Toy Story 4, and the Redundancy of Self-Celebratory Art

(On a slight note prefacing this article, which takes the shape of an op-ed, my previous article, Born Villain: The Greatest Antagonists in Film History, was my six-hundredth post on this blog. I knew I was prolific, but flip me!)

On the 21st of June of this year, Toy Story 4 opened in UK cinemas to delight of audiences and critics alike. So far, it has grossed approximately $920, 535, 664 (Box Office Mojo), a resounding success off the back of it's $200 million budget. Indeed, far from the argument of the doomsday naysayers who lament the death of cinema, if the numbers are to judge by anything, our multiplexes are flourishing, the pictures are taking in more money, and audiences continue to flock in ever-increasing droves to see the latest tentpole releases. In 2019 alone, six films thus far have grossed over $900 million, four of which have crossed the $1 billion threshold (including re-releases, only three films pre-2000, Jurassic Park, Titanic and Stars Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace, have generated that much revenue at the box-office), and Avengers: Endgame, the tip of Marvel's marketing iceberg, has grossed $2, 793, 404, 739 (Box Office Mojo), displacing Avatar as the highest-grossing film of all time. And yet, despite all these statistics, facts and the general consensus being that now is perhaps as vibrant a time as ever to go to the cinema, I can't help myself, can't shake this feeling that something's awry. There's a taste in my mouth, and it's a little bit bitter. 

Now, objectively speaking, Toy Story 4 is a great film. It's a charming work, beautifully animated with a wonderful voice cast, and a crew of hundreds, maybe thousands at Pixar, working behind the scenes who put their heart and soul into realising these characters to their fullest degree, with warmth and sincerity. They are people who care about what they do, the efforts that they put into their craft, and the audiences they're making their pictures for. And still, I can't help but feel that the whole thing is a perfunctory exercise. Maybe part of the problem is that with Toy Story 3, a film which I hold up in the highest estimation as one of the greatest motion pictures of all time, was for me a perfect ending to this story. How do you top perfection, or move on from there? 

It's an inevitability that anything you follow on with has an uphill battle, and more often than not these works fail to live up expectations. There have been times when I have been very vocal in my opposition to reboots, remakes and sequels, but have been thoroughly proved wrong. I cite the recent entries into the Planet Of The Apes franchise. As a lover of that series, and an old-school make-up/practical special effects guy, I was horrified and dismissive of the move to do it all with motion-capture and animation. However, when I saw it all in action, the skill, excellence and dedication to the craft sold me on it. I was hooked, convinced from the get-go by the performances. The same can be said for Blade Runner 2049. I was outraged that a sequel was even being made, much less contemplated as some mindless fantasy in the head of a fanboy. Again, I went to see the film in the cinema and was astounded. It's an extraordinary piece, very much within the same universe but a work all of it's own, a rare piece of cinema, and one of the few times in recent years that studios have invested a heavy financial budget into what is essentially an art film. 

That being said, while it's hardly a recent trend (indeed, since the mid-1970s in particular), I feel that in the 21st century our cinemas have been increasingly swallowed up and digested by what I call 'self-celebratory art.' What I mean when I refer to certain works as self-celebratory art is non-original pictures which are part of an extended franchises, or are remakes/adaptations of already-existing works. I might be generalising and lumping things together here, and it's not a commentary on the quality (or lack thereof) of a given work, but I do feel the overall atmosphere to be roundly insidious, pernicious, negative, damaging and detrimental to the advancement of cinema and art as a whole. 

Take a quick glance over a list of the top fifty highest-grossing films of all time (Wikipedia). I haven't had a look at it for a few years, being largely out of film criticism and focusing on my own creative work, but it's even more frightening than it was before. The numbers may be up, but I've cobbled up a short list of what I suppose could be considered 'original properties' at the time of their release:

(Number is according to their ranking on the top fifty highest-grossing films of all time)

#45. The Lion King - $968, 483, 777 (1994)

#43. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone - $975, 051, 288 (2001)

#38. Zootopia - $1, 023, 784, 195 (2016)

#34. Jurassic Park - $1, 029, 939, 903 (1993)

#14. Frozen - $1, 276, 480, 335 (2013)

#3. Titanic - $2, 187, 463, 944 (1997)

#2. Avatar - $2, 789, 679, 794 (2009)

Of the information presented here, there are a few things to take back. Three of these pictures (The Lion King, Frozen and Zootopia) were produced by Disney, the former two developed into successful franchises. Indeed, the original Lion King was surpassed at the box-office recently by it's 2019 remake, and Frozen has become a massively popular sub-brand under Disney. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone came off the back of J.K. Rowling's literary success and launched the beginning of it's own cinematic franchise. Jurassic Park was an adaptation of a hot property (by Michael Crichton, soon to become even hotter property with ER on the way for television), and Titanic and Avatar were the brainchild of a visionary filmmaker (and at their given times of production the highest-budgeted films of all time). 

