Every big-screen Batman villain, ranked from worst to best

Robert Pattinson’s The Batman, the
biggest box office hit so far in 2022, moves into the streaming space
on April 18 on HBO Max. Which makes this is an ideal time to revisit a major
debate in Batman lore. No, not the one over who wore the cape and cowl best—Michael
Keaton? Christian Bale? Ben Affleck? Pattison?—because the truth is
that Batman isn’t the most challenging or rewarding role in these films.We know that the man behind
the mask probably matters less, in the grand scheme, than whatever colorful
lunatic he’s squaring off against. Consensus holds that the Bat has the greatest of all rogues’ galleries—an unparalleled perp lineup of adversaries. And over the years, that’s been a boon for Hollywood stars and character actors alike, who have stolen whole pictures (like Jack Nicholson did in 1989, demanding, receiving, and arguably earning his top billing) or just improved them.Of course, all supervillains are not created equal. There’s a range even when it comes to a particular character; we’ve had great Jokers, and not so great ones. To that end, the following is an attempt to comprehensively rank every bad guy Batman has tussled with on the big screen—to create a hierarchy of dastardliness, to sort the well-baked hams from the undercooked ones, to differentiate between Gotham’s most wanted and its most inane.We stuck to theatrical releases, hence the absence of, say, Hush and Mutant Leader. Henchmen, corporate foes, and disposable mob bosses are allowed. And we included reluctant villains that eventually become allies, like the Man Of Steel and multiple iterations of Catwoman. To be considered, a villain had to have some onscreen relationship to Batman, which is why Harley Quinn made the cut (she spars with Bataffleck for a few minutes in Suicide Squad) but fellow Arkham regular Killer Croc did not. And if our No. 1 is obvious, what can we say? A true flair for the dramatic is hard to miss.

Calling the version of Bane that appears in Joel Schumacher’s Batman & Robin a “villain” is generous. He’s more of a blunt object than a defined character, with the raw strength of Frankenstein’s Monster (but with less personality) and the physique of a Stretch Armstrong doll. Compared to the devious supervillain of the comics, this Bane is nothing to fear; he’s such a mindless lackey that if you met him in a dark alley, you could ask him to carry your groceries and he’d probably comply. [Katie Rife]

For all that Batman Begins functioned as a course correction away from the absurdities of Batman & Robin, Christopher Nolan did take one page from the Schumacher playbook: reducing one of Batman’s scariest enemies to a minor goon. The version of Victor Zsasz who briefly appears in Begins is not the psychotic serial killer of the comics but instead a mere mob enforcer; he has no dialogue and gets zipped out of frame basically the minute he brandishes a blade. Interestingly and improbably, this blink-and-miss-it cameo proved influential, as different takes on Zsasz as a hitman—instead of a Red Dragon type—would pop up in and . [A.A. Dowd]

Zach Snyder’s Justice League may have improved upon multiple elements of the DCEU’s misbegotten gathering of heroes, but Steppenwolf was a problem better CGI couldn’t solve. In the theatrical Justice League, he’s a single-minded cipher, out to conquer humanity for reasons nebulous at best. At least in Snyder’s version, we got some motivation: a desperate urge to please the boss. But even demoted to second banana under Darkseid, this craggly space invader with the unrecognizable voice of Ciarán Hinds is a generic eyesore of a baddie, about as forgettable as that in the cross-town rival cinematic universe. [Alex McLevy]

Behold, the DCEU’s greatest villain: a baritone micromanager berating his ineffectual uncle. In another multiverse, Darkseid is more popular than Thanos, the intergalactic final-boss character he inspired. Here, he’s a teleconferencing bore. Did no one tell him those Zoom meetings with Steppenwolf could have been emails? [Matt Schimkowitz]

Deathstroke built his entire mercenary career on looking cool, using his orange two-tone mask to let his targets know that he doesn’t care if they see him coming because he’ll kill them anyway. But that approach is kind of dependent on… doing literally anything, instead of the nothing Joe Manganiello does in both of his Justice League appearances. In the theatrical cut, he hangs out with Lex Luthor on a boat. In the “Snyder Cut,” he stands behind Batman during the “Knightmare” sequence. He still looks great, but the constantly blowing sand of Snyder’s grimdark future looks like a greater threat. [Sam Barsanti]

