Extremely Evil Villains Who Are Legitimately Funny

Loki may be the funniest villain in the MCU; at the very least he has the most fun being a villain. From the moment we meet Loki, it's clear he's charming and clever, but let's not forget he's also deadly. Not only is he willing to incur serious damage to get what he wants, but he uses his staff to twist the minds of his targets and use them to carry out his goals against their will.

There's no way to spin his actions in The Avengers - he's just a straight-up power-hungry megalomaniac, but he still manages to be a hoot. More often than not, his funniest moments are aligned with his most nefarious plans. When he gets rid of Odin and takes on his father's form to rule Asgard? That's good stuff. His betrayal of Thor in Ragnarok after the whole "get help" routine? It's comedy gold wrapped up in an evil plan.

It's sometimes hard to forget that Loki is an actual bad guy, which he achieves mainly through his sense of humor. Over the course of his run in the MCU, Loki uses his comic chops to transcend the "bad guy you love to hate" label and become, instead, a bad guy that you love. It's a hard trick to pull off, but he does it.

Alan Rickman is a total rockstar when it comes to injecting comedy into ruthlessly evil characters. He does it in the Harry Potter series (sure, Snape isn't exactly a villain, but he's a mega jerk), and he does it in Die Hard, but Rickman really flexes his muscles in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves as the Sheriff of Nottingham.

While just about everyone else in the movie plays their role as straight as can be, Rickman and Geraldine McEwan as the witch Mortiana are clearly in another film altogether. As the Sheriff, Rickman chews every piece of scenery imaginable, turning what could have been a fairly dour movie into a seriously fun watch with his hammy performance. From the film's original release, it quickly became conventional wisdom that the over-the-top Sheriff of Nottingham was the best part of the film. In 1991, Roger Ebert wrote: 

Alan Rickman, in complete contrast, plays the Sheriff as if he were David Letterman: He's a wicked, droll, sly, witty master of the put-down and one-liners, who rolls his eyes in exasperation when Robin comes bursting in to interrupt the rape. Rickman's performance has nothing to do with anything else in the movie, and indeed seems to proceed from a uniquely personal set of assumptions about what century, universe, etc., the story is set in, but at least when Rickman appears on the screen we perk up, because we know we'll be entertained, at whatever cost to the story.

Admittedly, Grandmaster is mostly a comedic figure anyway, but that doesn't mean he's not pretty malevolent, all things considered. Played by Jeff Goldblum with his classic weirdo flair, the Grandmaster isn't trying to snap a bunch of people out of the universe or eliminate Tony Stark with his own technology or anything, but he is enslaving people and making them fight to the death for his own entertainment. On any scale of morality, that registers as a pretty serious demerit.

He may be an eccentric, charming weirdo, but Grandmaster is a merciless tyrant who executes anyone who gets on his nerves, specifically his cousin. He may not be the evilest evil character in the MCU, but he's definitely not good. It's just that, in Goldblum's hands, at least, being evil happens to be really, really funny.

"Of course, the Joker is funny, that's his whole deal," someone might say. But in Christopher Nolan's gritty The Dark Knight, the Joker is a far cry from the ham portrayed by Jack Nicholson or Cesar Romero. Rather than jokes and gags, the comedy is all in his mannerisms and the glee he takes in creating pure chaos.

On a rewatch, it's clear that the Joker's funniest moments nudge right up against moments of complete terror. For instance, before shoving a pencil through a gangster's face with his "magic trick," Joker genuinely roasts his audience down to the clothes they buy; later, Joker goes in drag as a nurse to convince Harvey Dent to kill him once and for all.

It's this push and pull that makes this incarnation of the Joker such an unsettling character who's impossible not to watch.

Patrick Bateman should be a monster. In American Psycho he's basically Michael Myers in a Gucci suit with great hair and a killer skincare routine, but as revolting as he is, it's hard not to laugh at his exploits. 

Obviously, there's nothing funny about homicide; it's Bateman's asides about Huey Lewis and the News and business cards, coupled with his extremely aloof nature that make him so funny to watch. He's hardly skilled at being a serial killer, and it's almost like he just skates by on luck.

The Paul Allen scene really is Bateman's comedy tour de force. It's Bateman's mugging and dancing for an imaginary audience, in preparation for and leading up to ax murder, that really makes things take a turn for the comically surreal.

Hans Landa is a despicable person. Audiences know exactly who and what he is from his first appearance in Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds; even if he weren't adorned in Nazi regalia, it's clear that he's pure evil. Unfortunately, he's also really entertaining.

It's really Christoph Waltz's enthusiastic performance that sells all of Landa's punchlines. He's just so clearly excited to be saying his lines - showing off his intelligence and wit - that you want to see what he's going to do next, no matter how monstrous.

Aside from having the advantage of reciting some seriously funny dialogue, Landa is the kind of villain who's incredibly good at what he does, which makes the audience want to see him get his comeuppance even more. That comeuppance, once it comes, is a hilarious bit of poetic justice in its own right.