So, basically, unless you have Disney's backing, a ready-made brand (Harry Potter), or your name is Steven Spielberg or James Cameron, good luck trying to get some backing for your $200 million masterpiece. Filmmakers such as Christopher Nolan and Alejandro Gonzalez Innaritu, original auteurs for all intents and purposes, needed the financial success of The Dark Knight or the award-winning acclaim of Birdman to get the backing required for big-budget original passion projects Inception and The Revenant. No such trouble for Alfonso Cuaron, who followed 2013's Gravity with the modestly-budgeted (at $15 million) Roma, but Guillermo del Toro has encountered production problems (as he has throughout his career) in realising the vision for his adaptation of Carlo Collodi's The Adventures of Pinocchio, first announced in 2008, even off the back of The Shape Of Water. It was only with the recent intervention and backing of Netflix (increasingly a force in the industry in their own right) that the project was able to be revived. 

In today's world, the Marvel Cinematic Universe is king. With a genius strategy of saturating the market and slowly whetting the appetites of their audiences that everyone else in the game has been trying to emulate since, the twenty-three films of the MCU has collectively grossed $23, 491, 347, 603, and is by some margin the highest-grossing film franchise of all time. The nearest competitor in terms of overall gross is the Star Wars franchise, with it's eleven films having grossed $9, 241, 699, 398. But there is a common thread between these franchises. In October 2012, Lucasfilm was acquired by Disney, and in September of 2015, Marvel Studios was integrated into The Walt Disney Studios. Indeed, on March 20th, 2019, a deal was completed between 20th Century Fox, the previous distributor of the Star Wars franchise and formerly one of the 'Big Six' studios, and Disney, during the merger in which The Walt Disney company purchased most of the assets of 21st Century Fox. 

Now, this is no grand conspiracy against Disney, although certainly my myriad reasons for occasional contempt against Disney are many. Among the top twenty-five highest-grossing film franchises of all time, all but two are properties under the thumb of the current 'Big Five.' Lionsgate, a mini-major studio with a not-insubstantial 3.3% of the market share, have The Hunger Games and The Twilight Saga (through the acquisition of Summit Entertainment in January 2012) under their belt. Besides those, though, everything else is spread between Walt Disney Pictures, Warner Bros. Pictures, Universal Pictures, Columbia Pictures and Paramount Pictures. 

The market share statistics among the Big Five (and by proxy their studio parent/conglomerates, are also worth noting):

Universal Pictures - 14.9%

Paramount Pictures - 6.3%

Warner Bros. Pictures - 16.3%

Walt Disney Pictures - 36.3%

Columbia Pictures - 10.9%

(Source: US/CAN Market Share 2018)

Take into account that even a percentage, a comparative small slice of the pie when we're talking about the kind of money that goes into the film industry, is still a fair whack of money. So, as you can see from this information, Disney dominate with over a third of the market share, which is surely only set to increase after said acquisition of 20th Century Fox and it's cinematic franchises. But what this also tells us is that, between the Big Five studios, an estimated 84.8% of the market share is spread among these five companies. It's a staggering statistic when you think about it. 

What I gather from this information is that it is a very financially lucrative market in the film industry at present. I may have said the MCU is king, but really commerce is king. This is a comparative monopoly in which a small group of individuals overlord and run the film industry, essentially propping themselves and their organisations up off of the back of capitalistic gain in the name of consumer art. In recent years, Warner Bros. acquired the distribution rights to The Hobbit films in 2012, partnering with New Line Cinema, who produced and distributed The Lord Of The Rings films, and, with Sony's deal expiring, after an April 2017 bidding competition for distribution rights, Eon Productions and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer announced a one-picture deal with Universal Pictures for the twenty-fifth instalment in the James Bond film franchise, MGM handling domestic distribution and Universal taking on international distribution. The Wizarding World under Heyday Films, the UK's other major franchise, has always had American backing from it's owner and distribution company Warner Bros.. This is a highly competitive market in which the big organisations and conglomerates are snapping up what they see as hot property, not as art but as investments, potential profits, and as you can see from this decade alone the trend seems to be continuing further and further down along that line.

