The 20 Greatest Human Villains In Movie History

As Alfred Hitchcock once said, it's often the villain that makes or breaks a film. A good baddie, one who is well-developed and/or a plausible foil for the hero, is often the most interesting character in the movie. 

It's all too easy to come up with a monstrous appearance for a film's antagonist, and the advances in CGI and special effects have led to an abundance of fantastically designed supervillains and malevolent supernatural entities. More often, though, it's the human villains who reveal themselves to be the most intriguing. They usually contain characteristics we try to repress within ourselves, such as ambition, greed, ruthlessness, and the freedom to act without the constraint of morality, all with the vulnerability that comes from being mortal.

Setting aside our favorite science fiction or supernatural villains (with apologies to Freddy and Jason), below are 20 of the most memorable human villains, some nuanced, others evil personified, but all iconic characters.

Denzel Washington's Oscar-winning portrayal of Alonzo Harris in "Training Day" still holds up today largely due to his incredibly charismatic performance. The casting is crucial as Washington has made a career out of playing morally upstanding characters, so you want him to be heroic here, too. What makes Harris such a great villain is the way he convinces both the audience and his new recruit Jake Hoyt (Ethan Hawke) that he's merely an unconventional, rough around the edges detective — think Popeye Doyle or Dirty Harry — when he's really up to his neck in corruption. In turn, Hoyt's "induction" ultimately serves as a way for Harris to gauge exactly how malleable and corruptible he is.

Harris' motivations are left ambiguous for most of the film, and he constantly wrong-foots both Hoyt and the audience. Director Antoine Fuqua raises many red flags over the course of the film, but Washington almost convinces us that he's a good guy through the sheer force of his personality. His dynamic performance never betrays his true character either way — he switches between charming to sinister mid-blink. It's only towards the end of the film that we see he has been manipulating Hoyt all along, entrapping him so he has no choice but to follow Harris' orders, and then setting Hoyt up to be killed when he refuses to go along with his actions.

There are plenty of memorable villains in the Spaghetti western genre, such as Henry Fonda in "Once Upon A Time In The West" or Lee Van Cleef in "The Good The Bad And The Ugly," but none of them are quite so repellent as Klaus Kinski in "The Great Silence." Tigrero (or Loco, depending on which version of the film you watch) is different in that he operates entirely within the boundaries of the law. In another film, he might be the hero — a bounty hunter who brings in dangerous outlaws living in the hills. However, the warrants on these fugitives have been drawn up by the town's corrupt mayor, and Tigrero never brings them in alive.

He also seems to derive great pleasure in outwitting his quarry, justifying the killings with legal red tape. Kinski played his share of villains, in "Aguirre, The Wrath Of God" and "Nosferatu The Vampyre," for example, but he seems to genuinely relish his role here. In arguably the most gleefully malevolent performance of his career, he makes Tigrero a character you love to hate; a truly odious villain decked out in a luxurious fur coat. This all contributes to what is potentially the most downbeat ending of any western movie.

Of all the iconic villains Quentin Tarantino has created (including Mr. Blonde, Stuntman Mike, Elle Driver), the filmmaker has called Hans Landa "the best character I've ever written and maybe the best I ever will write," and it's easy to see why. Christoph Waltz's Oscar-winning performance as "The Jew Hunter" in "Inglourious Basterds" is captivating from the very first scene, where he effortlessly slips between languages and from friendly chit-chat to sinister interrogation without missing a beat. His delivery makes Tarantino's often mannered dialogue positively sing.

Landa is a character who is almost always in control. It's clear he takes pride in theatricality, and the opening scene is choreographed to the letter. He describes himself as a detective rather than a Nazi, and indeed, what differentiates Landa from the numerous other Nazi film villains is that he isn't a fanatic. He is shown to not have many convictions at all, which should make him more sympathetic, but if anything he becomes more horrifying. His antisemitism is a lot more subversive and insidious than the hatred that is usually depicted onscreen.

He seems completely unprincipled until the terrifying moment where he drops his facade and strangles Diane Kruger's Bridget to death in a burst of rage, but even this seems to be motivated by personal hatred than anything else. Landa is a fascinating creation, a disarmingly polite pragmatist who can only be trusted to act in his own self-interest.