You can’t really blame Zack Snyder for this one: Doomsday, originally introduced for the Death Of Superman plotline that began in the comics way back in 1992, has long been one of the most relentlessly boring villains in all of comics: no personality, no drive beyond mass destruction, just enough arbitrary power to kill whichever heroes need killing to goose some flagging book sales. You can blame Snyder, though, for making this quasi-Kryptonian blank the final antagonist of his big superhero team-up, giving both of its titular combatants a big, angry threat to throw punches and missiles at, once all of that pesky interpersonal conflict has been Martha-ed out of the way. [William Hughes]

Deadshot may be one of the world’s greatest assassins—and, as played by Will Smith, a perfectly functional main character for Suicide Squad—but there’s a reason he’s landed near the bottom of our list: The anti-hero is so far off Batman’s radar that the Dark Knight doesn’t even bother taking him down until Amanda Waller (hoping to use the hitman on her Task Force X) practically gift-wraps him. When the fight does happen via flashback, Ben Affleck’s Batman barely breaks a sweat. Deadshot never misses his mark, but he missed the top 20 of this ranking by a mile. [Sam Barsanti]

The Joker’s right-hand-man boasts one major honor over fellow first-generation big-screen Batman henchmen and molls like the Red Triangle Gang, Sugar, and Spice: He got . But besides introducing prolific character actor Tracey Walter to America’s toy boxes (with “”), Bob isn’t much more than a two-bit hood, a link to the old Gotham underworld and easy laugh for the boss who winds up the butt of one particularly wicked rib tickler. [Erik Adams]

A bank vault full of ham soup even by the standards of Schumacher’s two Bat-films, Tommy Lee Jones’ rendition of fallen Gotham D.A. Harvey Dent reaches for a register too high for even Batman Forever. (And even then, he winds up upstaged by a partner in crime riding a once-in-a-generation career high.) With the character’s tragic undercurrents confined to news-channel file footage and his numerological compulsions rendered into a fatal quirk, this Two-Face is most memorable as an achievement in makeup and costume design, rather than a reminder of that too-brief, post-Oscar window when ultimate curmudgeon Jones cut loose on screen with greater frequency. Alas, we cannot sanction his buffoonery. [Erik Adams]

We only see Jared Leto’s “damaged” version of the Bat’s most iconic foe tangle with the Caped Crusader for a moment, in the Suicide Squad sequence that introduces his paramour, Harley Quinn. Which is fitting, since later installments of the DCEU have made it clear that Leto’s fashion-by-Hot-Topic take on the clown in the pearly white flesh works better as a background presence to Margot Robbie’s far more popular, successful portrayal. Every version of Joker is a deranged attention-seeker in one form or another, but Leto’s takes the poisoned cake; he might as well have “Needy” tattooed across his forehead in cursive script. [William Hughes]

If you want your stock corporate asshole guy to exude some oily evil, you can do a lot worse than casting Rutger Hauer. But there’s still not a lot to William Earle, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises: He’s a smirking ass who ignores the wishes of Bruce’s dead dad, Thomas Wayne, instead taking the company public and investing in heavy arms manufacturing. But Hauer’s supercilious creepiness, plus his firing of good old Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman), makes for a nice comeuppance at film’s end, when Earle is unceremoniously ousted from his position in favor of Fox. Still, not exactly an immortal turn: We’d place the odds that you remembered him from name alone somewhere around the chances of Batman marrying Mr. Freeze. [Alex McLevy]

Arnold Schwarzenegger can’t quite manage to wring all the pathos out of Batman’s most tragic villain with his turn in Joel Schumacher’s Batman & Robin; his tormented relationship with his frozen wife still manages a tiny heartstring tug. But the big man gives it a Herculean try, burying Victor Fries’ heartbroken nobility beneath an avalanche of awful ice puns and distinctive Schwarzeneggerian smugness. It doesn’t help that he’s paired up with Uma Thurman’s Poison Ivy, who at least understood the assignment; the future California governor can’t match the heights of camp that Schumacher was clearly calling for with this franchise-killer, substituting volume and some truly bizarre costuming choices instead. [William Hughes]

