Walter White cooks meth and poisons a child.

Amy Dunne frames her husband for murder with sociopathic precision.

Jordan Belfort defrauds thousands and revels in his own depravity.

And we can’t stop watching.

This is the paradox of the unsympathetic protagonist: characters who violate our moral codes yet remain narratively compelling. They shouldn’t work—but in the right hands, they become cultural phenomena.

The question isn’t whether you should write unlikeable protagonists. It’s how to make them watchable without sacrificing moral complexity.

The Likeable vs Compelling Distinction

First, a crucial clarification:

Likeable: Would you want to be friends with this person? Compelling: Do you want to keep watching/reading about them?

These are not the same thing.

  • Tony Soprano: Compelling, not likeable (murderous mob boss)
  • Elle Woods: Likeable and compelling (smart, kind, determined)
  • Hannibal Lecter: Compelling, definitely not likeable (cannibal serial killer)
  • Pollyanna: Likeable to some, not compelling to many (too perfect, no conflict)

The critical insight: You can have compelling without likeable. You cannot have sustained narrative interest without compelling.

Why Unsympathetic Protagonists Work

Multiple psychological principles make unlikeable characters watchable:

1. The Trainwreck Effect (Morbid Fascination)

Humans are wired to pay attention to danger, transgression, and taboo. It’s survival instinct: monitoring threats keeps us safe.

In narrative: We watch unsympathetic characters because they do things we can’t or won’t do. They’re transgressive, which makes them fascinating.

Breaking Bad works because Walter White crosses moral lines most viewers never would—and we’re simultaneously horrified and transfixed.

The writing challenge: Keep them transgressive enough to be interesting, not so transgressive that we disengage entirely.

2. Competence Overrides Morality

As explored in Competence Porn, we’re deeply attracted to mastery.

Shockingly: Competence can make us overlook moral bankruptcy.

  • Hannibal Lecter: Brilliant, cultured, insightful—the fact that he’s a cannibal becomes almost secondary to his fascinating intellect
  • Frank Underwood: Amoral political manipulator, but his strategic brilliance is captivating
  • Sherlock Holmes: Often callous and inconsiderate, but his genius makes us forgive his social failures

Why this works: Mirror neurons respond to skill execution. We get satisfaction from watching competence even when it’s applied to immoral ends.

The ethical question: This is how charismatic authoritarians gain followers. Stories can expose this tendency—or exploit it.

3. Understanding Is Not Endorsement

We can understand why someone does terrible things without condoning it.

Psychological principle: When we understand a character’s internal logic—their wounds, fears, rationalizations—we can follow their journey even when we morally object.

Example: There Will Be Blood Daniel Plainview is ruthlessly ambitious, cruel, manipulative. But we understand his worldview: he trusts no one, believes only in his own power, was shaped by hardship into predatory capitalism incarnate.

We don’t agree with him. But we comprehend his internal coherence—and that’s enough to stay engaged.

4. The Downfall Arc

Sometimes we watch unsympathetic characters because we want to see them fail.

The morality play: If the narrative clearly positions their behavior as wrong and ultimately punishes it, we’re watching a cautionary tale.

Examples:

  • Macbeth: Ambition without conscience leads to paranoia and death
  • The Wolf of Wall Street: Hedonistic excess depicted as both appealing and ultimately hollow
  • Scarface: “The world is yours”—until it isn’t

The satisfaction: We watch them succeed temporarily, knowing (hoping) justice will arrive. The narrative becomes about consequences.

The risk: If the character never faces consequences, audiences can feel cheated or worry the story endorses the behavior.

Techniques for Making Unlikeable Characters Compelling

Technique 1: The Glimpse of Humanity

Show moments—however brief—where the character reveals vulnerability, kindness, or pain.

Example: The Sopranos Tony Soprano is a violent criminal. But we also see:

  • His panic attacks (vulnerability)
  • His love for his children (humanity)
  • His therapy sessions (self-awareness, even if limited)

These don’t erase his crimes. But they make him three-dimensional—a terrible person who is nonetheless a complete person.

The key: Don’t overdo it. One genuine moment of humanity is more effective than constant attempts to make them “redeemable.” We’re not redeeming them—we’re complicating them.

Technique 2: The Worse Alternative

Surround them with even more unlikeable characters.

Relativity changes perception: Your protagonist is a criminal, but at least they’re not that kind of criminal.

