What Makes Tom Cruise's Vincent One Of The Most Terrifying Villains In Film History

This single statement delivered with commanding morale exemplifies the most terrifying aspect of Tom Cruise's character, Vincent's philosophy. An absolute manipulation of truth that lets the audience know the next hour and forty minutes will be bent to this man's will. But what is it that bends us as well? What makes Vincent one of the most horrifying villains in film history? Released in 2004, Collateral was a neo-noir film steeped in the night of Los Angeles, directed by Michael Mann, starring Jamie Foxx as our protagonist Max, a taxi driver with dreams of starting his own business, and Tom Cruise's Vincent as one of cinema's most manipulative and cold villains, a hitman charming as he is lethal. Collateral's plot is classic bare-bones pulp. Vincent is in Los Angeles under contract to assassinate five witnesses and enlists Max to unknowingly drive him to each murder. After the first goes awry, the night spirals into abrupt violence and controlled mayhem. And controlling that chaos is Vincent. His charm is almost enviable in its confidence. Dressed in a simple gray suit with well-kemped gray hair, he says things so matter-of-factly, with such an air of authority that you almost can't help but to agree. Now we gotta make the best of it. Improvise, adapt to the environment, Darwin, s*** happens, I Ching, whatever man, we gotta roll with it. When Vincent explains his disdain for LA and larger cities in general, there's an odd sense of warmth. His dislike for the beloved metropolitan stems from a lack of human interaction. 17 million people, this is a country, the fifth biggest economy in the world, and nobody knows each other. Even going so far as to tell a story about a corpse riding unnoticed on a train for an entire night. To Vincent, this perfectly represents the humanity he has built in his mind, one that is indifferent and cold, self-absorbed in his own existence. And Cruise sells it so well. He looks out of the taxi's window to hundreds of city lights framed by man and cinematographer Dion Beeb, with equal parts disgust and yearning for something that might be just beyond the skyline. It's here we're given our first glimpse of how Vincent eases his way in and begins to chip away at our defenses. The ability to make us not only trust him, but wonder how we ever believed differently in the first place. It's a common manipulation technique, he quickly establishes himself as the authority and continuously demonstrates his power. Sometimes it appears to be in the benefit of Max, but the end is always to further his own wants and desires. When Max's boss radios to ask about the taxi's cracked windshield, damage caused by Vincent, Max is threatened with being held financially accountable. Vincent overhears and aggressively jumps in to defend the cabbie. You know god damn well your collision policy and general liability umbrella will cover the damages. Now what are you trying to pull you sarcastic f***? It's a bit of wish fulfillment on both Max's and our part, the confident and intelligent alpha who tells our boss off, but all this is, is really just to further his own needs. It isn't so much a want to help as it is a circumstance slowing him down. But for Max, it feels good, almost good enough to make him wish that he was that strong. And Vincent exploits that want. When he first meets Max, he immediately begins to size the cabbie up. Max continuously says bigger things are on his horizon. I'm not in this for the long haul. I'm just feeling it. It's temporary while I'm getting some things shaped up. This is just temporary. But quickly changes the subject when asked about a romantic interaction. To Vincent, these are signs of weakness, something to be exploited and used for his benefit. And everything that happens throughout this movie is at the will of Vincent. In one of the film's more intense scenes, Vincent takes Max out for a drink at a jazz club, even after Max admits to not liking jazz. As the two watch the trumpet player on stage, Vincent again turns the experience into a He waxes philosophical about the way jazz is all improvisation, adaptation with disregard to structure and melody while moving within the music. After the trumpet player joins them and tells a story about meeting Miles Davis, one point sticks out particularly to Vincent. Hearing that Miles Davis stayed in the zone, that he was not able to be spoken to or bothered while he was working. And with Vincent looking at the actor like he's the only one in the world, he seems enraptured in the story. When it's revealed that the trumpet player is next on Vincent's list, Max tries desperately to talk Vincent out of the kill, only to be silenced and