Restraint is not a quality one can generally expect from a Batman villain. But John Turturro is downright understated, even deceptively classy, as Gotham’s least flamboyant crime boss in The Batman—a role that proves unexpectedly pivotal to the film’s unfurling grand conspiracy and overstuffed third act. It’s nice to see an actor of Turturro’s caliber given free rein to redefine “menacing” in the context of this exaggerated comic-book universe, even if his Falcone is ultimately less memorable than Tom Wilkinson’s more bullying take on the same kingpin in Batman Begins. [A.A. Dowd]

Batman fans must’ve breathed a sigh of relief when Christopher Nolan included Joe Chill (Richard Brake), Thomas and Martha Wayne’s original killer, in Batman Begins. Theater, crime alley, pearls—it’s all rote now. But once upon a time, there was really only one version of the motivating death scene on film and Joker was pulling the trigger. Chill’s brief but effective performance as a desperate and, later, remorseful killer was a great foot to start Nolan’s trilogy on. With his parents properly gunned down, Batman could actually begin. [Matt Schimkowitz]

Nolan has a knack for filling key gangster roles with actors who can make a feast out of a snack of screen time. Eric Roberts’ Sal Maroni cooks a four-course meal. His detached confidence, loose physicality, and cartoonish Italian-American accent (“Friends? You met dis guy?”) pull Gotham’s crime syndicate into focus and give it a life outside the Joker. Like Falcone, this character could’ve been a tossed-off easter egg for fans of The Long Halloween and forgotten by everyone else. But anyone who’s seen The Dark Knight won’t soon forget the sound of his legs hitting the pavement. [Matt Schimkowitz]

Sometimes quantity of villains actually is more important that quality, and Lego Batman is unmatched in the former department: The Riddler, Scarecrow, Bane, Captain Boomerang, Crazy Quilt, Eraser, Tarantula, King Tut, Killer Moth, March Harriet, Gentleman Ghost, Clock King, Calendar Man, Kite Man, Condiment King, Billy Dee Williams’ Two-Face, and many more all show up to terrorize Lego Batman. Does any one of them do an especially good job? Well, no. But together (and with help from Voldemort and Agent Smith), they still bring Gotham to the brink of destruction. [Sam Barsanti]

To be clear, we’re not naysaying Joaquin Phoenix’s Oscar-winning performance as Arthur Fleck, the psychotic anti-hero of Todd Phillips’ Joker: It’s a memorably anguished take on the character. The thing is, this iteration of the Joker isn’t really a Batman villain, is he? The movie takes place when Bruce Wayne is a child, and the inciting incident that inspires Bruce to become Batman—the murder of his parents in a dark alley—is committed without Arthur’s involvement or even his knowledge. You could say he inspired the riot that led to the Waynes’ deaths. But if villainy by influence counts, you might as well call all bats Batman villains, too. [Katie Rife]

Following the money usually leads you to the true puppet master of any evil scheme. Not so with John Daggett, the construction magnate who funds Bane’s master plan in The Dark Knight Rises, only to be disposed of once he’s outlived his usefulness to the League Of Shadows. Still, if Daggett is ultimately just a pawn, it’s fun to see him kicked around the board—first by Anne Hathaway’s Catwoman, then by the burly villain who snaps his neck like a twig. He’s a stock third-tier heavy you love to hate, thanks in no small part to Ben Mendelsohn’s delivery of lines both arrogant (“You’re dumb”) and awed with terror (“What are you?”). [Katie Rife]

Nearly 20 years after he brought some crazed swagger to Marvel’s side of the comic-shop aisle as Daredevil foe Bullseye, Colin Farrell disappears under mounds of Richard Kind prosthetics to play a younger, not-yet-infamous version of Oswald Cobblepot. Farrell has his fun, trying out some De Niro mannerisms and leaning into the character’s function here as a taunting, exasperated punching bag—maybe the closest Matt Reeves’ moody spectacle has to comic relief. But this embryonic Penguin is only in a few scenes, and while he’s always fun to watch, it’s hard to shake the feeling that he could be removed from the movie entirely and it wouldn’t change much beyond the studio’s ability to sell a few more action figures. Danny DeVito can rest easy, at least until a sequel beefs up Farrell’s screen time. [A.A. Dowd]

