Why Villains Monologue (And It Usually Works)

Because we can.
Because the crocodile pit is full.
Because the hero is tied to a chair that cost more than his mortgage.
Because if you have finally arranged the universe so that your worst enemy cannot move, talk is not a mistake. Talk is the point.

The stories told by Heroes have given the monologue a terrible reputation. To hear them tell it, the speech is one part insanity, two parts clue, and one part scenery-chewing. The evil genius is supposedly stupid enough to explain the plan, certain the captive will never escape.

That is not a description of villains.
That is a description of plot armor.

Have you ever wondered why there are so few honest adventure stories?

It is because, 99.9 percent of the time, the monologue works and the hero dies.

Dead men do not write the novels. They do not get sequel deals. They do not sit on panels explaining how the villain “forgot” to shoot them in the head. Our people have left quite a number of bodies behind. Nobody interviews the crocodiles.

It is also a relief to talk.

You cannot tell a psychiatrist about the device under Manhattan. They are mandated reporters. “Hm. You have a foolproof plan to hold a city hostage. Stay right there. I just need to make a quick call.”

Henchpersons? Depends. We were already saying “you can’t get good help” in the 1950s, when an evil corporation still offered a pension. Employ people who remember those days and, when the hero bursts in, half of them will die of heart attacks before anyone throws a punch.

Intellectual equals are rare. People who understand the scope of a criminal plan and what it is like to kill are rarer. Ian Fleming stretched credibility with how often Bond got hired by the other side. He did not stretch the loneliness. That part is documentary.

Forget plot armor for a moment. Are you suggesting a person should not feel secure when their worst enemy is shackled to the wall and about to be eaten by prehistoric crocodiles? When, exactly, is a hunted criminal supposed to feel safe, if not then?

We love James Bond. He kills people. The England he worked for is considered quite evil by a lot of the planet. We have every right to enjoy him. He also has armor so thick that Fleming dying did not kill him. That is a kind of villainous immortality we respect. It is not a reason for the rest of us to stay mute.

Most of us try to leave few traces. Try getting a library card when your address is “the adamantium lab under the house that looks condemned.” They will not put “Dr. Death, God of Ill-Fated Futures” on a driver’s license. Your name will not fit on a vanity plate.

Dating? For the love of Pete, and Pete’s evil twin Repete, we are not going into dating.

So why not monologue?

If we knew from the first page that the hero would spoil the plan, wreck the work, and possibly kill us, we would never start. Of course we would not.

The truth is we love to monologue and then watch the hero get eaten. That is what happens the vast majority of the time. Nobody writes those stories. They are not interested. That lack of interest is part of the appeal of Villainpunk.

A short field manual, since the search engines asked us nicely:

1. Finish the speech AFTER the danger is already running.
   The laser is on. The door is locked. The backup team is paid. Then you talk. The monologue is dessert, not the recipe.
2. Lie in the middle third.
   Tell them the true location of the first device. Invent the second. Heroes write down everything. Give them a souvenir.
3. Never explain the off switch.
   Describe the philosophy. Describe the childhood. Do not describe the red wire.
4. Have a second room.
   The room they escape into should also be a problem. Dr. Atomico understood this. Duplicate safes exist for a reason.
5. If you must keep a Large Obvious Self-Destruct Button, label it as a joke and insure the building.
   This is a different essay. Xonox drinks well.

Monologuing is not the cause of the trouble. The cause of the trouble, for the people destroyed by monologues, is that they are stuck in stories where they have to lose.

Don’t be in those stories.

Be in ours.

Go ahead. Talk. The crocodiles are hungry, and they do not take notes.

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