Fiend Without A Face

"Fantomas."

"What did you say?"

"I said: Fantomas."

"And what does that mean?"

"Nothing...Everything!"

"But what is it?"

"No one...And yet, it is someone!"

"And what does this someone do?"

"Spreads TERROR!"

-Fantomas, 1911

Fantomas, the Lord of Terror, the Genius of Evil. Whatever his name, he (or she) is the ultimate archetype of villainy. No crime is too small, no act too depraved for Fantomas to contemplate, to undertake, to accomplish. He made it his mission to destroy the fabric of society for no other reason than that he could.

Put simply, Fantomas is the first super-villain. Born at the dawn of the Twentieth Century, on the eve of the bloodiest conflict the world has ever seen, Fantomas sprang fully formed into a world teetering on the edge of madness. To say that he did his best to push it over said edge is an understatement.

"He is totally ruthless, gives no mercy, and is loyal to none, not even his own children. He is a master of disguise, always appearing under an assumed identity, often that of a person whom he has murdered. Fantômas makes use of bizarre and improbable techniques in his crimes, such as plague-infested rats, giant snakes, and rooms that fill with sand."

Criminals like Professor Moriarty or Fu Manchu dominated the previous century, spinning Byzantine schemes and matching wits opponents of equal determination, if not skill. Fantomas' opponents could only scramble to keep up. His schemes were chaotic things, not the precision instruments of his antecedents, but rather a form of madness only recognizable after the fact.

His crimes were outrageous, daring and avant-garde...plague-infested rats released on an ocean liner, sulphuric acid hidden in the perfume dispensers of a famous Parisian department store, or the stripping of the gilded gold from the roof of the Invalides Dome each evening; a man hung by his feet inside a cathedral bell like a human clapper, raining blood, brains and bone down on the masses below, and forcing a judge to witness his own execution by placing him face-up in a guillotine.

Fantomas was everyone and no-one, everywhere and nowhere. A man, a woman, a devil...a phantom. He wielded an army of street-apaches, spies and saboteurs in a calculated effort to spread fear and terror across Europe and the world. There was no purpose to this, save that it was Fantomas' will that it be done. He was a satanic hurricane, a typhoon of terror, a nightmare without end.

In his wake came a host of imitators and disciples...Satanik, Diabolik, Kriminal, Demoniak, Sadik among others, though none would ever rival the first and most mysterious master of menace...FANTOMAS.

Mad Dog

Mad Dog is the most bad-ass of bad-asses in John Woo's unlimited-ammo cops-and-robbers masterpiece HARD BOILED. Given that HARD BOILED has more bad-ass per foot of celluloid than just about any other film ever made, that's really saying something. Even more impressive when you consider that the character of Mad Dog wasn't even in the script.

During shooting of the film, Woo decided that the primary villain Johnny Wong was not a threatening enough presence. Meanwhile,veteran actor/stuntman Philip Kwok's action scenes were impressing the hell out of everyone... and so the grizzled henchman Mad Dog was born. This genesis is, I think, the reason the character has such resonance--because he's so underwritten Kwok doesn't get to speak a lot of lines; the character exists almost entirely in the actor's physical presence. The quiet man in the melodrama; the one actor in the opera who does not sing.

Woo's camera treats Mad Dog as a hero as often as a villain: striding down the gangway tossing his bike helmet; stalking implacably through a hospital with a shotgun in a flower box; Mad Dog is a consummate gun-for-hire. In a film that is people by uncannily skilled gunmen, Mad Dog has all the best moves--again, probably due to Kwok's stuntwork rather than to any planning by the director or his writing team.

Mad Dog is a born baddie, but he does have a code he follows--more one of professionalism than of honour, I think. When his boss Johnny steps over the line, Mad Dog turns on him. For Mad Dog this is not a shot at redemption; it's just the work of a true professional, trying to clean up the mess of a job gone wrong. It costs Mad Dog his life... but by then he's already made his mark.

The most hard boiled character in HARD BOILED is the one who wasn't even in the script.

The American Psycho

The most obvious quality that makes Patrick Bateman unusual amongst villains is that he's both the protagonist and the narrator of his own story-- AMERICAN PSYCHO by Bret Easton Ellis. (This article will concentrate on the novel, because Mary Harron's movie adaptation falls extremely close to the original text, but there is a lot of information missing.)

Bateman's story is a complete negation of Joseph Campbell's "Hero's Journey"--this 'hero' does not go anywhere, he does not overcome any obstacles, he does not learn anything. The book ascribes him a motto, found signposted on the places he frequents: THIS IS NOT AN EXIT. There's no way out for Bateman, and likewise, there is no way to escape him.

Bateman, from a distance, is a chiseled uber-yuppie who kills people for fun and pleasure. He's rich, educated, he has a job which affords him power and prestige without requiring him to do a speck of work. But as you zoom closer, a lot more... or, depending on how you think of it, at it, less... becomes apparent. Smash cut to appalling carnage or hideous banality.

