Rooting For Evil
A Psychological and Narrative Analysis of Netflix’s Ripley
Netflix’s Ripley (2024) stands out for its neo-noir aesthetic and slow-burn pacing. The eight-episode series, written and directed by Steven Zaillian, is a breath of fresh air for audiences seeking tastefully cerebral entertainment. Shot in black and white, Ripley immediately sets itself apart within the first few minutes of the first episode: it’s quite unlike anything else we’ve seen from Netflix. The narrative itself challenges social norms and ideas about conventional morality by introducing a protagonist who is by all accounts entirely immoral in his behavior, yet charming and alluring. We find ourselves rooting for the psychopathic Tom Ripley. This essay will attempt to explore the allure of antisocial protagonists, answering the question: why do we cheer for those who operate seemingly without conscience, and should we?
The origins of this machiavellian tale of treachery and dissimulation can be traced to Patricia Highsmith’s crime novel The Talented Mr. Ripley (1955) of which Netflix’s Ripley is a direct adaptation. The novel has been adapted to the screen twice before. The first adaptation was the 1960 French film, Plein Soleil (Purple Noon), directed by French director René Clément. The second and likely more familiar adaptation, director Anthony Minghella’s critically acclaimed The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999), featured a star-studded cast that included Jude Law, Matt Damon, Gwyneth Paltrow and Philip Seymour Hoffman.
Netflix’s Ripley (2024) begins with a glimpse into the life of low-level grifter Tom Ripley (Andrew Scott). We’re presented with a character who lives an introverted life in dense, bustling 1960s New York. His apartment can be considered spartan at best, and his clothes and overall lifestyle scream “just getting by.” Tom seems averse to actual work, and his primary source of income seems to come from impersonating collection agencies and other petty grift. Tom cold-calls an elderly gentleman, claiming to represent the (fabricated) McAlpin Collection Agency. After a brief conversation where Ripley gaslights and implicitly threatens his elderly victim with legal action, the old man agrees to send Tom a check for $27.00 (which would equate to around $285.00 in 2024).
This behavior, using aliases to con people out of money, is just one example that indicates Tom Ripley suffers from what’s clinically known as antisocial personality disorder (ASPD), or what’s more commonly referred to as a psychopath or sociopath. Though impressive, Tom’s manipulation and criminality infringes upon the rights of others to a degree that would repulse most well-adjusted individuals. Their innate conscience would preclude any such behavior. Still, this type of behavior is deeply fascinating.
Antisocial personality disorder, as defined in the DSM-V, consists of a recurring pattern of at least three or more of the following criteria: failure to conform to social norms, deceitfulness, impulsivity or failure to plan, irritability and aggressiveness, reckless disregard for the safety of others, consistent irresponsibility, and lack of remorse. Throughout the series, Tom Ripley exhibits nearly all of these in one form or another.
In clinical psychology, antisocial behavior is distinguished from asocial behavior, though the terms are consistently conflated by the general public. Antisocial behavior refers to behavior that tends to infringe upon the rights of others, violates social norms, and is often hostile in general. Asocial behavior is what most people mean when they use the word antisocial. Asocial behavior refers to the tendency for introverted individuals to avoid interaction with others altogether, characterized by an aversion to social interaction without any component of hostility or immorality. For a more detailed exploration of ASPD, antisocial behavior and the concept of psychopathy as it relates to challenging social norms, refer to my article “On Psychopaths and Free-Spirits: A Conflation of Type.”
Tom Ripley pushes the boundaries of what it means to be an antihero by engaging in morally reprehensible acts with a deficit of an antihero’s typical compensatory virtues: he’s very nearly a villain. Still, he remains the protagonist with whom the audience is meant to engage. One might refer to him as an immoral antihero—less than an antihero, but more than a villain. Not merely amoral, Ripley calculatingly engages in immoral deeds. Yet, he’s not a sadist. He isn’t unbridled evil incarnate. He is instrumentally violent. He’s ruthlessly expedient. His ends always justify his means.