Riddle us this: How do you darkly reinvent one of Batman’s most fanciful enemies while still failing to make him especially scary? The answer, sad to say, is you cast Paul Dano. The actor has played some memorable creeps in his day, but he never finds a consistently menacing tone as the egghead question-mark enthusiast, portrayed here as a Jigsaw-like serial killer pulling strings from the darkness and amassing a QAnon-style army of internet zealots. Dano’s big showcase moment, a blatant bite on the police-station war of wills in The Dark Knight, only emphasizes his lack of Ledgerian magnetism. This Riddler fares much better when he’s off screen—surveilling his first mark in the creepily voyeuristic opening scene, or leaving behind macabre clues less reminiscent of the character’s usual enigmas than of the handiwork of the Calendar Man or Seven’s diabolical John Doe. [A.A. Dowd]

Joe Chill might’ve gunned down Bruce Wayne’s parents, but Carmine Falcone (Tom Wilkinson) turns him into Batman. Nolan could have filled this role with any Sopranos day-player. Instead, he gave it to a commanding Oscar nominee. Wilkinson exudes the power Falcone describes in his formative monologue to a despondent Bruce Wayne, shooting insults and threats like armor-piercing bullets. By the time he tells young Bruce that his father “Begged. Like a dog,” Mr. Wayne has all the motivation he needs to head to a ninja retreat atop a mountain and become the Batman. [Matt Schimkowitz]

A spoiler of sorts, so read at your own risk. Posing as a bleeding-heart businesswoman under the name Miranda Tate, the daughter of Liam Neeson’s Batman Begins villain Ra’s al Ghul slides her way into Gotham’s upper echelons (and Bruce Wayne’s boudoir) in the guise of a do-gooder eager to help fight Bane. Instead, she reveals herself to be the one responsible for pulling the big brute’s strings and bringing Gotham City to the brink of nuclear devastation. Ultimately, it’s more of a good twist than a satisfying nemesis turn, as Marion Cotillard spends most of the movie duplicitously playing the innocent ally and love interest; all of her big villain moments are confined to a few climactic minutes, capped by a desultory death scene. Still, there’s no denying the impact of her master plan or the sting of her betrayal. [Alex McLevy]

Box office receipts and playground impersonations had Jim Carrey pegged as heir apparent to Robin Williams before the star of Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, The Mask, and Dumb And Dumber (all in the same calendar year!) took a spot in the rogues’ gallery long earmarked for the man who was Mork. And there is a lot of Williams in the hyperactive, hyper-referential Riddler who seeks to leech off the public’s brain power and unmask the Dark Knight in Batman Forever. A lot of Frank Gorshin and Cesar Romero, too: Carrey’s knack for rubber-faced mimicry and Batman Forever’s debts to the ’60s TV show means his unitard-clad puzzle master can’t be taken entirely on its own terms. But there are moments—like his giddy ransacking of the Batcave—that only Jim Carrey circa 1995 could pull off. [Erik Adams]

Despite assembling four of the Dynamic Duo’s most fearsome foes under the banner of the United Underworld, Batman’s cinematic ’60s spinoff is really a feature-length Catwoman episode with support from three of the TV show’s marquee names: Burgess Meredith as The Penguin, and the aforementioned Romero and Gorshin as, respectively, The Joker and The Riddler. Still, even in reduced roles, there’s no denying the long tail of these depictions, either in the way later movies worked so hard to avoid affiliation with the “Biff! Bam! Pow!” versions of the villains, or in the way their influence still echoes in their successors’ squawks and cackles. [Erik Adams]

Heath Ledger’s Joker comes to the conclusion that he and Batman “complete” each other in The Dark Knight. Lego Joker (amusingly voiced by Zach Galifianakis, a worthy addition to the deck of big-screen clowns) takes that view of their relationship to a comic extreme: If the self-centered and stubborn Lego Batman won’t admit that he and the Joker are antagonistic soulmates, he’ll blow up Gotham. Really, what are the Joker and Batman doing if they’re not in a toxic, co-dependent relationship? All Lego Joker wants is for Lego Batman to admit, on some level, they do need each other. [Sam Barsanti]

