Article
Culture
Film & TV
Monsters
5 min read

Cartoon villains: who's the real baddie?

What kind of villain do we want?

James is a writer of sit coms for TV and radio.

 A cartoon chase sees a car driven by a cow escaping from a car of baddies under a giant poster of their villainous boss.
Jazz Cow vs. Dr Popp.

“Nobody thinks they’re the bad guy”. That’s a phrase I often use when helping people write situation comedies. It’s always useful to have a strong antagonist who gets in the way of our hero. But the villains tend not to consider themselves to be evil. In fact, they are offended at the suggestion. 

The Batman universe has turned the interesting villain to new levels. The Penguin is Gotham’s latest production, a brand-new TV series on HBO. Colin Farrell plays a highly nuanced anti-hero, exploring The Penguin’s “awkwardness, and his strength, and his villainy, yes, his propensity for violence”. Farrell told Comicbook.com he was attracted to the role because “there's also a heartbroken man inside there you know, which just makes it really tasty.” Audiences are often invited to have sympathy for the devil. Should we be worried about the blurring of the lines between good and evil? 

I’ve been asking myself this question as I’ve been writing a new animation which involves a villain called Dr Popp who is trying to take over a city. But what kind of villain do we want in 2024? 

Jack Nicholson’s portrayal of The Joker back in 1989 feels like pop-culture ancient history. His Joker was an embittered agent of chaos without many redeeming qualities but mercifully lacked the nihilism of later versions. It was an old-fashioned story of cops and robbers which has its own simplistic charm. But have those days gone forever, having been shot in the head and dropped off a bridge into a river? 

The problem is it is so easy to humanise evil. You just give it a human face. The arch-villains of the twentieth century – the Nazi members of the SS – are rather sweet when portrayed by comedians Mitchell and Webb. A nervous member of the SS Unit (Mitchell) waiting for an attack from the Russians looks at the skull on his cap and asks his fellow comrade-in-arms (Webb): “Hans, are we the baddies?” 

Any student of World War Two will know that it’s never as simple as good versus evil. Many terrible things were done by people who felt justified in their behaviour. Moreover, ‘the goodies’ also felt compelled to do morally dubious things – like the bombing of civilians in cities – in order to defeat ‘the baddies. After all, they started it.’ The truth is always far more complicated than the war films suggest. 

Dr Popp is the very worst kind of villain: he has great power and he wants to help. In his own mind, he’s completely clear about his mission. 

Ten years ago, I was researching real life baddies for my sitcom Bluestone 42 about a bomb disposal team set in Afghanistan. At times, I had to think like the Taliban who, in their own minds, were entirely justified in leaving bombs by the side of the road, to be triggered by British soldiers or Afghan children. They were pretty relaxed about the outcome. It’s hard to sympathise with this way of thinking, but it made sense to them. 

My internet search history from that time probably put me on some sort of Home Office watchlist. Maybe a small dossier was started on me. More recently, that dossier would have become thicker as I’ve moved sideways from sitcom into murder mysteries, having recently worked on Death in Paradise and Shakespeare and Hathaway. To work on shows like these, you need to be thinking of good reasons for good people to commit murder. Someone would need a very strong motive to commit a murder on an idyllic Caribbean island where the local detective has a 100 per cent resolution rate. You also need to research ingenuous methods for murdering people in a way that escapes detection. I’m surprised I’ve not yet had a knock on my door, or enquiries made to the neighbours to call a number if they see anything suspicious. 

But what about cartoon villains where nothing is real? The bold colours and the larger-than-life characters might suggest that there is more clarity about goodies and baddies. But there isn’t. Evil villains – that is, villains who realise they are evil – are extremely rare. Skeletor from He-Man and the Masters of the Universe comes to mind. This kind of demonic baddie can be entertaining with wit and charm, like Hades in the Disney movie, Hercules. This character had some brilliant one-liners and was superbly brought to life by the voice of James Woods. Overall, however, purely evil characters are hard to write. 

Cartoon villains need proper motivation. This is either a character flaw or a backstory. In The Lion King, Scar is consumed with envy that his brother is king – and a good one at that. In The Incredibles, Syndrome is playing out his sense of injustice that he was not allowed to be Mr Incredible’s sidekick, Incrediboy. In The Simpsons, Mr Burns is essentially Mr Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life. He’s a Scrooge-type figure who doesn’t care about love and respect. He just wants to own the town. 

The cartoon villain I’ve been thinking about is for a new animation project I’ve been working on called Jazz Cow. The eponymous hero is a saxophone-playing cow and a reluctant Bogart-style leader of a bohemian band of misfits. They are trying resist the advance of the all-consuming algorithm created by Dr Popp, the villain. But what’s his motivation? 

Dr Popp is the very worst kind of villain: he has great power and he wants to help. In his own mind, he’s completely clear about his mission. He’s trying to make the world better, easier, safer, cheaper, more efficient and convenient. Why would anyone want to refuse his technology, reject his software and keep away from his algorithm? 

This is why Dr Popp has to silence Jazz Cow, literally, by stealing his saxophone. He simply cannot allow Jazz Cow to delight audiences at Connie Snott’s with live improvised music. There’s no need for this music! Dr Popp has all the music you could possibly need, want or imagine. Why improvise when we have artificial intelligence? 

