was introduced as an apathetic, greedy villain, and his gradual change to a man genuinely heartbroken by the genocide and remorseful for his participation was well-paced and cathartic. In particular, his role as a villain (a “bystander” profiting from genocide) contrasted well with his later choices (sacrificing his fortune to save those he exploited).

In addition, the villain switching sides does not mean that it’s intended as a redemption arc. Hans Landa in Inglourious Basterds absolutely betrayed the Nazis, but he did it to save his own hide and talked his way into a rather comfortable retirement over it. There was no internal crisis, no new belief system. Landa simply realized that he had a better chance at a preferred future, so he remorselessly served up people to be killed, just like in the opening scene. Nothing had changed. That worked wonderfully in a film about stopping violence with violence and the emotional dissatisfaction of letting vile people live after they had terrorized and slaughtered innocent people. So the protagonists carved a swastika into Landa’s forehead as a warning of who he was. Is any of that good? That isn’t even the right question for a Tarantino film, but again, it was not intended as a redemption arc; it was very clearly intended to mean that some people don’t change and we may have to let them live anyway.

Redemption arcs don’t suit every story or villain. They take a lot of narrative focus to pull off well, and many of the thematic implications can be handled in a protagonist’s arc anyway. A lot of writers tend to fuck up by making the protagonist’s forgiveness or approval a necessary part of the story, ignoring that they’ve then added a message that change is only legitimate when recognized by others. (Note: Schindler’s List dodges this because Schindler denies himself the catharsis of forgiveness.) That said, many audiences like that message. They like the idea that their permission is needed for a bad person to change. I have a strong aversion to that mentality, especially when it conflicts with other themes in the story.

Is the writer telling a story about redemption, or is it about a religious concept of sin and atonement? Forgiveness and acceptance? Is this really about change, or is it about punishing people who hurt your favorites? Change is something we do, and there is value in that even when there is no atonement, forgiveness, or punishment waiting at the end.

Villains should not be included in a story if any of the above causes distraction or discordance with the main plot line.

Villains aren’t necessary for every story. If you want to go with conflict structures, a person vs. world or person vs. self story doesn’t need a villain. Villains can be added to those stories, but they need to represent something about the world/self for that to make sense. They are too dramatic and time-consuming to toss in as an afterthought. If there is nothing else you take from this post, take this: if a villain doesn’t add substance to your story, don’t include one.

I can tell when the writer is just checking boxes. None of these things can be done well without a certain level of affection for both the art of storytelling and the story being told. It’s not even difficult; it just takes effort. There’s an incredible amount of stories out there to engage with, and I’m never going be pleased to put up with a writer’s checklist villain.

Write what you want, and if you don’t want to include a narrative device that requires effort, then don’t.

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