Instant Abbification

Some of the red flags of lazy villain-building: 

 1. Moustache-twirling. 

You’d think this one would be obvious, but whether it’s social conditioning via Looney Toons and old movies or something else entirely, all too many great authors fall prey to this cartoonish artifice. Moustache-twirling is a category I use for the apparent body-language of a villain: stroking facial hair (if male), filing fingernails, caressing a globe as he openly dreams of world/galactic domination, being ooey-gooey with a favorite pet, eating messily, being either very fat, very thin, very short, or very tall.

 2. The laugh.

Villains are apparently quite jolly. This artifice is typically a shortcut for showing some kind of  sociopathy. It’s apparently one thing to want to kills lots of people, but it’s quite another to do so with a big ole smile on your face. Gratingly, authors tend to go into lavish detail when describing the villain-laugh: chuckling, har-har-ing, roaring, and the ironic mwahaha are examples.

 3. The parade of evil.

Sometimes I wonder how some of these cartoonish villains got as far as they did, given how open they are with their evil tendencies. They might as well have a giant fireworks display of rockets colliding into planets hovering over their heads at all times. From casual threats of murder and genocide to loose morals and addictions, it’s like the author’s trying to convince his readers: “This is a super evil awful guy, see? See?!” by piling on as much apparent evil qualities as he can.

4. The blustery dick-sidekick to the effeminate, ultra-evil true villain.

Sometimes I wonder how this got to be an actual thing. I think it has something to do with latent homophobia/sexism on the part of the author, though that’s a giant can of worms I’m not about to pop at the moment.

How to Spice Up Your Bad Guys: 

1. Moustache-twirling.

Don’t do it! Take your villain’s hand away from that beard/goatee. If you must give your villain some kind of physical tic, then by all means do so, but be original. Have him do something that’s cute for a normal person but when he does it, takes on a sinister quality (andno, I don’t mean pet a cat. NOT THAT ONE).

• Yes: Occasionally twirls her fingers like she’s conducting an invisible symphony.
• No: Steeples her fingers.
• Yes: Obsessively thinks there’s a pebble in his shoe, a fly in his drink, a particle of sand in his eye, etc.
• No: Holds his giant belly when he laughs.

2. The laugh.

How about…not having your villain laugh at all? There’s a concept. Why should the bad guy get all the hyucks, anyway? If you must have him or her laugh, however, there are many less-paved routes. Giggling, for instance. Wheezing. Hmm-hmm-ing. Going “teh, teh, teh.” Be creative—I beg you!

• Yes: His laugh was a glockenspiel missing every other key.
• No: “Something evil!” she roared, holding her jiggling sides.
• Yes: She couldn’t distinguish his mirthful utterings from the bamboo chimes, as if man and object, having lived so long in proximity, had taken on a part of the other.
• No: She cackled.

 3. The parade of evil.

Pick something. One thing. Maybe two. Drill down deep. Sinister is the key.

• Yes: A pile of ash gathered in a pyramid under his cigarette. Elisabeth was convinced he didn’t light it to smoke it, but rather to watch the cylinder slowly consume itself.
• No: He dragged the girl into the room by her hair, ash from his stogie burning her skin where it fell. His office was packed with garbage, and stank. There was a poster of her father on the wall with a big red X over his face.
• Yes: Soon they’d all get it. When she released the alert the major world governments wouldn’t be able to resist, each scrambling to deny her allegations, to prove their neighbor was the culprit, not them. She needn’t do much more than stir the pit of rattlesnakes.
• No: She trained the death-laser at New York City, roaring in laughter, delighting in the prospect of charred bodies and motherless children.

4. The blustery dick-sidekick to the effeminate, ultra-evil true villain.

Sometimes it’s great to pair villains to contrast and compare their sinister qualities. But take a lesson from the Twilight Zone on this one: there’s little more sinister than a husband-and-wife team committed to a life of crime for the sheer thrill of it. The point is that while true evil is both mundane and flashy, it is mostly mundane.

• Yes: Jerome was good at keeping Jillian’s secrets. She had lots of secrets: a recipe for a prize-winning red velvet cake; a false closet in which to hide Christmas presents from the kids; a map to where the bodies were buried.
• No: “Got my shiny new gun, whee!” Barney shot it a round into the wall, right through Boss’s prize calendar.
  “Please contain yourself, Barnard.” Boss brushed a hair from his sleek suit, eying Barney with disdain.
• Yes: The wolf followed him, paralleling his track through the wood. Did he imagine its presence, or its interest? He dreamed it spoke to him, telling him who was evil, who needed to be eliminated. The animal howled and disappeared. He was sure of it: the wolf had told him to kill little Nancy.
• No: “Settle down, Horace,” she said, plump red lips gleaming off the bar-lights. Horace wondered what had become of his life, and how this woman had convinced him to kill her ex-husband.

Your Turn: What are your red flags of lazy villain-building? And how do you spice up your bad guys?

(originally posted on Abigail Nussey, Writer)