Dr Popp is a cartoon villain for today when relativism is still alive and well. ‘Good’ and ‘Evil’ are still concepts or points of view rather than absolutes. However, there is good and evil in Jazz Cow. But the evil doesn’t come from Doctor Popp. It comes from the user or consumer.  That would be us. 

‘The Algorithm’ is always learning and always trying to give us our hearts’ desire. And that’s the problem: our hearts frequently desire that which they cannot – and should not – have. Dr Popp’s algorithm is like a mirror held up to our faces. In it, we see the real baddie: ourselves. Not even Jazz Cow can save us from that. But what this horn-playing cow can do is to make the world a more humane place. 

  

For more information about Jazz Cow, and information on how you can make the show happen, take a look at our Kickstarter – and don’t worry. Jazz Cow would approve, as it’s the creative’s way of sticking IT to the man. 

Review
Awe and wonder
Culture
Death & life
Music
4 min read

Natalie Bergman brings grief and joy to Union Chapel

A soul-soaked set turned personal tragedy into communal celebration

Jonathan is Team Rector for Wickford and Runwell. He is co-author of The Secret Chord, and writes on the arts.

A musician wearing black sits on a chair in a desert holding her guitar.
Natalie Bergman.
Natalie Bergman.

In any other context, they would call this revival! A wild belle singing songs of worship and wonder in a chapel packed to the rafters with a diverse crowd of beautiful people in rapture at songs such as ‘Talk To The Lord’ and ‘I Will Praise You’. This is Natalie Bergman at Union Chapel. 

Who? If you don’t already know, you need to know. Following three albums with Wild Belle, her debut solo album, Mercy, was a Gospel album written and recorded in response to the tragic death of her father and stepmother in a road traffic accident. Begun on retreat at a monastery, its lithe, light, luscious rhythms lift the listener from the valley of the shadow of death to the goodness and mercy found in the house of the Lord forever.    

If Mercy equates to the direct songs of praise and witness found on Bob Dylan’s Gospel albums, then her latest release, My Home Is Not In This World, equates to those later Dylan albums (like Infidels, Oh Mercy, Time Out of Mind and Rough and Rowdy Ways) where faith infuses songs exploring life and love. Bergman has quoted T Bone Burnett’s distinction between songs about the light and songs about what you can see from the light. Mercy is the former and My Home Is Not In This World, the latter. 

As a result, tonight, she takes us down paths of sorrow into the wilderness to find the light of God shining on us. At Union Chapel, a series of subtly lit arches ascend behind her and her band guiding our eyes upward until they reach the central back-lit rose window. The beauty of that light is where she takes us through the soulful spirituality of her songs. By the end, the joint is jumping with joy as we sing and dance to ‘Keep Those Teardrops From Falling’. 

Why? Her super-melodic songs draw inspiration from the deep sources of sixties soul, including Motown, while being infused also with the rhythms of reggae and highlife. Her voice ranges from childlike wonder floating on a sea of sound to smoky sultry spirituality. In common with Nick Cave on Wild God, the source of her spirituality is a vulnerability and openness occasioned by the grief she has endured, an experience common to all of us, whether now or in the future.  

She has explained simply and clearly how it happened: “When I began writing, I had already lost the greatest love I’ve ever had, so I had nothing else to lose. I went for it. I sang from the depths of my sorrow and I witnessed a little light while doing so.” As she concludes, “How could anyone have a problem with someone processing grief in a harmless way?” At Union Chapel, it’s clear that they don’t. Instead, what resonated with Bergman in her loss, also resonates with us.  

‘Talk To The Lord’ quotes Psalm 23 – ‘Though I walk in shadows, I won't be afraid / I will fear no evil / For You walk with me’ – in order to state that: 

‘When you are scared, reach out your hand 

Talk to the Lord, talk to the Lord 

If you are sad, He'll dry your tears 

Talk to the Lord, talk to the Lord’ 

In ‘I Will Praise You’, she says ‘When I'm broken, I will sing Your name’, while ‘Shine Your Light On Me’ also quotes Psalm 23 in a prayer for light as she cries like a ‘mourning dove’ for her ‘greatest love’. ‘Paint The Rain’ documents difficult days but discovers that: 

‘In this pain, you make me sing 

When I am blue, you take me in 

My little ways, they feel strange 

You give me a little bit, and you take it away 

You paint the rain’ 

In these ways, she has been enabled to live again and to find joy in family life, with My Home Is Not In This World finding its inspiration in the birth of her son, Arthur. When not lamenting lost loves, My Home Is Not In This World is grounded in the realities of home and natural life. The song ‘My Home Is Not In This World’ contrasts a prior life of glitzy glamour – her home no longer being there - with the life she has now found: 

‘My home 

My home is not in this world 

My home 

My home is not in this world  

 

I want to go outside 

Tell the trees that I love them 

Open my eyes 

See the children in the garden 

Dancing underneath the sunshine 

Swinging underneath the moonlight 

Sing away your sorrow my little one’ 

It’s been said that her ‘greatest achievement is choosing to go against the grain’, a decision that includes her spiritual focus and proves the value of going counter to the culture. It’s also been said that her universal music ‘lives in the hearts and minds and souls of her fellow travelers; born again believers in love, joy, and music’s role as guiding light and lightning rod’. That was certainly the case at Union Chapel where she ‘let the sunshine in’ and we all experienced the everlasting light of love shining on us. 

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