10 clichés of genre fiction, from vampire councils to clueless saviors

If you’ve read or watched enough fantasy and horror, you’ve seen them: those well-worn clichés and tired tropes that date back to the earliest days of speculative fiction.*

“Omigod! Facepalm! Noooooooooooo!”

Slams book shut.

Throws remote control across the room, striking the poor, unsuspecting black cat who, if she’d been in that awful movie, would have been someone’s familiar, because, y’know, that’s just how it’s s’pose ta be!

Vows never to watch anything that bad again.

Switches to cable news channel.

... ten minutes later, starts scrolling Netflix for more bad genre fiction or picks up the tried-and-true classic to reread it for the 100th time.

I feel your pain. So, in the interest of comfort and commiseration, I’ve assembled a list of my ten most facepalm-inducing clichés from genre fiction.

Et tu, Anakin?

After watching Star Trek for a while, I realized that Starfleet, for all its lofty ideals, seemed to be run by corrupt bureaucrats who always served as foils for our favorite swashbuckling captains. From that nutjob Commodore Decker in the original series to Admiral “Robocop” Marcus in the reboot entry Into Darkness, the writers just couldn’t help themselves.  

They weren’t alone, either. Star Wars had its Galactic Senate. The Klingons have their high council. Witches convene in dark covens as routinely as most of us do the laundry. Bloodthirsty vampires (or faeries or wizards) bicker and scheme in their assemblies, never getting anything done because they’re so busy stabbing each other in the back. Wait. That sounds like the U.S. government these days.

This one’s been so done to death (and beyond, in the case of vampires) that it’s been gloriously parodied in What We Do in the Shadows, which is a lot more enjoyable than almost any of the above examples.

Save me! I’m so helpless! (Except I’m not.)

Damsels in distress relying on knights in shining armor to save them are so yesterday. The modern female protagonist more powerful than any man... she just doesn’t know it. So, she still needs a guy to affirm her power and instruct her on how to use it.

Sigh.

You’ve come a long way, baby (cue that 1970s Virginia Slims cigarette commercial).

Not really. This is even more annoying and sexist than the old-fashioned damsel trapped in the tower or under a sleeping spell, waiting for a kiss from Prince Disarming. At least Rapunzel knew she needed help. These modern heroines are clueless: They’ve got the power to fight their own battles, but they don’t know it, so they need some “wise” dude to tell them!

Talk about reinforcing the false narrative that women need a guy’s affirmation to be their awesome selves. And that guys are somehow smarter. Worst of all, this narrative is often promoted under the guise of being romantic. It’s not. At least I don’t think so, and I’m a guy.

Eeny meeny miny moe...

Speaking of romance, the storyline of the woman who must choose between two dashing suitors is another one I can do without.

It’s supposed to be seen as empowering, because the woman makes a choice (imagine that!), and the guy she doesn’t choose is heartbroken. Except it makes her freedom to choose all about romance, as though that’s the only important decision she’ll ever make.

Besides, it’s usually a false choice, anyway. Writers often telegraphy who the “right” choice will be, because it’s “fate” or “destiny.” The other guy never had a chance, and the woman never had an actual choice. So much for self-determination. Team Edward? Team Jacob? Spare me. We knew how that was gonna turn out all along.

I’m not the chosen one. I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!

A young boy (it’s usually a boy) growing up on a farm in the middle of nowhere has powers he never dreamed of, and he’s destined to save the world.

He needs someone to convince himself he’s truly important, even though he doesn’t think he is and doesn’t want to be. Responsibility? Meh. I’d rather drive a podracer (The Phantom Menace) or get my kicks hacking computer programs (The Matrix).

But the young prodigy he needs a mentor to unlock his true potential. Usually, the mentor ends up dying — or mysteriously vanishing/fading away — once the young acolyte realizes his destiny and masters his power... which only makes sense, because he’s no longer needed in the story. Plus, it’s a great way to tug on the heartstrings of your audience, so, hey, why not?

Who needs Dumbledore now that Harry’s got his game on? Obi Wan? He’s so yesterday now that Luke’s got skills with his light saber.

Maybe I shouldn’t be too hard on writers who resort to this particular cliché. Mentors tend to be older than their pupils, so they’re supposed to die first. And this isn’t just a cliché, it’s an archetype so entrenched in our consciousness that it appears in our oldest myths. Still, that’s no reason to keep falling back on this crutch. Mentors have magical staffs, which are a whole lot cooler than crutches, and should be powerful enough to keep them alive.

Oh, no! Catholics!

To look at horror films, you’d think we lived in the Vatican. Catholics account for barely one-fifth of the adult population in the U.S., and it’s declining. But supernatural horror is overrun by demons, antichrists (often cherubic-faced little boys), possessed nuns, vampires, and ghosts of sinners past.

Beleaguered priests and exorcists battle these terrors valiantly with weapons ranging from holy water to the sacred relics. But, predictably, none of them are ever any match for the pure evil that confronts them.

These stories are like reading a letter to Dear Abby that reads, “I just gave birth to the Antichrist, but my priest is a vampire and the holy water didn’t kill him. Any advice?”

These stories are not only among the most cliché-ridden out there, they also have the distinction of being idiotic and offensive at the same time. They insult Catholics by suggesting they’re powerless against the devil, and non-Catholics couldn’t care less: They don’t believe in any of that stuff in the first place.

