Not All Antagonists are Mwahahaha
Thanks to a diet of Saturday morning cartoons, we know how to spot a villain. The men tend to be massive and moustachioed, garbed in the colours of hellfire, either with a dodgy doctorate or morally bankrupt corporation. (Donald Trump would fit right in). The women are often slinky vamps, fixated with a cause; think of the ladies of Batman. Animal rights, the environment and ... being a groupie? This activism is frequently forgotten when she meets A Man - sexist stereotyping at its most odious. I prefer scenarios where she hooks up with another villain and they become a force to be reckoned with.
This is all very well for children's stories, where everyone's written to a formula, but what about fiction for adults? Looking around, it's barely more sophisticated. Authors seem unable to believe that anyone ugly could be good or devotion to a cause could be anything other than sinister. They may provide back story - a lifetime of ill treatment has made the character bitter and twisted, they're continuing the fight of their late spouse - but these are incidental. We end up with the same crude archetypes: boring obligatory serial killer, man eater who tries to beguile the hero etc. It can make reading fiction a wearing experience: this guy again?
People don't have nemeses in real life. You may think your boss is out to get you, but the likelihood is she isn't plotting some diabolical scheme. She's counting down to retirement, just like everyone else. The same goes for the brother in law who tries to outdo you at every opportunity. In all probability he doesn't know he's being a dick.
This realisation results in far more realistic and original antagonists. Perhaps the word itself is to blame: while "antagonistic" suggests someone hostile and horrible, all it means is someone who gets in the protagonist's way. In classic comic strip Calvin and Hobbes, the designated antagonists are Calvin's mum and dad - not because they're cruel or bad parents, but they're trying to put their bratty little son to bed or give him a bath.
An interesting variation is when the protagonist is the unreasonable one. As a child, you support Kitty's campaign against her mum's new boyfriend in Goggle Eyes. As an adult you realise poor, beleaguered Gerald has only two faults: he's an old fashioned Tory and he isn't Kitty's father. He has our sympathy.
Sitcoms are the best at these non threatening antagonists. In Blackadder Goes Forth, Blackadder despises Darling, the General's sycophantic aide. He's oblivious to what's all too apparent to the viewer: he and Darling are strikingly similar, with exactly the same goals. When Darling is sent to the front, their enmity ends. All Blackadder sees is a terrified man who doesn't want to die.
Most sitcoms don't have such high stakes. More usual are the likes of Gus, the vacuous and profoundly useless boss in Drop the Dead Donkey, or Dwayne Benzie, the smarmy city boy who steals Tim's girlfriend in Spaced. (Though in a typically surreal move, actor Peter Serafinowicz recycles his Darth Maul voice). You can almost see the writers filing through their memory for every jerk they've known. The Red Dwarf creators always maintained weaselly, neurotic Rimmer was drawn from life, begging the question: does the original recognise himself?
After writing dastardly antagonists in The Governess and The Revenge of Rose Grubb, I thought I'd take it down a notch for Love and Robotics. Yes, there's Nick, the mad scientist turned cult leader, but he isn't the primary obstacle to Josh and Alfred's happiness. People sometimes do more harm from love than hate, so I gave them both a meddling loved one: Dr Sugar for Josh, Gwyn for Alfred.
Of the two, Sugar is indubitably the more sympathetic. All his actions stem from his paternal love for Josh - and when he realises he was wrong, he's desperate to make amends. Gwyn by contrast is sulky and immature, resenting the new man in her uncle's life. She inflicts more damage on the budding romance than any bad guy with a vendetta. You can choose your foes but not your family, unfortunately!
This is all very well for children's stories, where everyone's written to a formula, but what about fiction for adults? Looking around, it's barely more sophisticated. Authors seem unable to believe that anyone ugly could be good or devotion to a cause could be anything other than sinister. They may provide back story - a lifetime of ill treatment has made the character bitter and twisted, they're continuing the fight of their late spouse - but these are incidental. We end up with the same crude archetypes: boring obligatory serial killer, man eater who tries to beguile the hero etc. It can make reading fiction a wearing experience: this guy again?
People don't have nemeses in real life. You may think your boss is out to get you, but the likelihood is she isn't plotting some diabolical scheme. She's counting down to retirement, just like everyone else. The same goes for the brother in law who tries to outdo you at every opportunity. In all probability he doesn't know he's being a dick.
This realisation results in far more realistic and original antagonists. Perhaps the word itself is to blame: while "antagonistic" suggests someone hostile and horrible, all it means is someone who gets in the protagonist's way. In classic comic strip Calvin and Hobbes, the designated antagonists are Calvin's mum and dad - not because they're cruel or bad parents, but they're trying to put their bratty little son to bed or give him a bath.
An interesting variation is when the protagonist is the unreasonable one. As a child, you support Kitty's campaign against her mum's new boyfriend in Goggle Eyes. As an adult you realise poor, beleaguered Gerald has only two faults: he's an old fashioned Tory and he isn't Kitty's father. He has our sympathy.
Sitcoms are the best at these non threatening antagonists. In Blackadder Goes Forth, Blackadder despises Darling, the General's sycophantic aide. He's oblivious to what's all too apparent to the viewer: he and Darling are strikingly similar, with exactly the same goals. When Darling is sent to the front, their enmity ends. All Blackadder sees is a terrified man who doesn't want to die.
Most sitcoms don't have such high stakes. More usual are the likes of Gus, the vacuous and profoundly useless boss in Drop the Dead Donkey, or Dwayne Benzie, the smarmy city boy who steals Tim's girlfriend in Spaced. (Though in a typically surreal move, actor Peter Serafinowicz recycles his Darth Maul voice). You can almost see the writers filing through their memory for every jerk they've known. The Red Dwarf creators always maintained weaselly, neurotic Rimmer was drawn from life, begging the question: does the original recognise himself?
After writing dastardly antagonists in The Governess and The Revenge of Rose Grubb, I thought I'd take it down a notch for Love and Robotics. Yes, there's Nick, the mad scientist turned cult leader, but he isn't the primary obstacle to Josh and Alfred's happiness. People sometimes do more harm from love than hate, so I gave them both a meddling loved one: Dr Sugar for Josh, Gwyn for Alfred.
Of the two, Sugar is indubitably the more sympathetic. All his actions stem from his paternal love for Josh - and when he realises he was wrong, he's desperate to make amends. Gwyn by contrast is sulky and immature, resenting the new man in her uncle's life. She inflicts more damage on the budding romance than any bad guy with a vendetta. You can choose your foes but not your family, unfortunately!
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