Bateman is principally defined by a lack of identity: he is a shell of brand names, advertisinng slogans and business-management cliches built around a fleeting and unstable sense of self; a spoiled, blood-soaked avatar of American consumer culture. Although the book is written in the first person, it's six pages before we first hear an "I". The sudden revelation of the narrator's presence in the scene is startling and confusing. He has been standing there in broad daylight, whispering his version of events in our ear all along.

Bateman has no conscience, no capacity for reflection; just a void that he tries to fill with bloodshed, pornography and recycled opinions. He himself tells us that "There's nothing there"; on the few the only occasions on which he describes his internal state he feels "intangible", "like a ghost."

Bateman suffers from psychotic episodes and hallucinations. His ability to distinguish between fantasy and reality shaky at best: he discusses Ed Gein and Leatherface without even attempting to distinguish of them is real and which fictive. He admits that he is used to thinking of reality as if it was a movie, and his description of events often invokes the language of cinematic editing.

Bateman describes his own deeds in the same cool and graphic tone that he discusses movies, pornography or even pop music, and, in fact, accords them equal importance. On the one single occasion where Bateman finds himself in danger, that present-tense narration narration slips into third person as he loses his id altogether--geography and time seem to bend and loop as his faculties depart. But Patrick is nothing if not resilient: after every episode he manages to claw his way back to the nominal level of sanity required for him to participate in normal society. The revelation of just how little is required is perhaps the book's most disturbing facet.

Bateman's crimes are usually wrought upon victims below his social class, with the exception of Paul Allen-- a business rival he believes to be a threat to him (a laughable thought, given the amount of attention Bateman puts into his actual job). He does occasionally spare those who regard him with affection--out of confusion more than anything.

There is only one person in the book that Bateman likes and admires: Tim Price, who Patrick describes as "The only interesting person I know." Tim, initially, is little different than Bateman and the rest of his shallow, yuppie friends: if anything he is even more arrogant and obnoxious than they are, but basically he is quite interchangeable with any of them. Bateman himself has difficulty telling some of his friends and colleagues apart, and is frequently misidentified for 'Marcus Halberstam'. But there is something different about Price: he disappears from the book for a lengthy period, and he returns from his sojourn (rumoured to be rehab) a changed man, daubed with the ashes of penitence (although Bateman may be the only one who can see this).

Price has become more aware of what is going on in the world and he's disturbed by it: he demonstrates a new awareness that people are not always what they seem and a sense of outrage at the lies and evil perpetrated by his (explicitly American) society. Price has returned to the fold, but he has grown as a person and it seems unlikely that he will stay. Bateman admires this, although he does not properly comprehend it. In the end, Bateman remains unable to see the door beneath the sign:

THIS IS NOT AN EXIT.

The Napoleon of Crime

There's an inherent, primordial viciousness to Professor James Moriarty that many of the names you'll see on this blog lack. Whether that's due to the cold-blooded, reptilian nature of the character himself, or to the circumstances of his creation is up for debate.

Moriarty was created to kill. Both literally, and figuratively. Created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in 1893, the good Professor was a literary bullet aimed at the fictional heart of Sherlock Holmes by his creator. There's a sort of sleekness about him, crafted as he was to be the dark mirror of Holmes, an insinuating sort of presence-we know who Moriarty is, because he is the reflection of Holmes. He possesses an implacable intelligence that we, as the reader, only understand as an afterthought. Deus ex Machina in a tailored suit and top-hat.

An evil genius with a criminal strain in his blood, his mental faculties rivalling or, indeed, exceeding those of Holmes and his brother, Mycroft, Moriarty was the emperor of the London underworld-a calculating Caligula, a soulless thing of cogs and gears and ruthless appetites. Where Sherlock Holmes is the World's Greatest Detective, Professor Moriarty is the World's Greatest Criminal. The perfect foil, the perfect executioner for a character that had taken on a life of his own, almost separate from that of his creator.

Too, for a character who lacked even the benefit of an on-stage canonical appearance (true, read The Final Problem...Moriarty only pops up in Holmes' hurried explanation to Watson), Moriarty has had an impact reminiscent of one of those heavenly bodies he supposedly theorized about in The Dynamics of an Asteroid. He's the phantom that haunts Conan Doyle's opera house, trailing his shadow across the life of Sherlock Holmes and causing it to wither, even after his primary purpose had been fulfilled.

After Holmes' miraculous return in The Adventure of the Empty House, he was never the same. Still the Great Detective, but somehow lessened, as if the memory of Moriarty's near-victory had a vampiric effect on Holmes' abilities. There are a number of further stories where the spectre of Moriarty haunts Holmes as he grapples with difficult cases, including His Last Bow, the final story in the official canon. The Professor even managed to worm his way retroactively into The Valley of Fear.

