In its fourth season, Eric Kripke’s The Boys and its infamously menacing main antagonist, Homelander, have managed to rise to the top — or rather, sink to the very bottom — as one of the most sadistic, evil, and nefarious characters to ever grace the small screen. Played by the excellent and notoriously Emmy-less Anthony Starr, and based on Garth Ennis’s eponymous comic book series, Homelander is not just a perversion of the superhero archetype but a sickening exploration of a psyche marred by unbridled power and deep seated psychological trauma.
The caped nightmare of The Boys, struts through the series with the fanfaronade of a demigod, disdainfully smashing societal norms and human lives with equal abandon. Imagine Superman, with the emotional maturity of a petulant child and a twisted sense of entitlement. His evil is a spectacle, a garish fireworks display of unchecked laserings, and a super-sized spit in the eyes of puny, mortal life.
Anthony Starr as Homelander in a still from ‘The Boys’ Season 4
Yet, among a plethora of deplorable television villains, few can stand toe-to-toe with the Golden Boy of Vought as a terrifying harbinger of chaos and despair. Sure, Los Pollos Hermanos’ drug kingpin Gus Fring and the dastardly Lord of the Dreadfort, Ramsay Bolton, are formidable foes, but to rival the supe, we must look to another blonde wunderkind of comic book lore who embodies malevolence with a similar flair.
Naoki Urasawa’s seminal Japanese manga and anime series Monster has been celebrated for its complex characters and moral themes. The story revolves around Dr. Kenzo Tenma, an idealistic and compassionate doctor, and Johan Liebert, a manipulative embodiment of evil as his foil. Their contrasting motivations and actions serve as counterpoints, with their paths deeply intertwined. The series explores the nature of good and evil, the corrupting influence of power, and the repercussions of personal choices, emphasising that the line between good and evil is often blurred, and even noble intentions can lead to dire outcomes.
Only Ennis and Urasawa seem to have distilled the archetype of intrinsic evil with terrifying panache. Homelander and Johan, in more ways than one, seem like two sides of the same sinister coin, their characters a fascinating exploration of what unfolds when individuals with no moral compass are endowed with unfathomable power. While they share a core of rancour, the manifestation of their darkness proves a grim reminder of the fragility of humanity in the face of unrestrained evil.
Homelander’s backstory is as disturbing as it gets. Raised in a Vought-sanctioned lab with all the warmth of a freezer, he was subjected to experiments that would make Frankenstein flinch. Unlike good ‘ol Superman, who had the good fortune of a wholesome upbringing, Homelander’s childhood was a sterile, emotionally desolate affair, designed to mould him into the ultimate killing machine. Deprived of any semblance of human connection, he grew into a character devoid of empathy and bursting with a hunger for dominance.
Anthony Starr as Homelander in a still from ‘The Boys’ Season 4
Meanwhile, Johan’s backstory reads like something concocted by the Brothers Grimm. His early years were marred by nightmarish Kafkaesque experiments at the infamous Red Room and subsequently, his orphanage, 511 Kinderheim. These nexuses of psychological manipulation, subjected him to an insidious array of trauma, each session meticulously designed to unravel the threads of his humanity and transform him from a cherubic innocent into a Machiavellian maestro of malice. In both cases, their psyches, twisted and scarred beyond recognition, serve as a rattling testament to the horrors of human experimentation. Yet comparing their modus operandi is like juxtaposing a house on fire with a silent, deadly poison.
Homelander’s evil is brash, loud, and egotistical — a reflection of a society obsessed with celebrity and spectacle. His violence is performative, designed to assert dominance and instil fear through sheer force. One of his earliest shockers involves letting a plane full of passengers crash, preferring to keep his squeaky-clean image rather than save innocent lives. This act is a perfect introduction to a character who values his public persona over any notion of heroism.
In the latest episode, he lasers a hole through a man’s gonads after having him publicly humiliate himself. He sees people as props in his grand, horrific play, disposable and insignificant except for their role in feeding his narcissism. He is the ultimate superpowered tyrant, a twisted reflection of the superhero mythos gone horribly wrong.
On the flip side, Johan is the epitome of quiet, cerebral malevolence. If Homelander is a sledgehammer, Johan is a scalpel. His terror is woven into the fabric of Monster with an almost surgical precision, his greatest weapon his mind. His acts are puzzles, his motives enigmatic, his presence a whisper of dread. His reign of terror includes pitting an entire town of people against themselves, grooming children into killers, and leaving a trail of psychological ruin in his wake.
Johan Liebert in a still from ‘Monster’
Johan’s lack of empathy is rooted in his nihilistic worldview; he sees life as inherently meaningless, and thus, his acts of evil are almost philosophical experiments, testing the boundaries of human morality and sanity. While Homelander wants to be feared and adored, Johan seeks no validation — his evil is a manifestation of his profound disillusionment with existence itself. Homelander’s most disturbing trait is his desperate need for love and adoration, which he twists into a justification for his horrific deeds. His relationships are transactional, built on power and fear rather than genuine human connection. Johan, in contrast, is a solitary figure, his interactions driven by a cold, clinical understanding of human fragility. He strips away the humanity of his victims, leaving them as empty shells, haunted by the void he represents.
Dark reflections
Both characters serve as dark reflections of our worst fears about power and morality. There is a perverse elegance to their darkness, a kind of monstrous charisma that compels one to watch in petrified fascination as their fractured sense of selves teeters on the brink of oblivion. As we watch on in rapt horror, we are also left grappling with the uncomfortable reality that the most terrifying monsters are not lurking in the shadows, but mingling among us, donning the masks of heroes and innocents.