Does that mean that there is a decline in the quality of art? No, not necessarily. Indeed, as I mentioned earlier, there have been some remarkable pictures from these franchises, and from what I've seen of the current crop of independent artists who continue to be ahead of the curve, the cream will always rise to the top. However, what it does mean that unfortunately the film industry is driven, more so than ever, by commerce, money, financial and materialistic gain over quality control and genuinely enriching, original and creative art. When you have an industry, rather than a culture, which is driven in such a fashion, it has the impact upon it's audiences as that of the Ouroboros, the ancient symbol of the serpent, or the dragon, eating it's own tail. Now, while Carl Jung may have seen this as constituting the secret of the prima materia, and it may still be so, I personally tend to take a negative interpretation of the Ouroboros. We become like a worm that devours itself; we're returning to something we're acquainted with, a familiar state, an old friend, maybe, but ultimately, in doing so, and thus continuing to buy into and consume these things, and thus ourselves, we are slowly chewing and swallowing ourselves up, piece by piece. Denying ourselves of the chance, the opportunity, to try out new things, we close ourselves off from the world and submit to living within the warm, comforting arms of solace. We end up walking over the same old ground, treading the same steps we have before, stuck in the mud, not really going anywhere.

Where are the risk-takers, where are the daredevils, the enfant terribles, the provocatuers, the agitators, the extremists?

Where are the people who're willing to break the chains that hold, the mould created around them, throw the middle-finger up and shout with defiance in the face of fear?

Where are you now? 

Show yourself.

The greatest creative artists, Ingmar Bergman, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, people of that ilk, had their very own specific crafts, but never allowed themselves to get pigeonholed or repeat themselves. Masters of self re-invention, they consistently gave the world something new and original (and they didn't have to bankrupt half a third-world country for their productions to boot!), fresh and interesting, to devour and consume, if you want to look at it in those rather base and crude terms. I prefer to look at it as bathing in the light of the sun, or basking in the sea of consciousness. The greatest of art, as one of the great forms of human expression, inspires a universal and collective sense of oneness, being, consciousness, enlightenment, understanding and contentment. Personally speaking, I for the most part do not get that feeling of satisfaction from these grotesque and bombastic works made with money that would be better off going towards charitable causes, more especially given their varying quality. I lament every time a new Terminator film is on the way. Sometimes it's better, to rip off a phrase from John Ajvide Lindqvist, to let the old dreams die. 

So, what is there to be taken away from this?

To creative artists, keep doing your thing. You are a unique and original voice, and your fierce determination and self-confidence will continue to inspire others around you. Never let anyone tell you that you and your work ain't worth it, because, believe me, they are. There is always a place out there for those who willing to dare to dream, be brave, courageous, and kick against the pricks.

To audiences, don't just take what you're given, what's foisted upon you or shoved down your throats, and that goes for all aspects of life as well as art. Get out there, venture into the unknown, do something new, participate in something you've done before, engage with what you otherwise thought was not possible. There's a big bad world out there waiting to be discovered. 

At the end of the day, all of these great trees and the branches spinning-off of them, grow from the very same soil as everything else, and from this fertile ground, all the same seeds, sown; 

the lightswitches in the brain, the flickering flames in the heart, the beginning of new ideas...

Born Villain - The Greatest Antagonists in Film History

(During the course of my writing this article, on the very day I had just finished banging up all of these entries, I discovered that Rutger Hauer had passed away. Notwithstanding his presence on this list as a great screen antagonist, Hauer was one of my personal favourite actors, from his early work in Holland with Paul Verhoeven right up to the present day. An environmentalist who supported numerous causes, including the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society, he also established his own AIDS awareness organisation, the Rutger Hauer Starfish Foundation. He is survived by his wife Ineke, his daughter Aysha, and grandson Leandro. He will be greatly missed.)

At the centre of great storytelling, we must have characters who we care about, sympathise with, understand. Everyone likes to have a hero to root for in the course of their plight, but we would not be able to do so if it were not for their antagonists. These agents of conflict and tension are what the hero bounce off of, and without them they would not be able to successfully navigate their way through the trials and tribulations of their struggles. Also, while most heroes, though varying in range, have their archetypes, their prototypes, general attributes, the same rules do not apply to the antagonists. As such (and this is speaking personally as well as generally), we cannot help but be drawn to the elusive, mysterious qualities of the antagonist, their level of distance from us as viewers, identifying with the hero. So, with that being said, we are focusing here on the greatest antagonists in film history. Before we get started, I want to establish some ground rules, for this being a subjective judgement, I would like to define to you what exactly makes, in my eyes, an antagonist.

1. Agent of conflict - the antagonist causes challenges for the protagonist to overcome over the course of the film.

2. Negative energy - for me, a true antagonist is that of a dark force to that of the protagonist's light. There may be varying shades of grey, but we're going to be talking about black-and-white/good-and-evil psychology. 

