The Case for Complicated Villains

(Or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Antagonist)

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For a long time, I wrote stories without proper villains.

Not out of rebellion. It just sort of…happened. The tension in my books usually came from systems, secrets, or internal struggle, more “man vs. society” or “man vs. existential dread” than “man vs. mustache-twirler.” I thought that was fine. I’d heard all the advice about needing a strong antagonist, but I shrugged and wrote anyway.

I’m reminded of Rustlers’ Rhapsody.

If you haven’t seen it, it’s a Western spoof starring Tom Berenger as Rex O’Herlihan, the classic singing cowboy from the 1940s and 50s. He’s square-jawed, well-meaning, always wins his fights, and never swears. He also knows he’s in a certain kind of series. The kind where good guys wear white hats and villains are conveniently evil and wear black. Simple. Predictable.

Until one day, a different kind of villain shows up.

A man in a white hat. Soft-spoken. Reasonable. Full of nuance. And he does the most dastardly thing imaginable. He makes Rex question himself.

Is he even the hero anymore? Is he still the good guy? Is he, gasp, confident in his sexuality? He never kissed the girl at the end of the episode (or other more explicit things.)

That moment stuck with me. Because that’s what a great antagonist does. They don’t just get in the way, they get under the protagonist’s skin. They challenge not just goals, but identity. They turn the story from a shootout into a psychological rodeo.

When I finally added a true antagonist to my last book, after many rewrites, POV shifts, and a gender merry-go-round, everything came into focus. The villain wasn’t pure evil (he was pretty bad though.) He had a past, a worldview, a reason. And that made him dangerous. Not because of what he did, but because of what he revealed in the protagonist. But even then It was an afterthought. A fix in postproduction.

Same thing happened in my current WIP. I started out villain-less, as usual, and the story meandered. I ended up adding one in late, postproduction again. But when I sat down for the rewrite and built an antagonist who believed he was the hero? Suddenly, the narrative tightened. The stakes sharpened. My main character had someone to push against and that friction created sparks and completely changed his focus.

I still think you can write a good story without a traditional antagonist. But if your plot feels soft around the edges, or your protagonist isn’t evolving, ask yourself this.

Who’s pressing on them? Who’s making them uncomfortable?

Not all villains need to wear black hats. Sometimes the best ones dress just like your hero and ask better questions.

So how do you build a villain like that?

Here are a few things I’ve learned:

They have to want something.

And not something generic like “power” or “chaos.” I mean something specific. Personal. Tangible. The kind of thing that puts them on a collision course with your protagonist. A good villain isn’t just evil, they’re in the way. Even better? They might be right.

They believe they’re the hero.

This one’s cliché because it’s true. Your antagonist should have a code, maybe even a noble one. They’re just willing to cross a few more lines to uphold it. If your reader can understand them (even if they don’t agree with them), you’ve got something potent.

They make your protagonist  react.

A good villain doesn’t just oppose the hero, they reveal them. Their presence should force hard choices. Compromise. Change. If your protagonist can stay the same person from beginning to end, the antagonist isn’t doing enough.

They should have limits.

Even the scariest antagonists need boundaries. Maybe they won’t hurt children. Maybe they secretly hope they’ll lose. The edges of their darkness can make them more interesting and more human.

Bonus points if they’re charming.

Not necessary, but oh-so-fun. A villain with a sense of humor, or a touch of style, or a seductive bit of charisma is more dangerous because they’re hard to hate. If your reader loves them a little, you’re doing something right.

At the end of the day, your antagonist is one half of the engine driving your story. They’re not just the obstacle, they’re the test. The crucible. The mirror. And if they’re doing their job, they’ll make your protagonist shine brighter by forcing them through the fire.

So. Who’s standing in your hero’s way? And what do they believe in so fiercely, they’re willing to become the villain in someone else’s story?