Why we’re so obsessed with the villain redemption arc

By Rheya Bushan, Features Editor

We don’t just like villains anymore—we root for them to reform themselves altogether. We want Kylo Ren to unlearn the toxic grandpa worship. We want Loki to finally admit he cares about someone other than himself. We want every broken brooding man in a leather coat to take off the mask, say sorry, and cry just enough to prove he’s human after all. The villain redemption arc has gone from a plot twist to a cultural fixation.

The redemption arc has become one of pop culture’s most addictive tropes because it lets us indulge in two things we crave but rarely get at once: moral chaos and emotional resolution. It’s messy and comforting. We love seeing people screw up, really screw up, and then claw their way back toward the light.

It makes all of our own failures feel survivable. If Darth Vader can throw the Emperor down a shaft and call it even, maybe we can make peace with a text we shouldn’t have sent.

Just look at the past decade of screenwriting trends. Disney is mass-producing reformed villains: Maleficent, Cruella, Loki, and even Scar, a lion. Audiences don’t want mustache-twirling evil anymore; we want misunderstood trauma, generational curses, and a tragic backstory involving a dead parent. The modern villain isn't terrifying—they’re relatable. They’re us at our worst.

But our hunger for redemption isn’t just about empathy. It’s about control. We live in a time obsessed with reinvention, where cancel culture meets therapy culture. Online, everyone’s supposed to grow, apologize, evolve. We’ve turned “accountability” into a kind of redemption arc performance. A public narrative of sin, reflection, and rebirth.

And maybe that’s why the redemption arc still works; it flatters us. It tells us that goodness isn’t innate, it’s earned, and that even the worst of us can find a path back to righteousness, as long as we want it enough. The redemption arc is a story that forgives, and we’re for forgiveness.

Still, we should admit something uncomfortable. Not every villain deserves redemption. Sometimes evil isn’t trauma, it’s choice. But we keep writing stories that refuse to accept that. Because the moment we stop believing villains can change, we have to admit that some people—maybe even parts of ourselves—can’t either.

That’s the real reason we can’t quit the redemption arc. It’s not about villains at all. It’s about us, our fear of being irredeemable, our need to believe that one grand gesture can erase a lifetime of mistakes. We keep giving villains second chances because we’re secretly begging for one too.

And that’s the ultimate plot twist: the redemption we’re chasing isn’t theirs. It’s ours.