OK, so we've got an angry, self-absorbed, insecure monarch bellowing in monologue form about his plot to rule the world via mass destruction, terror, and death. We've got a woman who marries that monarch after he murders her husband, just because he says something pretty. And we've got the same monarch floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee, killing his own nephews and brother.

And then we've got something like a bazillion deaths resulting from the fact that this monarch is sad because his mama never loved him and because he is, to use his own term, "deformed."

You've got to be kidding, right? This stuff never happens. Except maybe in major Broadway hits featuring a creepy white mask. (That's right. All you fans of musicals out there know we're talking about the Phantom of the Opera.) And maybe we see such madness in a certain adversary of one Austin Powers.

Why should you care about Shakespeare's Richard III? We'll let literary critic Marjorie Garber make the case. In Shakespeare After All, Garber points out that "Shakespeare's Richard III is arguably the first fully realized and psychologically conceived character in his plays." In other words, he is kind of the great-grandfather of psychologically complex characters like Macbeth and Hamlet – which is a pretty big deal. He's also one of the first (and best) evil-genius villains of all time. Before Richard, literary bad boys tended to be one-dimensional and flat. So the way we see it, modern-day villains we love to hate (Sue Sylvester anyone?) owe their existence to Shakespeare's Richard III.

Shmoopsters, this may be a little loopy, but let us demonstrate. Please match the following snippets with the correct snippet-speaker:

a) Syndrome (a.k.a. Buddy) of The Incredibles
b) Dr. Evil
c) The Phantom
d) Shakespeare's Richard III

I, that am rudely stamp'd and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them

My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark.

This face, the infection which poisons our love
This face, which earned a mother's fear and loathing
A mask, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing
Pity comes too late, turn around and face your fate
An eternity of this before your eyes!

It tore me apart. But I learned an important lesson. You can't count on anyone, especially your heroes.

OK, we'll stop quoting the great fictional characters of our time and just pose it, the $20 million question: Is there such a thing as real, pure, Voldemort-loving evil in the world? And while we're at it, is there such a thing as true good? Or are we all floating around in a grey mixture of both?

Is it enough, when asked what Richard III is about, to respond that it's about one seriously twisted dude? How much of the nature-versus-nurture argument plays into our understanding of evil?

In true Shmoop fashion, we will now exit stage left and let you do all the work of coming up with the answers. We look forward to hearing your recipe for world peace, even if it puts the Incredibles and Frozone out of work. Get to it!