Example: House of Cards Frank Underwood is ruthless—but his opponents are often hypocritical, self-serving, or incompetent. He becomes the “lesser evil” by comparison, or at least the evil with style.

Example: Dexter He’s a serial killer—but he only kills other killers. The Code makes him more palatable because his victims are more monstrous than him.

Caution: This can become moral muddiness. Make sure your story is intentionally exploring ethical complexity, not accidentally endorsing bad behavior through false equivalence.

Technique 3: Victim Turned Villain

Start with sympathy, then complicate it.

If we understand the wound that created the monster, we maintain investment even as they descend.

Example: Breaking Bad Walter White begins sympathetic: dying of cancer, wants to provide for his family, disrespected and underpaid.

By the end, he’s a murderous drug lord. But we’ve been with him for every step of the transformation—we understand the progression, even as we’re horrified by it.

The narrative arc: Sympathy → Understanding → Complicity? → Horror

We’re implicated in his choices because we understood his initial motivations. That discomfort is part of the point.

Technique 4: Charisma and Wit

Charm is a superpower in narrative.

Characters who are funny, clever, or charismatic get away with more because audiences enjoy spending time with them.

Example: Tyrion Lannister (early seasons) Morally ambiguous, from a terrible family, complicit in many wrongs—but so witty and perceptive that we root for him anyway.

Example: Fleabag She’s self-destructive, lies, sabotages her relationships—but her direct address to the audience, her dark humor, and her self-awareness make her irresistible.

The mechanism: We enjoy their company despite their flaws. We’re seduced, just like the other characters in the story are.

The warning: Charm can paper over atrocity if you’re not careful. Make sure the narrative doesn’t let charm become a get-out-of-consequences-free card.

Technique 5: The Underdog Position

Put the unsympathetic character in a disadvantaged position against a greater power.

Psychological principle: We instinctively root for underdogs, even flawed ones.

Example: Deadpool Morally gray mercenary who kills for money—but he’s fighting against bigger, more powerful villains, and the system has wronged him. His underdog status makes him rootable despite his methods.

Example: Promising Young Woman Cassie does morally questionable things—but in response to systemic injustice that destroyed her life. Her position as avenger against a system that failed her makes her sympathetic despite her actions.

Technique 6: Honest Self-Awareness

Characters who know they’re flawed and don’t pretend otherwise can be refreshing.

The appeal: They’re not hypocrites. They own their awfulness, which is strangely more palatable than self-righteous villains who believe they’re heroes.

Example: Bojack Horseman Deeply flawed, self-destructive, hurts everyone around him—but he knows it, hates himself for it, and struggles (often unsuccessfully) to change.

His self-awareness doesn’t excuse his behavior, but it makes him tragic rather than simply monstrous.

Technique 7: Moral Complexity Over Moral Simplicity

Don’t make them bad at everything. Give them principles—even if they’re selective or hypocritical.

Example: Omar Little (The Wire) A violent stick-up man who robs drug dealers—but he has a strict code: never harm civilians, never work on Sundays, never lie in court.

His selective morality makes him fascinating. He’s both criminal and more honorable than the “legitimate” institutions around him.

The insight: Real people aren’t consistently good or evil. The most compelling unsympathetic characters have internal logic and boundaries—even if we disagree with where they draw lines.

The Spectrum of Unsympathetic

Not all unlikeable protagonists are the same:

The Antihero

Morally gray, but ultimately on the side of good (or at least, their own code)

  • Examples: Batman, Rorschach, John Wick
  • Why they work: Violence/methods are questionable, but intent is defensible

The Villain Protagonist

Actively doing evil, and the story knows it

  • Examples: Walter White, Amy Dunne (Gone Girl), Patrick Bateman
  • Why they work: The story is interrogating evil, not celebrating it

The Tragic Figure

Flawed in ways that lead to their destruction

  • Examples: Macbeth, Gatsby, Bojack Horseman
  • Why they work: We watch the downfall with morbid fascination and pity

The Comedic Asshole

Awful behavior played for laughs

  • Examples: Larry David (Curb Your Enthusiasm), Basil Fawlty, Selina Meyer (Veep)
  • Why they work: Tone signals that we’re meant to laugh at them, not with them

When Unsympathetic Protagonists Fail

The technique backfires when:

1. The Story Excuses What It Should Interrogate

If terrible behavior is presented uncritically or rewarded without consequence, audiences feel manipulated or morally uneasy.