As any feline femme fatale will tell you, cats have nine lives. Lee Meriwether only had one. Sandwiched between Julie Newmar and Eartha Kitt, Meriwether’s Catwoman offers a worthy third that helps cement the character as a head on Batman’s Mount Rogue-more. Even acting against heavy-hitters like Meredith and Romero, Meriwether confidently assumes the role of leader of the gang, enticing Bats as Russian journalist Ms. Kitka while helping the boys launch their “turn these diplomats into dust” scheme. She may be considered the runt of the litter, but Meriwether’s Selina is a captivating screen presence that punctures Batman emotionally, providing the delightfully artificial movie with a rare human moment. [Matt Schimkowitz]

“Remember, everyone, this is a cartoon,” Joel Schumacher reportedly told the Batman & Robin cast before every take—an early sign that the film would strain for fun. Fortunately, all that effort pays off for the flowery Poison Ivy. The Mae West diction, the big hair, the performance that’s all eyebrow business and vampy physicality: Uma Thurman transforms the act of antagonizing Batman and Robin into drag, a delicious counterpoint to the ice puns and flat performances surrounding her. It’s not enough to salvage the entire film, but it is perhaps the closest thing we’ll ever get to seeing Mrs. Mia Wallace’s turn on Fox Force Five. [Erik Adams]

Leave it to Bruce Wayne, whose entire life is defined by the loss of his parents, to get suckered in by a father figure. You’d think finding out that “Henri Ducard” was a member of a secret organization of assassins would tip him off, but it’s not until Ducard reveals himself to be Ra’s al Ghul and unveils his plan to violently “cure” the world of rampant corruption that Bruce does the math. Unlike the villains who put on a costume for fun, Ra’s al Ghul is a threat to Batman because he thinks he’s doing the right thing. The casting sells the depiction, with Liam Neeson twisting the nobility of his then-usual mentor characters into something more sinister. [Sam Barsanti]

One of the funnier things about Batman V Superman was how it turned two supposedly heroic and sharp crimefighters into absolute dolts when it came to dealing with each other. Idiot plot aside, however, there’s a reason the Son of Krypton has historically been an inspired adversary for Batman: Who better to challenge Bruce Wayne’s mission of vigilantism than arguably the noblest soul in the DC universe? And other than the much-mocked “Martha!” resolution, watching these two titans pound the living shit out of one another is bluntly satisfying. Plus, Superman’s brief moment of darkness in Justice League makes for one of the best scenes in that film (both of those films, really). He’s never truly a bad guy, per se, so he can’t make the top 10, but as an antagonist to the Caped Crusader? Iconic. [Alex McLevy]

Taken solely on the merits of his film debut, Dr. Jonathan Crane is clearly an also-ran, his chemically induced fear only a prologue to the real dread fostered by his Batman Begins master, Ra’s al Ghul. But it’s in his persistence that Cillian Murphy’s Scarecrow becomes a highlight of the Gotham City underworld, reappearing first in The Dark Knight as a petty gangleader, then in Rises as a self-appointed “have not” having too much fun passing judgment on the rich and powerful of the city. Crane’s cockroach-esque survivor tendencies are the closest that the Nolan films—always grounded with one foot in reality—get to the madcap anarchy of the Gotham of the comics, where you’re as likely to be accosted by a clown or a guy in a question mark suit as armed terrorists or thugs. It doesn’t hurt that no number of defeats ever seem to ruffle Crane’s feathers; bigger supervillains come and go, but Murphy’s smug smile is apparently eternal. [William Hughes]

It’s only up against Heath Ledger’s Joker that the Two-Face we see in the last act of The Dark Knight could ever be considered second rate. Christopher Nolan’s version of Harvey Dent is ruthless, intelligent, and vindictive, blaming both Batman and himself for the death of Rachel Dawes. He’s also terrifying to look at, with burns so deep you can see straight through to his teeth on one side of his face. But perhaps the most unsettling thing about Two-Face is what he represents in this version. What’s the point of fighting for justice if even the incorruptible Harvey Dent can be corrupted? [Katie Rife]