One of my favorite elements about the films of Alfred Hitchcock is the way he forces his audience to sympathize with his villains. It's there in the moment the car doesn't sink in the bog in "Psycho," Bruno reaching for the fateful lighter in "Strangers on a Train," or Rusk retrieving his tie pin in "Frenzy."

Even with this in mind, there are few Hitchcock villains who lay out their entire raison d'etre in the same way as Joseph Cotten in "Shadow of a Doubt." The scene where "Uncle Charlie" talks about his hatred of rich widows at the dinner table is one of the most scarily insightful depictions of a murderer that we'd seen up to that point (the closest comparison might be Peter Lorre in "M") and is a sharp contrast to the friendly persona he outwardly projects to his unsuspecting family. 

Cotten gives a suave and charming performance, and Hitchcock wisely never shows him committing any murders, so our sympathy remains divided throughout the film — even when he tries to murder his suspicious niece (Theresa Wright) in a series of "accidents" we don't see him set up. It's easy to sympathize with a killer if he's played by Joseph Cotten and you never see him actually kill anyone. It's harder once you're confronted with their actions, as we are in the film's final moments where he tries to throw his niece from a moving train.

One of the most extreme, controversial films ever made, Takashi Miike's "Ichi The Killer" is a vividly gory film, one that is much better than its sensational reputation might suggest. Tadanobu Asano plays the stiletto-wielding yakuza Kakihara. Trying to locate his boss, he is quickly sidetracked by the titular Ichi, who he mistakenly believes is the ultimate sadist (in fact Ichi is a childlike murderer, provoked into fits of extreme violence).

The embodiment of Miike's punk aesthetic, Kakihara is an iconic villain, dressed in loud, garish outfits, with bleach blonde hair and self-inflicted scars across his face, casually blowing cigarette smoke through the slits in his cheeks. Asano makes his character macabrely funny, with a softly spoken, polite way of delivering his lines, that contrast with his sadomasochistic nature — he can only derive pleasure from intense pain. 

Kakihara is searching for what he hopes will be a new kind of pain, but he doesn't mind inflicting all manner of tortures on those who stand between him and Ichi in the meantime. In one case, he extracts information from one unfortunate with the use of fish hooks, tempura, and boiling oil. It's a horrific scene but one undercut by Kakihara's casual description of it as "just a little torture." As the film builds towards the pair's inevitable showdown, Kakihara becomes almost childishly delighted at how scared he is getting at the prospect of facing Ichi, feeling genuine fear for the first time in years.

It might seem odd to include the antagonist from "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" in a list of the best film villains of all time. She doesn't kill anyone or order anyone's death. She only indirectly causes the death of one character towards the very end of the film, yet she might be the most reprehensible character on this list.

As written in Ken Kesey's novel, the controlling chief nurse is a grotesque character, and later incarnations have leaned into larger-than-life, almost campy portrayals. However, the genius of Louise Fletcher's performance is how softly spoken and friendly she initially appears. It's only when her authority is challenged by new patient McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) that we start to see her darker side. As McMurphy questions her rules and encourages his fellow patients to stand up for themselves, Ratched is ruffled (the flushed look of indignation she flashes at McMurphy when he uses her Christian name is incredibly telling) and uses increasingly extreme methods to reassert her influence over the group, even going so far as sending McMurphy to electro-shock treatment.

This all culminates in the film's ending, where we see how twisted her controlling nature is. Her callous treatment of poor Billy Bibbit (Brad Dourif) is unspeakably cruel — she knows what will likely happen, and Fletcher's calm, measured delivery makes it all the more chilling.

The Coen Brothers have no shortage of great villains in their back catalog, from the gangsters of "Miller's Crossing" to Peter Stormare's psychotic kidnapper in "Fargo." None, however, are quite so terrifying as Javier Bardem's mercenary in "No Country For Old Men," who always appears seemingly from nowhere, as inevitable as fate.