Example: Stories where stalking is romantic, abuse is passionate love, or toxic behavior is just “edgy.”

The fix: The narrative voice must be clear about what’s being shown. Show the consequences, the harm, the reality.

2. There’s Nothing to Latch Onto

If the character is unlikeable and boring, uncompetent, or incoherent, we disengage.

You need at least one of:

  • Competence
  • Humor/charisma
  • Vulnerability
  • Interesting internal logic
  • Compelling goals

Pure awfulness without any compelling dimension = unwatchable.

3. The Tone Is Confused

Comedic asshole protagonists work in comedies. Tragic villain protagonists work in dramas. Mixing tones can make the audience unsure how to feel.

Example: If we’re supposed to laugh at their behavior and take their emotional journey seriously, which is it? Mixed signals alienate audiences.

4. The Writer Loves Them Too Much

When the creator is so enamored with their edgy, transgressive protagonist that they can’t see the character’s flaws clearly, the work becomes self-indulgent.

The warning sign: Other characters constantly praise the protagonist despite their awful behavior, or consequences never arrive.

The Moral Responsibility Question

Here’s the uncomfortable part: unsympathetic protagonists can be dangerous.

  • They can normalize bad behavior
  • They can make toxicity seem appealing
  • They can provide justification for real-world harm (“Just like Walter White!”)

But they can also:

  • Expose the banality of evil
  • Demonstrate how good people become corrupted
  • Force audiences to confront their own capacity for moral compromise
  • Interrogate systems that create monsters

The difference: Narrative framing.

Responsible storytelling with unsympathetic protagonists:

  • Shows consequences
  • Doesn’t excuse behavior even while explaining it
  • Allows other characters to name the wrongness
  • Demonstrates harm to victims
  • Provides moral counterweights (other characters who embody better choices)

The Litmus Test for Your Unsympathetic Protagonist

Ask yourself:

  1. Is the character compelling for at least one reason? (competence, humor, complexity, fascinating psychology)

  2. Does the narrative acknowledge their flaws? (are they treated as flawed within the story, or does everyone inexplicably love them?)

  3. Is there meaningful internal logic? (do we understand why they are this way, even if we disagree?)

  4. Are there consequences? (does their behavior lead to real repercussions, or do they get away with everything?)

  5. What is the story interrogating? (corruption, trauma, systemic evil, human nature, morality itself?)

If you can answer these clearly, you probably have a functional unsympathetic protagonist.

Why We Need Unlikeable Protagonists

Safe, likeable characters are comforting. But they limit what stories can explore.

Unsympathetic protagonists allow us to:

  • Examine the darkness in human nature
  • Explore how good people become corrupt
  • Confront our own moral blind spots and capacity for rationalization
  • Investigate systemic evil through individual examples
  • Experience transgression vicariously without real-world harm

The best unsympathetic protagonists don’t let us off the hook.

They make us ask: Would I have made different choices? Am I sure?

Practical Application

If you’re writing an unsympathetic protagonist:

  1. Give them at least one compelling dimension (competence, charisma, vulnerability, fascinating psychology)

  2. Clarify your narrative position (are you condemning, interrogating, or exploring their behavior?)

  3. Show consequences (bad behavior should cost something)

  4. Provide moral context (supporting characters can embody alternative values)

  5. Know what you’re exploring thematically (what question is this character helping you ask?)

Remember: Understanding is not endorsement. Compelling is not likeable. And moral complexity is more honest than moral simplicity—even when it’s uncomfortable.

The Uncomfortable Mirror

The reason unsympathetic protagonists fascinate us is because they’re not alien.

They’re us—with fewer filters, weaker inhibitions, more extreme circumstances, or just worse choices.

Walter White is the guy who feels undervalued and makes terrible decisions about how to reclaim power.

Amy Dunne is the person who performs the perfect relationship and snaps when it’s not appreciated.

Bojack Horseman is everyone who’s hurt people while knowing better and hated themselves for it.

We watch them because we recognize pieces of ourselves—the pieces we fear, suppress, or judge.

Great unsympathetic protagonists don’t let us dismiss them as monsters.

They force us to confront that monsters are just people who chose poorly—or were shaped by systems, trauma, and circumstances we might not have survived differently ourselves.

That discomfort? That’s the point.

Further Reading in This Series

Next in the series: Flat vs Round Characters: Both Are Valid - when static characters serve the story better than transforming ones.