Vince Gilligan’s Call for a Return to Hopeful Heroes: What Do You Think?

Gilligan, of all people, knows the allure of the antihero. His creation, Walter White, the high school chemistry teacher turned meth kingpin, is one of the most iconic and complex characters in television history. Yet, as Gilligan reminded the audience, Walter White was never meant to be a role model. “He was a cautionary tale,” Gilligan said. “But somewhere along the way, the bad guys stopped being cautionary. God help us, they’ve become aspirational.”

This observation struck a chord, not just because of its timing—amid a cultural landscape saturated with morally dubious protagonists—but because of its implications. Gilligan’s speech was a critique of the entertainment industry’s fascination with characters like Tony Soprano, Walter White, and even the Joker, whose motivations are often rooted in selfishness, greed, or outright malice. These characters, while compelling, have increasingly been celebrated not just for their complexity but for their defiance of societal norms. As Gilligan put it, “When we create characters as indelible as Michael Corleone or Hannibal Lecter or Darth Vader, viewers everywhere say, ‘Man, those dudes are badass. I want to be that cool.’”

But is this celebration of the “badass” villain having real-world consequences? Gilligan seems to think so. In an era where real-life figures who flout rules and norms are often rewarded with power and influence, the line between fiction and reality has blurred. “Bad guys who make their own rules, bad guys who, no matter what they tell you, are really out for themselves,” Gilligan said, hinting at the political and social climate without naming names. “Who am I talking about? Well, this is Hollywood, so guess.”

What he meant by his remarks

Gilligan’s critique isn’t just about the characters we see on screen; it’s about the stories we choose to tell and the values they reflect. He argued that storytellers have a responsibility to shape the world they want to see. “What kind of world do you want to live in?” he asked. “The closer I get to mortality, I think, as much as I’m proud of Walter White, is that the thing you want first on your tombstone?”

This sentiment is particularly poignant coming from Gilligan, whose work has often explored the gray areas of morality. Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul are masterclasses in character study, showing how ordinary people can be driven to extraordinary acts of good or evil. Yet, Gilligan’s upcoming Apple TV+ series, starring Rhea Seehorn, seems to mark a departure from this trend. Described as a sci-fi drama, the show will feature a protagonist who is, in Gilligan’s words, a “good guy.” This shift suggests that Gilligan is practicing what he preaches, using his platform to tell stories that inspire rather than caution.

Does he have a point?

But Gilligan’s call for more hopeful heroes raises an important question: Are morally upright characters inherently less interesting? The answer, of course, is no. Characters like Atticus Finch (To Kill a Mockingbird), Leslie Knope (Parks and Recreation), or even McClane from Die Hard prove that goodness doesn’t have to be boring. What makes a character compelling isn’t their moral perfection but their humanity—their flaws, their struggles, and their growth.

The problem, as he sees it, isn’t with complex characters but with the glorification of those whose motivations are fundamentally selfish or destructive. Shows like The Sopranos or The Penguin series, while brilliant, often risk romanticizing their protagonists’ worst qualities. Similarly, the cultural obsession with the Joker—a character whose entire ethos is chaos—has led to a troubling normalization of his worldview.

So, is Gilligan right? Is our fascination with immoral characters influencing real-life behavior? The answer is complicated. While art doesn’t exist in a vacuum, it’s reductive to blame pop culture for societal ills. However, Gilligan’s point about the power of storytelling is undeniable. Stories shape how we see the world, and when the stories we tell consistently celebrate selfishness or cruelty, it’s worth asking what message we’re sending.

As we navigate an increasingly complex world, perhaps what we need are more stories that remind us of our capacity for good. Gilligan’s call for a return to hopeful, morally upright protagonists isn’t just a nostalgic plea for the heroes of yesteryear; it’s a challenge to storytellers to imagine a better world.