3. No protagonists - this is perhaps the most contentious of my ground rules. However, in my opinion if the antagonist is the main character/protagonist in a work, than they cannot be a true antagonist; for all intents and purposes, they are the hero of their respective worlds, so no Alexander De Larges or Travis Bickles.

Also, as a quick preface, I do have to admit a more than slight bias towards the less-celebrated antagonists in film history, so you perhaps may see a few unfamiliar faces in lieu of some notable absences. 

So, here it is!

(In alphabetical order)

Staff Sergeant Bob Barnes (Platoon), played by Tom Berenger

I saw Platoon at a young age (probably about ten or eleven), and since then it has been one of my favourite pictures. It has stood the test of time and repeated viewing as a strong, humanist depiction of conflict. At the crux of it's drama is the battle of ideologies between the compassionate Elias (played by Willem Dafoe) and the brutal Barnes. As Charlie Sheen's protagonist Chris Taylor states, "There are times since, I've felt like a child, born of those two fathers." This is Shakespearean tragedy placed right in the centre of the Vietnam War. As a boy, I hated Barnes for his brutality and cold dispensing of his interpretation of justice, to keep the machine from breaking down. As a man, I understand him a lot more, but detest him nonetheless. 

Norman Bates (Psycho), played by Anthony Perkins

When prepping and researching this article, I repeatedly stated and had in mind Norman Bates as the kind of antagonist I gravitated towards. In many ways, to use a cliche, he has almost become an archetype. The first factor in that process is that he is a three-dimensional character and not a mere pantomime. Without spoiling anything, there are lots of little nooks and crannies in the different aspects of Norman. Secondly, he's portrayed with a wonderfully nuanced performance by Anthony Perkins. He has the shy, boy-next-door charm, and executes the perfect balance in terms of dialling all his tics up and down, so he manages be simultaneously sympathetic and frightening.

Roy Batty (Blade Runner), played by Rutger Hauer

I recently watched Blade Runner again, sometime around the release of the delightfully brilliant surprise that was Denis Villeneuve's 2017 sequel Blade Runner 2049. As with every time I watch Blade Runner (and any truly great film), I see something new, and this time it was how little actual screentime there is of Roy Batty. Yet, despite this, his shadow looms long among the many over the whole picture. As strong as Harrison Ford's Rick Deckard is as a protagonist, I've always gravitated towards Rutger Hauer's android replicant Batty. His primary focus towards prolonging life is a relatable end goal, and while this is going on he's still learning what it means to be alive. Thus, Deckard, and by proxy us as viewers, are asked to question our values and the meaning of existence. Batty is an intelligent, receptive, seductive and philosophical foil, a perfect piece, perhaps the perfect piece, for the world of Blade Runner (and Rutger Hauer delivers perhaps the greatest soliloquy in film history in his final scene). Spellbinding.

Hans Beckert (M), played by Peter Lorre

When I was a teenager broadening my palette into international cinema, one of the pictures that I came across was Fritz Lang's M. Notwithstanding the fact that it is all-round a majestically constructed work, it is a major achievement on the part of Peter Lorre that he was able to make Hans Beckert a sympathetic character. A serial killer who preys on and murders children, he is introduced to us in a manner akin to that of a phantom boogeyman, whistling the leitmotif of Edvard Grieg's In The Hall Of The Mountain King from Peer Gynt Suite No. 1. The whole film builds itself around the manhunt and bases itself upon the predication that Beckert is a monster. By the end, however, it is clear that Beckert is not a ghoul or a fiend, but a person, a deranged and insane one, but a human being nonetheless. It is another classic case of an antagonist being used to question our morals and ethics, and the torment and anguish which this man so clearly suffers makes him a sorrowful figure indeed.

Frank Booth (Blue Velvet), played by Dennis Hopper

And now we head into altogether different territory. For each of these entries I use Google Images to find an appropriate picture. In the case of Frank Booth, I found it hard to find one that was relatively neutral. Dennis Hopper's wild-eyed and foul-mouthed Booth is sexually aggressive and violently psychotic. Every time he is onscreen in the presence of Kyle MacLachlan's poor Jeffrey Beaumont, like him, we are on edge, because Frank is the epitome of human evil cranked up to eleven. At a moment's notice, with his hair-trigger temperament, helped in no part by his gas-inhaling habit, he could snap and fly into a rage. Hopper is a force of nature who wreaks havoc wherever he walks in this part, chewing people up and spitting them out for his pleasure and delight. Of all the antagonists on this list, Frank Booth may well be the most terrifying.