On paper, white collar criminal Max Schreck (named, with Tim Burton’s typical neon approach to subtlety, after the Nosferatu star) would barely be a blip as a Batman antagonist. It’s only in the genius casting of Christopher Walken—delivering one of the Walken-est performances in his entire oeuvre—that the Batman Returns villain can hold his own against the lady with the whip and the guy chowing down on fish heads. Even when he’s getting kicked around by the weirdos in costumes, Walken is clearly the guy having the most fun, chewing the scenery with affronted dignity and a white fright wig, pushing nice secretaries out of windows, and dismissing do-gooder Bruce Wayne with a literal “Yawn.” [William Hughes]

Superman’s archnemesis has always made sense as a moonlighting Batman heavy. After all, isn’t Lex Luthor a kind of dark mirror image of Bruce Wayne—a brainy billionaire who puts his unlimited resources towards committing crime instead of fighting it? The two don’t share much screentime in Batman V Superman, but Jesse Eisenberg makes the most of his, reinventing comicdom’s ultimate rich bastard into the 21st century’s most significant real-life analogue: the arrogant Silicon Valley tech bro, not so far removed from the star’s earlier caricature of Zuckerberg. Yammering and monologuing, Eisenberg is about the only one having any fun in BvS, and his turn pops with personality compared to most of the other glowering bads of the Snyderverse. Bonus points for a that distorts the big blue boy scout’s own. [A.A. Dowd]

It’s hard for a new Batman villain to make any sort of impression, what with so many all-time misfits and freaks crowding Arkham. So it’s all the more impressive that the Phantasm managed to make such a lasting impact after a single, one-and-done big-screen appearance in this Batman: The Animated Series spinoff. Dressed in a Grim Reaper cloak and with an ax for a hand, the Phantasm represents a darker version of Bruce Wayne’s mission for vengeance—one that will never end or accomplish anything. It’s through the character’s secret identity that she really distinguishes herself: Without her costume, she’s Andrea Beaumont, possibly the love of Bruce’s life and his last opportunity to be happy. [Sam Barsanti]

There’s automatic cool built into the role of Catwoman; like Batman himself, the sometimes-villain, sometimes-hero has a striking mystique, offering almost every actress who slips into the catsuit a shot at purring fun. It was true with Julie Newmar’s original live-action take, it’s true for Zoë Kravitz’s upcoming one (which is too plainly, firmly on the side of angels/bats to be included in a ranking of supervillains, hence her absence here), and it’s certainly true with Anne Hathaway’s version. This is the most ass-kicking iteration of Catwoman we’ve seen on the big screen; given how well she holds her own in Nolan’s kinetic action scenes, the back half of that quote about Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire (she did everything he did, but backwards and in high heels) is certainly germane. Hathaway’s isn’t the most iconic Catwoman—see a little further down the list—but it’s in the same league. That she’s a reluctant villain at best might be all that’s keeping her out of the top five. [Alex McLevy]

Has there ever been a more actively repellent live-action Batman nemesis than Danny DeVito’s Penguin? Over the course of Batman Returns, DeVito’s runty antagonist rips apart raw fish with his blackened teeth, reaches lasciviously for random women, and chomps the nose of some dude while wearing dirty underwear, all staged with maximum bombast by director Tim Burton. While Devito’s Cobblepot certainly embodies the stereotype of a typical Burton oddball outsider, there are no edges sanded down for this ostensibly family-friendly entertainment; from start to finish, the character oozes venom and bile, practically daring the audience to retain any of the sympathy generated by the opening montage of his parents abandoning him as an infant. It’s creepy, unappealing, and impossible to forget. [Alex McLevy]

It’s no surprise that Harley Quinn was the only member of to get a spin-off. Shielded from the backlash to Jared Leto’s SoundCloud rapper Joker, Margot Robbie’s Harley skipped her way into DCEU canon. As Harley, Robbie transcends the movie’s bad reputation, overcoming , Leto’s overacting, and the film’s borderline incoherent edit as a Guardians Of The Galaxy-esque romp. Even Squad’s critics hoped she’d get another crack at bat. She’d get two. Speaking of bats, Robbie has only one scene with Batfleck, but she makes every frame count, imbuing Harley with the unpredictable strength and fragility that made the character the most beloved creation of Batman: The Animated Series. Like all the best villains on this list, Robbie’s Harley Quinn contains multitudes. And Robbie wields them like a mallet. [Matt Schimkowitz]