Operating in the shadows, and with a warped sense of honor, Chigurh is a nightmarish villain who cannot be reasoned with. Murdering countless innocents in his pursuit of the money found by Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin), there are any number of scenes that demonstrate his psychopathic nature. One of the creepiest moments, though, is when he corners Woody Harrelson's fellow mercenary. As Harrelson attempts to bargain for his life, Chigurh looks fascinated by him, as if he's a different species. He almost laughs at him, but it's a laugh without any real emotion behind it, he's just toying with Harrelson and relishing the fear that is dripping off his old acquaintance.

Chigurh might not be superhuman, but he does feel almost supernatural in his manner and his innate ability to sense danger.

Steven E. de Souza, the co-screenwriter of "Die Hard," has said himself that Hans Gruber (Alan Rickman) is the film's real protagonist, and it's John McClane (Bruce Willis) who disrupts proceedings. It's an argument that makes a lot of sense: Gruber doesn't just exist to chase after McClane; he has his own objectives, as we see in his genuine concern once McClane steals the detonators. Unlike the lackluster villains in the sequels, Gruber is able to constantly think on his feet and alter his plan accordingly, as he does once he comes face to face with McClane.

In his big-screen debut, Rickman gives a charismatic, frankly masterful performance that elevates the rest of the film, and made a lasting impression on the way genre villains were written. Originally conceived as more of a physical threat to McClane — the whole character changed upon the casting of Rickman. Instead of a mercenary, he was repurposed as a debonair, dryly witty criminal mastermind who can out-think the hero rather than fight him. 

Rickman makes Gruber both charming and utterly ruthless, not hesitating to murder hostages in cold blood (and actually, murdering hostages is a necessary part of the plan). This is undoubtedly Rickman's most iconic role, and one that had him typecast as the villain for the rest of his career. 

Gary Oldman has played more than his fair share of iconic film villains: in "True Romance," "Air Force One," and "Bram Stoker's Dracula" to name a few. But it's his scenery-munching turn as the corrupt, Beethoven-loving Detective Stansfield in "Léon: The Professional" that remains his most memorable and fully fleshed-out baddie.

The complete inverse of his morally upright Jim Gordon in "The Dark Knight" trilogy, Stansfield is a villain through and through. Addicted to his mysterious pills, and not averse to murdering an entire family to make a point, he's the polar opposite of the film's hero, the hitman Leon (Jean Reno). While Leon is manic and introverted, Stansfield is all frenzied energy and prone to histrionics (his bellowing of "EVERYONE!" is just incredible), and their contrast is further exemplified by their respective costumes. While Leon dresses primarily in black, Stansfield is entirely decked out in light colors, the inverse of the usual goodie-baddie look. 

While Oldman's performance often veers over the top, he is a genuinely sinister character, as shown in the scene where he menaces Mathilda (Natalie Portman) in the police station. Oldman brings an unnerving intensity to Stansfield even in his quieter scenes, and his fate is one of the most satisfying on this list.

It's well-known that "Psycho" was based on the true story of Ed Gein, the real-life murderer who served as the basis for "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre," "The Silence Of The Lambs," and "Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer," among others. But where Hitchcock's film differs from these is in the depiction of the killer. Instead of a heavy-hitter, Hitchcock cast preppy, bookish Anthony Perkins as the repressed Norman Bates — 100 miles away from the middle-aged, balding character from Robert Bloch's book — and used the actor's affable charisma to lull the audience into a false sense of security.

Perkins makes Norman a likable, if awkwardly intense figure from his very first interaction with Marion Crane (Janet Leigh). Even when we see glimpses of his darker nature (spying on Marion in the shower) it's difficult to believe Norman is a killer. He seems altogether too hapless, as if he "wouldn't hurt a fly," which makes the final reveal all the more spine-chilling. Because, of course, it's not Norman who commits the murders — it's his dead, domineering mother, who has taken over at least a portion of Norman's mind.

Perkins was typecast for the rest of his career (even playing Norman twice more) but said that even if he had the choice again, he'd still take the role. It's one of cinema's greatest performances, and that final, fourth-wall-breaking moment remains incredibly unsettling to this day.