Anton Chigurh (No Country For Old Men), played by Javier Bardem

Described as the Unstoppable Evil archetype that recurs throughout Cormac McCarthy's literature (think the Judge from Blood Meridian), Javier Bardem's acclaimed performance in the Coen brothers' Academy-Award winning adaptation of No Country For Old Men as Anton Chigurh is already the stuff of legend. Chigurh is one of those characters that when he walks into a room the whole atmosphere changes. The air becomes cooler, the tempo of your heartbeat speeds up, sensing the element of danger, and yet you can't tear your eyes from this strange-looking mop-headed hitman. He is ruthless, remorseless and completely lacking in compassion, but what separates him from the pack is that he has a philosophy. Living by a very specific and deliberate set of morals and principles, he is relentlessly determined in executing his tasks, but abides by a code in doing so. Perhaps that, along with Bardem's unique delivery, is what makes him so fascinating. 

Commodus (Gladiator), played by Joaquin Phoenix

I could write a book about my love for Gladiator. Although widely celebrated when first released in 2000, it has been in the years since then been subject to on-off spats of negative criticism. I first saw it when I was nine years old on the DVD copy my uncle bought me for Christmas (which remains in my possession) and it still carries for me the sheer scope, the spectacle, the awe and wonder of the majesty of Ancient Rome that so entranced me as a boy. But anyway, I digress. One of the things about Gladiator that never changes, though, is that Commodus is an out-and-out bastard. Jealous, insecure, vicious with an insatiable bloodlust, his cruelty knows no bounds of moral transgression in the pursuit of getting what he wants. Played by a young Joaquin Phoenix, who has since went on to have an incredible career with a wide body of work, this was the first time I and many others no doubt saw him on the big screen. I'd be lying if I didn't say there's times I find it hard to get rid of that initial impression.

Sherrif "Little" Bill Daggett (Unforgiven), played by Gene Hackman

This is what I meant earlier by rule number three, because in another picture "Little" Bill Daggett would be hero of the piece, while Clint Eastwood's Will Munny would be the villain. However, in the Eastwood-directed Unforgiven, the lines are blurred. While Munny is no saint in this world of sinners, Gene Hackman, who also gave us one of cinema's great protagonists in "Popeye" Doyle, his "Little" Bill Daggett is clearly anything but an angel. The sheriff of Big Whiskey is a sadistic scoffer who in the course dispensing justice mocks, berates and revels in the downfall of his enemies. Far from the firm but fair objective lawman, he takes pleasure in making grand gestures and displays, all the while exhibiting a rough and ready violent streak. Unforgiven is not just one of the great screen westerns, but one of the great works of the screen period, and "Little" Bill Daggett is a notable part of that.

Death (The Seventh Seal), played by Bengt Ekerot

Ingmar Bergman was a master with a vast body of work spanning multiple decades, and which I have no doubt will continue to live on many centuries after his passing. We will be speaking of Bergman as canon in the same way we do of Shakespeare. However, of all the many great things Bergman did as an artist, no image of his is so indelibly burned into the popular consciousness than the opening scene of Bengt Ekerot's Death playing chess on the beach with Max Von Sydow's knight Antonius Block. Not a regular screen player of Bergman's, Ekerot, although caked in white paint and shrouded in black clothing, depicts Death not as a pantomime figure, a frothing devil with a twist in his tail, but as a self-aware individual whose mere concern is the inevitable fulfilment of his purpose, that of delivering the souls of the living from one realm to another. It's as strong a performance as that of the innumerable greats from the wide oeuvre of The Great Swede, and is certainly the most influential depiction of Death in contemporary culture.

Lady Eboshi (Princess Monoke), played by Yuko Tanaka

There's a lot to admire about Lady Eboshi. She's a strong and determined woman in a world of men, the courageous leader of Irontown, a proud individual not above self-sacrifice in following her beliefs. Unfortunately, though, she's batting for the wrong side. In the pursuit of industrial advancement, Lady Eboshi's cause has a negative impact on the environment and natural wildlife in the world that the characters inhabit. In her steadfast refusal to accept compromise or accept any opposition, she's sincere in her stubborn belief that what she is doing for the greater good of her people. Yuko Tanaka injects Eboshi with a sense of humanity. A pet peeve of mine when watching works by left-wing/liberal filmmakers is the depiction of 'The Big Bad' as a two-dimensional cartoon, a cardboard-cutout caricature of a fascistic demagogue. With thorough fleshing out and three-dimensional complexity, there's none of that with Eboshi.