It’s fun to do silly imitations of Tom Hardy’s modulated voice as Bane in The Dark Knight Rises. But don’t let the villain hear you. After a humiliating first foray into cinema in Batman & Robin, Bane was restored as one of the Dark Knight’s most intimidating foes—a monster with brains and brawn, capable of both outwitting his enemies and crushing their windpipes with his bare hands. He came the closest to killing Batman of any of the villains in Nolan’s series, breaking his back and banishing him to a near-inescapable pit while Bane and his cronies remade Gotham in their own image. He’s got a way with words, too: “You merely adopted the dark, I was born in it,” and “You have my permission to die” are both badass lines. [Katie Rife]

In 1989, the best-known version of the Joker—especially for the general public—was still Cesar Romero’s jokey, capering villain from the old Batman TV series. Comics like The Killing Joke had already found ways to elevate the Clown Prince of Crime, but it wasn’t until Jack Nicholson’s live-wire performance in Tim Burton’s Batman, with his purple coat, grotesque permanent grin, and flair for unnerving theatricality, that the Joker became scary again. Less of a goofball and more of a manic loose-cannon, Nicholson’s Joker makes it clear why subsequent performers have embraced the character as an opportunity to make their mark. [Sam Barsanti]

Across three years and 85 episodes, Batman: The Animated Series was able to delve into its rogues in ways unseen beyond the pages of DC Comics, finding new dimensions to the likes of Mr. Freeze, Two-Face, and Clayface along the way (not to mention introducing our No.6 pick). But only the animated Joker got to make the leap to the big screen, thanks in no small part to a career-redefining performance from Mark Hamill. The key to Hamill’s Joker is in the laugh, a spectrum of menace and mirth the actor deployed “like color on a canvas,” which he splashes all over Mask Of The Phantasm’s moody whodunit: amusement park glee, snickers of intimidation, the maniacal boffola he lets loose as flame’s engulf the film’s climactic set piece. Getting the best of a one-off adversary like Phantasm is kid’s stuff; topping Nicholson a mere four years after Batman—now that’s a kicker. [Erik Adams]

It’s not novel to note that superhero movies are often the stories of their antagonists rather than the good guys that they’re named after. But few Batman “villains” have earned their protagonist stripes more thoroughly than Michelle Pfeiffer’s Selina Kyle, who we watch transform, over the course of 1992's Batman Returns, from meek personal assistant into (possibly supernatural) feline avenger. The casting process for Tim Burton’s Catwoman was a notoriously lengthy and circuitous one, but it’s hard to imagine a better version than what we got: Pfeiffer nails Catwoman’s seductive nature with ease, beguiling Michael Keaton’s Bruce Wayne both on the dance floor and the battleground. But she’s also a gift to the film’s more comedic elements, injecting screwball energy into Selina’s Working Girl-gone-wrong life, and creating a character we care about even before she and the Batman start trading kisses and kicks. [William Hughes]

Heath Ledger is in just 33 minutes of The Dark Knight, but every minute is unforgettable. And when he’s not on screen, we’re thinking about him, like Harry Lime in The Third Man or the shark in Jaws. Ledger’s pain-freak terrorist take on The Joker is a mess of contradictions, less theatrical and more frighteningly human than the average Clown Prince Of Crime (gone is the big-top vaudeville shtick, the cornball comedian routine) but also a force of nature with no name, no past, no motive. He sells himself as an agent of chaos but orchestrates a diabolical design, a master plan of anarchy. And he twists the classic profile of this classic villain into a scary new shape while still remaining true to the essential outsized spirit of the character. It sounds like a bad joke today, that anyone ever doubted Ledger was right for the role. But think about it: What had the Aussie heartthrob done before The Dark Knight to suggest that he could make us forget the influential impishness of Cesar Romero, the cackling neurosis of Mark Hamill, the joy-buzzer movie-star scene stealing of Jack Nicholson? Ledger didn’t just cast a new shadow over that clown car of past Jokers, all great in their own right. He offered what looks, 14 years later, like the quintessential antagonist of superhero cinema, via a performance that’s carved itself, like a knife through jaw tissue, into the public imagination. How’s that for a magic trick? [A.A. Dowd]