A partial synopsis of the narrative arc is warranted to fully appreciate and understand the nature of Tom Ripley. In episode 1, we begin to see that Tom is more or less down on his luck. He’s barely scraping by. Then, miraculously, fortune smiles upon him. Tom is approached by a private detective working for the illustrious Herbert Greenleaf, an immensely wealthy ship-building tycoon. Herbert seems to think that Tom Ripley is or was a friend of his son, Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn). Tom doesn’t seem to remember Dickie, and we’re never given any real insight as to why Herbert Greenleaf thinks Tom is Dickie’s friend. Nevertheless, Herbert solicits Tom to travel to Atrani, a city on the Amalfi Coast in the province of Salerno, Italy, to convince his prodigal son to abandon his devil-may-care lifestyle and return home to presumably grow into his role as heir to the familial throne.
Herbert confesses to Tom that he regrettably set up a trust for Dickie that legally he cannot cut off: Dickie has access to inexhaustible income, and there’s nothing his father can do about it. One can imagine the wheels beginning to turn in Tom’s psyche. Herbert tells Tom he will pay for all expenses and even provide him with a salary to compensate him for time lost at work (little does Herbert know!).
Tom travels to Atrani and confronts Dickie and his girlfriend, Marge (Dakota Fanning), lounging on the beach. Tom cunningly acts as if he has randomly encountered Dickie. Dickie doesn’t seem to recognize or remember Tom, but Tom insists they had met before through mutual acquaintances. Dickie takes him at his word, and the two become amicable. Tom later confesses to Dickie that Herbert has paid Tom to convince Dickie to come home. Surprisingly, Dickie isn’t upset with Tom, and seems to understand his plight, empathizing with him to the point of admitting he’d do the same thing in Tom’s position.
As the story unfolds, Tom’s idiosyncrasies and antisocial tendencies begin to appear, and Marge suspects there’s more to Tom than meets the eye. There’s a pivotal moment where Dickie catches Tom in his bedroom wearing his clothes and impersonating Dickie’s voice. Disturbed, Dickie speaks with Marge and they agree Tom should leave. Dickie also receives a letter from Herbert stating that Herbert believes he has misjudged Tom, and that he has come to believe that Tom doesn’t have Dickie’s best interests at heart.
Dickie takes Tom out on a rented skiff to break the hard news that he would like Tom to return home. Tom, seemingly unable to handle or accept this rejection, bludgeons Dickie over the head with an oar, killing him. He sinks the body and then sinks the boat. He then flees to Rome, impersonating Dickie and stealing his identity. The narrative unfolds through multiple twists and turns, as we find Tom weaving an ever-evolving web of complex subterfuge in order to power his continuously adaptive facade.
Much of Ripley’s power lies in its ability to create massive tension in the audience. When Dickie discovers Tom in his clothes, we can viscerally feel the anxiety and awkwardness. Tom’s duplicity is nearly exposed time and again, and time and again he perseveres, emerging victorious. Fortune seems to be on Tom’s side, as there are numerous opportunities for him to get caught (don’t try this at home!). Tom is always cool under pressure, and he’s always calculating his next move.
Despite a few glaring blunders, Tom excels. He sells Dickie’s sailing yacht, and puts the money in an account under his own name, effectively creating the start of his own wealth and planting the seeds for his future. This brings us to the nexus of our intrigue: why is such an antisocial protagonist so appealing? Why do we admire Tom’s prowess and cunning? For the same reasons that we have always rooted for the man who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Tom dispenses with conventional morality. Tom will do whatever it takes to better himself, to have the life he’s always dreamed of. This is his shot. He will likely never get another chance, and he knows it. People don’t miraculously develop generational wealth. As Niccolò Machiavelli remarked in The Prince (1532) “It is better to be impetuous than cautious.”
Tom eschews traditional notions of “hard work.” He’s a con man. He’s a grifter, and yet he’s so much more. He’s intelligent, charming, and well-spoken. Clearly, Tom believes himself entitled, and thinks he’s better than everyone else, hence his ability to remorselessly take advantage of everyone around him. He’s confident. He shamelessly takes his chances when he gets them.