Terence Fletcher (Whiplash), played by J.K. Simmons

Earlier on I mentioned about how whenever certain characters walk into a room the atmosphere changes. While with Anton Chigurh the temperature drops Terence Fletcher cranks things up high, to the point that, like Miles Teller's Andrew Neiman, you're sweating buckets because you're with him on the edge of that stool behind the drumkit. The dramatic tension of Damien Chazelle's Whiplash is predicated around the mercurial relationship of young jazz student Neiman and his teacher Fletcher. After years of quietly stealing the show, J.K. Simmons took the ball that was this gift of a part and ran with it. His Terence Fletcher is a foul-mouthed tyrant, a perfectionist wound up like a coiled spring and as such has everyone else on edge through the film. Even Fletcher's quieter moments are nerve-wracking. They're like the calm before the storm, and what lies underneath is a human tornado.

Alexandra "Alex" Forrest (Fatal Attraction), played by Glenn Close

When Fatal Attraction was first released in 1987, it caused a sensation. In the midst of the uproar, it became the highest-grossing film of 1987 and was nominated for six Academy Awards. Now, while I will say the film as a whole is terrific, standing up against retrospective negative criticism, it would not work on the level that it does without the extraordinary performance of Glenn Close. Now, I am an unabashed fan of Close, but what she does her with Alexandra Forrest goes above and beyond. Although Fatal Attraction is designed around the tension Close brings to Michael Douglas' Dan Gallagher's life, Alex is no two-dimensional wailing banshee of a woman scorned. Close's Alex is a deeply troubled, disturbed individual with mental health issues who develops a dangerous infatuation. I can't say enough about the brilliance of this performance, certainly up there among my personal favourites. Alex may have become the prototypical 'bunny boiler' in the popular conscious, but Close plays her with such humanity that you cannot help but sympathise with her. In today's day and age and in light of the recent Me Too movement, it seems especially prescient, and that's perhaps why men find Alex so terrifying.

Hans Gruber (Die Hard), played by Alan Rickman

And now we go back into the realm of more famous antagonists. Bruce Willis' John McClane is one of the great screen protagonists, but McClane would not have come across as successfully without the work of Alan Rickman as Hans Gruber. In the forty-two year old's first screen performance, Rickman revels in the opportunity. In another man's hands, Hans would be another two-dimensional terrorist. With Rickman, Gruber portrays the extremist as an intelligent, sophisticated and ruthless gentleman will go to all lengths to get what he wants (namely his detonators!). Just look at the smooth versatility with which he (as an Englishman) floats between an American accent, German and German-accented English when he and McClane meet face-to-face (in a scene which was not originally in the script but only written in once it was found out that Rickman could do an American accent). It's a small scene, but absolute genius. 

Doyle Hargraves (Sling Blade), played by Dwight Yoakam

John Ritter's Vaughan describes Doyle Hargraves as a "monster," and in Billy Bob Thorton's 1996 contemporary classic Sling Blade, Dwight Yoakam's Doyle is the definition of the concept that sometimes the greatest of monsters are often the most human. Doyle is no slasher movie villain, but in the context of this drama, he carries similar attributes where the fear surrounding him is concerned. A violent and abusive alcoholic, he perpetually torments those closest to him, namely his girlfriend Linda, her son Frank, and the various members of his band. He also bullies Vaughan for his homosexuality and our protagonist, Billy Boy Thornton's Karl Childers, feeling that his intellectual disability makes him an easy target. Country musician Yoakam, a non-professional actor, fits right into the Southern Gothic fairy tale world of Sling Blade, and his Doyle is the perfect opposing force to Thornton's Karl.

Matthew Hopkins (Witchfinder General), played by Vincent Price

The late great Vincent Price, a cult favourite of many (and yours truly), played many parts over the course of his career, which spanned seven different decades, but was mostly known for his work in the horror genre. Alternating between protagonist and antagonist, no role in the case of the latter was as deliriously malevolent as that of Matthew Hopkins in Witchfinder General. Despite constant clashes on-set with young director Michael Reeves, Price gives perhaps his most subtle performance. His Hopkins is a suitably restrained menace, and the cool, calm demeanour of this religious zealot in the face of heinous brutality is very unnerving. Price would later admit when he saw the picture that he understood what Reeves had been getting at, and for the rest of his life held it up as one of his personal favourite works. I too believe it to be up there.  