Then, consider the influence Moriarty has had on pop culture-eerily reminiscent of that of his enemy, dogging his footsteps beyond the boundaries of canon even as he trailed him across Europe. He has appeared in countless pastiches, sometimes facing his old foe, other times occupying the limelight alone (John Gardner's Moriarty novels, for instance). He has made appearances in films and various other media. He has locked horns with other malevolent figures, including Fu Manchu and Dracula (both of whom also fought Holmes and neither of whom came as close to destroying the Detective as Moriarty himself). Whatever media Holmes conquers, Moriarty is there, slinking through the back door, inflicting himself on the unsuspecting.

It could be said that Conan Doyle, desperate to kill one egregore, unleashed a second, even more sinister one. Desperate to eradicate the ultimate hero, he crafted the ultimate villain, and one thing that villains are good at is cheating death. Moriarty, created to kill Holmes and then fade away like a bad dream, clung stubbornly to life, thrusting himself into the public consciousness via the very act that was supposed to bring about his destruction. And like Holmes, he has flourished in the aftermath, albeit in a more subtle fashion.

Appropriate for such a shadowy figure, don't you think?

BOB

Established in suburbia as only Twin Peaks creator David Lynch could, through the close up screams of a grieving housewife and mother, and a static shot of staircase and swirling fan, Lynch cuts into dead prom queen Laura Palmer’s perfect all American bedroom. Once inside, the first glimpse of BOB is visible as seen in the mothers’ vision. He is the quintessential demon and/or drifter serial killer. Grinning, unshaven, clad in dirty denim, and with long flowing wolflike silver hair, BOB peers through the bars of the dead girls bed. The deep symbolism of this introductory shot, being ‘trapped’ in the mirror and enjoying a voyeuristic view through the bars of the teenager’s bed, became intrinsic and central to what was to be later revealed about BOB.

Psychotic strobe visions, deep red dreams and childhood memories seemed to be the only places that BOB could be found, whilst back on the physical plane his presence was dismissed for lack of real evidence. That was until the appearance of a one armed traveling shoe salesman named MIKE.

Peddling his ‘Circle Brand’ boots to the town, the smiling salesman at first seemed like simply a humorous homage to the villain in the old television serial, The Fugitive. Once again, Lynch used this to lower the audience’s guard, and make MIKE a terrifying gateway to learn more about BOB.

Without his mix of schizophrenic depressing drugs, MIKE sweats out the story that he is an ageless evil spirit who had an golden epiphany, finding the light of God. Unfortunately his former partner and familiar, BOB, did not experience it. MIKE also revealed that he was inhabiting the body of the salesman to find his old killin’ partner from the road, and stop him.

Lynch’s use of a familiar as the supernatural villain is an unique one. Many websites and fan literature describe BOB as a demonic entity possessing the physical murderer of Laura, her secretly abusive father, Leland. Some elements of the show do support this theory, see BOB’s confession in the police station basement. With shadows of classic demonic exorcism evidence, the usual flailing against the restraints, total possession of the host, playful teasing of the ‘exorcists’ that turns to unholy taunting, violence, and knowledge of evil events that it was not witness too, the show does present a case for demonic possession. But overall, Lynch and co present BOB as a familiar, an animal that aids with the tasks of the witch or the unholy. In this case the animal is an owl. However, unlike demonic possession, followers of the Catholic Church believe that a spiritual familiar is capable of overtaking the personality rather than the body of its host. This is supported by Leland’s ability to quite capably function and maintain his well groomed appearance as both a lawyer and pillar within society whilst possessed by BOB, until it takes over his will for short periods of madness.

After forty years of symbiosis, BOB eventually bloodily escapes the confines of Leland when he has had his fill of the man’s life and soul. In Leland’s final moments on earth, the show’s protagonists learn that BOB first appeared to Leland whilst he was staying at his childhood holiday home in the woods. This could be interpreted as either a metaphor, or literal account of, abuse, or simply that the spirit had found a new home. In his last act to decimate the soul of the man, BOB unloads all of the evil events that he has made Leland commit, and repress, into his mind. Again, whether this is a metaphor for the last act of conscience a dying man faces for a lifetime of sins, or a literal act, the evil nature of BOB managed to have one last slice of fun before breaking free and temporarily returning back to his wooded home. Soon, he finds another host with which to start the cycle again…

In the aftermath of the horrific events, as the witnesses to BOB’s ‘appearance’ discuss what has transpired, some find it too unbelievable to stomach. Cynical FBI man Albert Rosenfeld, taking the stance of both science and government, believes that whether he really existed or not that BOB may have just been a physical culmination of the evil within the world? This question is one that Lynch presents to the audience throughout the show. One which he only ambiguously answers.

Lynch attributes the casting of BOB to a ‘happy accident’, that set dresser Frank Silva was simply captured in shot whilst the bedroom was being filmed. Unfortunately, Silva died in 1995 due to AIDS. Besides working as a set designer on many Lynch productions, his only other non-Twin Peaks acting role was in the Anthrax video, Only. An appropriate final rockin’ appearance for the spirit of small town evil.