told by Vincent, I'm working. That concise, perfect, plain-spoken line immediately sends shivers down the audience's spine. And we make the connection. If this character has spent that much time doing something so evil, how many lives has he destroyed? It's here we see Vincent at his most villainous, a disconnect between any sort of personal feeling and what he does for work. These murders, these crimes are all a means to an end. This sort of single-mindedness runs throughout film's history. From Anton Chigurh, Hannibal Lecter, or even Dracula, it's a disconnect between our villain and humanity. The moral empathy we believe or hope lies in everyone. When we're presented with that lack of empathy, it breaks our hearts and haunts us all at once. That disconnect is directly tied to the heart of what keeps terrifying us about Vincent more than a decade later. One of the filming's happiest accidents led us to one of the most profound visual metaphors. Mann had stated that the crew came across the coyotes while filming. He instantly knew this was a perfect moment to capture. It was almost like LA itself offered one more moment to show Vincent as he was, a predator hunting the gritty asphalt because it's in his nature. The LA Mann presents is gritty, haunted, maybe a direct retaliation to the glitz and glamour most see. The LA here is the darkest bits of Bukowski where Tom waits, a city that has survived and endured. As we watch Vincent navigate its dark alleys and dimly lit streets, we know he's adapted himself to not just endure, but conquer. We learn his justification and coldness has taken him this far, his terrifying logic broken down so simply it sounds almost bulletproof. As the two drive toward the second hit, Vincent begins the first of many arguments and rationalizations about humanity's engagement with death and murder. Why should a death in your direct proximity, even one against the hood of your car, be more impactful than the death of thousands occurring every day in a war-torn country? It's cold and terrifying to see life reduced down to numbers, but the real world's villains always have. With Vincent, even those single deaths are just a means to an end. That sort of twisted rationalization is so horrifying because we know it's not alien or fantastical. Vincent isn't a metaphor or creature from folklore, he's a fictional representation of the darkest parts of humanity. There are bits of backstory we get from Vincent that might inform how he became the way he is, an abusive father and troubled childhood, but honestly, his justifications show someone who is just broken and evil. The bodies he leaves in his wake throughout the night and his complete disregard for anything other than finishing his work shows a villain at their most horrific. In true noir fashion, Vincent fulfills his own prophecy. After a shootout with Max on an empty train, he's fatally wounded. There's no lashing out against death, just a quiet resignation as he walks to a seat and slumps down to sit. Max sits across from him, and Vincent can't help but attack one more time. But he doesn't try to hit him or fumble with another clip for his pistol, he simply looks across the train car and asks Max if he thinks anyone will notice. Tom Cruise's performance here is pretty unparalleled, it'd be easy to play this scene up, but he doesn't. He stays restrained, calm, and collected. What makes Vincent's dying question so scary is Max doesn't answer. Not after a night where his reality was shattered into pieces, each splinter reflecting a part Vincent's power and terror doesn't rest solely in his aptitude with guns and violence, it's also in his powers of manipulation. His ability to inspire envy and jealousy to the point of breaking a spirit. And that is the magic trick that only someone like Cruise could bring to life while still coming across as endearing. The performance is so powerful, it's a wonder he hasn't attempted a similar role since, maybe there's a justification there we don't realize. Cruise has always erred on more heroic and uplifting roles, that could just be the legacy he wants to leave, not one shrouded in moral ambiguity and dark shadows. But the terror he portrayed as Vincent is an idea that continues to haunt us. Despite what Vincent says, the world is more connected than ever, and as that connection grows tighter, the poisonous ideas he represents are never further away than our pants pockets or desks. And while the ideas might not be what breaks us, their vitriol and embittered malice could. So what do you think? Should Cruise do more roles like this? What other villains would you like us to cover in future episodes? Please let us know in the comments down below, and thank you for subscribing to Nerdstalgic.