El Indio (For A Few Dollars More), played by Gian Maria Volonte

Sergio Leone, the great master of the Spaghetti Western, was a production powerhouse with five terrific pictures under his belt from 1964-1971, two of which, The Good, The Bad And The Ugly and Once Upon A Time In The West are consider among the greatest films of all time. However, of all the many rogues in the gallery of his antagonists, none is more villainous and dastardly as the laughing face of El Indio. Played by Gian Maria Volonte, himself described as a volatile actor behind the scenes, Indio has been bust out of prison by members of his gang, and while getting back to his old ways displays a savagery going beyond reason and revenge. Merciless, the drug habit which distracts him from haunting memories in fact feeds his cruelty, creating a cyclical process of violence in which he relishes the rules of the games he makes, playing out his duels by the chilling chimes of his pocket watch, designed of course by the Maestro Morricone. Consider the church scene; Alex Cox describes Indio as the "most diabolical Western villain of all time." However fascinating, it's hard to disagree.

Joker (The Dark Knight), played by Heath Ledger

It's hard to say anything that hasn't already been said about Heath Ledger's iconic turn as the Joker in The Dark Knight. Having been played in the past by the likes of Cesar Romero, Jack Nicholson and Mark Hamill, initially there was great opposition to Ledger's casting. However, whereas all previous depictions of the character were variations on the same theme, Ledger threw out the rule book and went in a whole other direction. The agent of chaos to the order of Christian Bale's Batman ("You complete me!"), Ledger is that character body and soul, from the lip-smacking scrunched face and yellow teeth under the smeared makeup to his physical movements right down to that voice, his Joker is anarchy personified in a manner which is cerebral, intense, occasionally funny, and always frightening. To say that Ledger's passing at the age of twenty-eight was untimely is an understatement, for he left us with something that will go down in the history of pop culture ("Why so serious?") and one of the classic performances of the screen. 

Lina Lamont (Singin' In The Rain), played by Jean Hagen

Singin' In The Rain is a wonderful cinematic experience: charming, heartfelt, whimsical, satirical and at times outrageously funny, it remains to this day one of the warmest and spiritually uplifting motion pictures ever made. In the midst of all this, though, there's a proverbial "devil in a red dress," or in this case, several different garish, lavish colours. Jean Hagen's Lina Lamont is a prototypical screen 'bitch,' the ancestor of all those high-school bullies that later became steadfast fixtures as foils for our protagonists. Insecure, vindictive and neurotic (with a horrendously screechy voice to boot), Lina has a cold-blooded nasty streak, willing to throw anyone under a speeding train in order to advance her career. It's hard not to feel indignant threatens to sabotage the career of co-star Gene Kelly's Don Lockwood and attempts to use and usurp the budding talents of poor Debbie Reynolds' Kathy Selden. None of this could pulled off as successfully without Hagen's spot-on turn.

SS Colonel Hans Landa (Inglourious Basterds), played by Christoph Waltz

I have a contentious relationship with Inglourious Basterds (and Quentin Tarantino's wider oeuvre as a whole). Famously, back when it was first released, I fell asleep for a couple of minutes only to wake up and see that nothing new had happened and we were still in the middle of the same scene. I have since seen it again, and while I may still have those opines, I've never been anything less than convinced by the sheer magnetism and force of Christoph Waltz' turn as Hans Landa. The film's opening ("Once Upon A Time In Nazi-Occupied France"), in which Landa interrogates a dairy farmer suspected of hiding a Jewish family, is absolutely nerve-wracking, down to Waltz's mercurial talents. Polite, eloquent and charming in his demeanour, Waltz nevertheless manages to get across entirely the cruel economy and intelligent ruthlessness of the self-styled "Jew Hunter." This extended sequence is the highlight of the film and one of the best things Tarantino, a master wordsmith, has ever written. While the rest of the movie may not be entirely up to scratch, every time Waltz's Landa is onscreen we are hooked, line and sinker.

Lots-O-Huggin' Bear "Lotso" (Toy Story 3), played by Ned Beatty

Speaking of Tarantino, who would name Toy Story 3 his favourite film of 2010, this here's a pretty personal pick of mine. Also my favourite film of 2010 and single-favourite picture of the past twenty years, I can't say enough about my absolute love for Toy Story 3. Part of what works so well here, from a general perspective, is the time, craft and exceptional care that goes into establishing and fleshing out (or rather, fluffing out) these characters. In the case of Lotso, who is, on the surface, a kind-natured soul, a good 'ole boy, underneath the warm veneer he's a benevolent dictator ruling the toys of Sunnyside Daycare with an iron fist. He punishes troublemakers with abominable cruelty, all in his belief that it is being the done for the greater good. Ultimately, though, Lotso's darkness emerges from heartbreak and trauma. However bitter and miserable he may be, Ned Beatty ensures that he is, if not sympathetic, then certainly an understandable and relatable antagonist. 