Dickie thinks of himself as a writer and a painter, but he’s rather terrible at both. His intelligence appears merely adequate, and his wealth and good looks are all that he needs to get by in the world. There exists in him none of the devilish cunning and intelligence that Tom employs each day merely to survive. Tom’s intellect is clearly vastly superior to Dickie’s. Tom provides Marge with critical feedback on her creative writing, and demonstrates an ability to paint that is markedly superior to Dickie’s: Tom is far more gifted than any of his affluent peers in the show. How realistically tragic that so many gifted spirits are so painfully disadvantaged while the mediocre inherit wealth and power: this is at the heart of why we root for Tom. This is why we identify with Tom. Cosmically, Tom seems far more worthy of Dickie’s prestige than Dickie. What did Dickie do earn it? Absolutely nothing.
Tom’s upbringing was the polar opposite of Dickie’s. Dickie was loved and given every advantage in the world. This stark contrast is first noted when we see Tom’s eyes light up as Herbert Greenleaf discusses Dickie’s irrevocable financial trust. Tom cannot fathom the power and prestige that comes with inexhaustible income, something Dickie tacitly takes for granted. It seems god-like in its implications. Tom yearns for this privilege more than anything in the world, because what Tom desires most of all is freedom. Tom creates his own values, and freedom is placed above all others. It means not having to be beholden to anyone but yourself. No one can tell you what to do, and you can do anything that you want, more or less with impunity. Inexhaustible resources are the backbone of security and stability for someone like Dickie. Without this, Dickie’s mediocrity would be painfully evident.
There’s a scene in episode 2 where Dickie falls for a scam where a stranded, pretty girl begs him for money for a taxi ride home. Dickie pays the driver who asks for more cash, and Dickie ends up giving him his entire wad. Tom looks on in dismay. After the cab drives off, Tom enlightens Dickie that the girl and the driver are likely splitting the cash: it’s clearly a scam, and Dickie fell for it. This naivety is deeply symbolic for just how detached Dickie is from the real world, a world where morality isn’t absolute, where sentient creatures will do all they can to rise above their disadvantaged circumstances. Thus, we find Tom observing Dickie with an air of contempt.
There’s a scene where Tom writes to his Aunt, presumably his only living relative, telling her that he no longer needs any meagre support from her, and he’s glad to be rid of her, as he’s sure she’s glad to be rid of him. This brief glimpse into Tom’s upbringing paints a vivid picture: Tom is an orphan. He is truly an outsider in every way.
ASPD tends to emerge in those with a genetic predisposition for certain traits, such as fearlessness and dominance, yet it is strongly correlated with severely adverse early childhood experiences. We see Tom’s obvious lack of privilege. He was given nothing. He has no family except for an estranged Aunt. When children do not bond with parents, or when there’s a disruption in early attachment, such as parental death, neglect or abuse, it can create reactive attachment patterns. Tom had more than his fair share of childhood trauma (CT), the most important ingredient for the development of psychopathy, or adult ASPD.
Essentially, Tom had a very disadvantaged childhood and was never given the support and stability needed to relate to the human race in a healthy, prosocial way. Could Tom be any other way than he is? No, he could not. He cannot actively choose to rewire his psyche, to suddenly develop empathy and to stop lying. His entire worldview, his entire way of surviving is predicated on the idea that human beings are like pieces on a chessboard to be manipulated and moved for the most desirable and advantageous outcome. And, most of all, no one is to be trusted. This abnormal psychological orientation developed naturally as a result of his early experiences. It is the logical course for someone born into threatening, disadvantaged circumstances without love or any sort of nurturing. Tom cannot truly bond with or truly trust anyone, because the world showed him at a very early age that it is a perilous, ruthless place. All bets are off.
It’s easy and convenient to envision a world of black or white morality, where people and their behaviors are either good or evil, but the reality is an ever-evolving moral tapestry of deepest grey, colored by circumstance and fate. Perhaps nowhere in literature or cinema is that more evident than in the character of Tom Ripley. Tom’s fearlessness, drive to dominate, penchant for dissimulation, superior intelligence and overall giftedness paint him as more than a loathsome sociopath: by the end of the series, we’re all rather impressed with Tom Ripley, while Dickie’s unexceptional reputation is dethroned, conquered and forgotten.