Historical sleight-of-hand

Repeat after me: The people accused of practicing witchcraft in Salem, Mass., were not real witches. They did not know how to practice magic. They were falsely accused as part of a political feud between pious farmers and more cosmopolitan seaport residents.

Yet some storytellers insist on claiming that these innocent victims had real magic up their sleeves.

Think about it: If they’d had real powers, they probably would have used them to defend themselves instead of getting executed. And if they really were casting spells that caused children to get sick, have seizures, and hallucinate, that’s pretty sadistic.

To suggest that innocent people were actually guilty of these things, after all, just for the sake of entertainment, is historically and morally irresponsible. Yes, it’s “just a novel,” but more people read novels than history textbooks.

If you’re going to draw on history, at least try to get it right.

Goblins and ogres and trolls, oh my!

It’s vampires vs. werewolves. Again.

Occasionally, you find an original piece of fiction that crosses the streams by, say, putting dragons and vampires together on the same page or teaming a genie with a chimera and a pirate captain. That’s a good thing. More please.

But when will we get past the metaphorical racism that’s endemic to so many of these stories? Instead of “cowboys and Indians,” you have light elves vs. dark elves and knights battling dragons. Most of the time, you know who you’re supposed to root for: You can tell the players without a scorecard.

Orcs are always bad. So are goblins, ogres, trolls, dragons and witches. Come to think of it, trolls usually are bad, at least online. But that’s another story.

At least things have gotten a little better lately. Klingons still have that corrupt high council of theirs, but at least they can join Starfleet, and Vulcans aren’t always those paragons of virtue we once thought they were. Some vampires are still evil, but others sparkle. Silly, perhaps, but at least it’s not the same old, same old.

The uber-angsty romance

Speaking of sparkly vampires, I’ve had quite enough of stories and characters that take themselves way too seriously — especially in the name of romance.

Forbidden romance is particularly popular. Vampires and humans aren’t supposed to mix, because it puts the humans in danger but also tempts them: The romantic attraction can be a gateway to the “forbidden fruit” of immortality. But there’s a price.

Can the vampire resist the temptation to “turn” his beloved? (The vampire’s usually a guy, probably because men are expected to be the pursuers in traditional romantic encounters.) The whole interaction may just be an idealized metaphor for romantic tension and allure, as well as a cynical allegory about marriage: Once you’re bitten, there’s no turning back.

None of these ultra-heavy metaphors leave much room for a sense of humor. It’s all life-and-death and emo angst. It’s fine for a while, but eventually, you just say, “Enough!”

One-dimensional baddies

You know him well, and it’s usually a “him”: that one-dimensional asshole, the very embodiment of evil, entirely corrupt, and utterly irredeemable. The devil is really popular. So is the Antichrist. So are sociopaths and megalomaniacs.

If this sounds like our wartime tendency to dehumanize the enemy to assuage our guilt at killing them... Well, just think about that for a moment. The moment we put a human face on the “other,” we start feeling guilty about putting a bullet in their head. We’re not just fighting the enemy, we’re battling our own empathy.

But on a pure storytelling level, one-dimensional villains are boring as hell. There’s no real motivation or backstory; it’s as if they were just born as fully formed dastardly demons (and those child antichrists so popular in horror really are!).

Fortunately, good storytellers have started to move away from this cliché with flawed, conflicted heroes and antiheroes on the one hand, and complex, often highly traumatized villains on the other. Two great examples: The switched-at-birth Antichrist of Good Omens, who brings some humanity, humor, and sweetness to the tired trope of devious, sociopathic pre-teens Hollywood’s been trotting out for decades; and Joaquin Phoenix’s broken, tortured take on the Joker.    

Related: The tendency to up the ante on villains as a book or movie series progresses. Each one has to be more maniacal, more menacing than the last — even if the last was portrayed as the ultimate threat to humanity and the universe. They feel like making the villain more powerful, rather than more interesting, is the only way to keep the audience interested.

I blame superhero comic books for this one — not that they started it (check out the Rocky movies for another example), but they’ve sure made it de rigueur for action storytelling.

The humble or bumbling sidekick

Every Batman has his Robin, every Frodo has his Samwise, every Skipper has his Gilligan, every Picard has his Riker.

Does Ron really have to be that inept compared to Harry? Well, at least he gets the girl.

The funny thing is, these people are often more accomplished than the main protagonist. Sam’s the real hero of The Lord of the Rings, and Hermione’s the brains behind Harry & Co. But Sam’s too overweight and humble to be the main hero, and Hermione’s just not “destined” to do so (plus she’s *gasp* a girl).

Much of the time, Harry himself seems a bit clueless — especially next to Hermione, the brilliant student who has all the answers. She’s Agent 99 to Harry’s Maxwell Smart, but as with other “chosen one” narratives, the Potter storyline reinforces the idea that it’s better to be lucky (and male) than good (and female).  

This is far from a comprehensive list. You probably have some clichés of your own you’d like to add.

Here’s some good news, though: An accomplished good storyteller will avoid most of these pitfalls, and will inject enough originality into those that do find their way onto page or screen to make the old seem new. Or at least interesting. Few would argue that Tolkien or Rowling aren’t dynamite storytellers, and that Marvel movies are consistent, if formulaic blockbusters.  

But the even better news is that Good Omens and Joker have found huge, enthusiastic audiences, too. Storytelling, like every other craft, evolves with time, and as they demonstrate, it’s only getting better.

*A broad term that refers to anything beyond our mundane “real world” experience: science fiction, fantasy, supernatural horror, time travel, alternative history, etc.