Pazazu (The Exorcist), played by Eileen Dietz/Mercedes McCambridge/Ron Faber/Linda Blair

I have some slight issues with AFI's 100 Years... list of Heroes & Villains. As I mentioned at the beginning, there were some individual characters who, for all intents and purposes, are the heroes as the film's protagonists, such as Travis Bickle, Alexander de Large, Michael Corleone, but one I absolutely object to is Regan MacNeil being classed among the mugshots. It is quite clearly the demon Pazazu that is the film's antagonist. Evil in all it's purity, Pazazu takes possession of the twelve-year-old Regan as a pawn to be used in his inevitable showdown with the priests Merrin and Karras. A dark force throwing down the gauntlet to challenge God's agents of the faith, Pazazu strips down the glory of battle to it's bare bones, and through the various incarnations, guises of a raw, putrid, ugly self, takes our protagonists (and the audience) to otherwise unimaginable territory. 

Reverend Harry Powell (The Night Of The Hunter), played by Robert Mitchum

I saw The Night Of The Hunter for the first time very recently and was completely entranced. I've seen it a second time since, and will probably soon enough watch it again. Although maligned upon release, it is one of the most unique of Hollywood studio pictures. Part of this lasting appeal is down to the incredible performance of Robert Mitchum as the Reverend Harry Powell. With a sinister charm that belies the ruthless efficiency with which he regularly carves his way through people, manipulating them every which way for his purposes like playthings, behind the deep-voiced, sonorous tones of this singing priest are so many questions. He's an enigma, a mystery. Is he really a man of the cloth, or simply or a con man? Is he really a misogynist who despises sex? Does he truly believe in the divine pact worked up betwixt him and God, or is this part of the act? Regardless, it doesn't matter. He is The Preacher. Verbal Kint once said that "The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist." By the end of The Night Of The Hunter, Mitchum has you convinced otherwise. This character was the inspiration and impetus behind my doing up this list. Death rides a white horse, and his name is Harry Powell.

John Ryder (The Hitcher), played by Rutger Hauer

The only actor to appear twice on this list, I couldn't not include the mighty Rutger Hauer's John Ryder in Robert Harmon's 1986 feature directorial debut, The Hitcher. Another film with a strange history, but unlike The Night Of The Hunter, The Hitcher's retrospective reputation seems set to remain as that of a minor cult classic. Yet, over the years I have talked with many people who express their love for the film as a whole, some of whom were absolutely terrified by John Ryder. He may be a malevolent psychopath tormenting C. Thomas Howell's Jim Halsey, but the presence of Hauer makes him into an existential figure that forces Jim to question and challenge himself. He's a dark phantom who wreaks havoc and destruction before vanishing into the desert from whence he came. It's an extraordinary turn in a criminally underrated picture. 

Norman Stansfield (Leon: The Professional), played by Gary Oldman

This is one of those times when an actor takes what could be a stock villain and injects it with so much energy and pazazz that it takes on a whole other life of it's own. Not known for doing things with half a heart, Gary Oldman throws himself entirely into the character of Norman Stansfield. A perfect flipside to the reserved, calm demeanour of Jean Reno's Leon, Oldman twitches like a tiger full of tics. His delivery is sabre-tongued, lashing out and frightening even his colleagues as he philosophises and speaks at length about his devotion to classical music. This bent copper is one unpredictable cat who, when faced with the wholesale massacre of a family and having been shot, is relatively nonplussed bar a mild concern that his suit has been ruined. However, even in the "calm little moments before the storm" which remind him of a Beethoven, you get the impression that underneath it all there's a ticking timebomb waiting to explode.

The Terminator (The Terminator), played by Arnold Schwarzenegger

Obvious Callum is obvious, right? It's the greatest film of all time, so no list of the greatest antagonists in film history would be complete without Arnold Schwarzenegger in the role of a lifetime as The Terminator. Whatever various incarnations (of mixed quality) appeared over the years and have been put through the popular culture wringer, first impressions mean everything, and the original set the standard for everything that followed. Doing a lot by doing nothing, the cold, menacing stare, the focused precision, the slowly tracking eyes, the trained precision, Schwarzenegger's cyborg is like something out of a neon nightmare, a merciless killing machine who, as Michael Biehn's Kyle Reese says to Linda Hamilton's Sarah Connor, "absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead." In the battle between good and evil, the light and the dark, the ages-old story updated into our contemporary world, Arnold Schwarzenegger as The Terminator is the Man-Machine Incarnate. 

And, there you have it with our list. Be sure to engage if you should feel that way inclined. What were your favourite antagonists in film history? Are there some you feel I have left out here? Is there anyone who shouldn't be on this list? Let me know what you think, and don't forget to keep your eyes posted!

Dedicated to

Rutger Hauer (1944-2019)