Today, I want to talk about my very good friend, Londo Mollari, & how he’s a masterclass in character relatability.

As I’m writing this, I’m reading it in *that* accent, so you need to do the same to get the full benefit.

/thread

#amwriting
Londo’s a prime example of #Babylon5 subverting expectations.

Introduced as a washed-up bon vivant, he becomes one of the most ruthless & selfish characters in the show. Ultimately, he finds a measure of redemption, but it’s too late – he’s damned & suffers a well-earned fate.
He’s a wonderful, tragic figure and his arc is plotted out to perfection. Every time Londo reaches a fork in the road, you’re screaming at him to take the right turn even as he strides deeper into hell.
But why is this? Let’s face it, the Centauri are not a sympathetic bunch as a whole – a combination of Imperial Rome, Imperial Britain… in fact, all the Empires, with a side of at least one modern-day republic thrown in.

(You know the one.)
They’re slavers, bullies and bigots, mired in a memory of the ‘good old days’ even while they stab one another in the back. A cautionary tale to the Earth Alliance that one day every great empire is a tourist attraction.
We don’t like Londo because we like the Centauri. We like Londo because, well… he’s so darn likeable.

When we first see him, he’s a joke. Those who don’t hate him, pity him. He takes solace in destructive pleasures, because they’re the only ones left to him.
But Londo's funny. He’s personable. He’s stunning in purple. He treats pretty much every other character with a barrage of badinage, mischief & belligerence regardless of rank.

In a show obsessed with military and caste structure, he stands out like a man with ridiculous hair.
And then… Londo starts to gain power, and rebuild his confidence and he… changes. He becomes more of a bully. The jokes take on a sharper, vicious edge. Bits of the old Londo still shine through, but he’s, well… he’s no longer a ‘people person’.
Several times, he claims he’s trapped by circumstance – that he has ‘no choice’. But it’s never true. Even as he starts to embody the worst of the ‘Good Old Days’ he still clings this idea that the storm won’t last, and it’ll all come good in the end.
But our Londo is still there throughout. You catch glimpses of him when he wants to drink with old friends, or when something genuinely good breaks his way. That’s why we care about the terrible choices he makes.

We want *our* Londo back.
Londo’s problem isn’t that he’s wicked or proud or blind (though he many times displays those traits).

It’s that he doesn’t believe that the Good Old Days weren’t so good at all until he himself has witnessed the consequences of trying to bring them back.
The deceit. The murder. Intrigue. Betrayal. He can remain blind to these things while they’re in the history books. He can write off one or two incidents as ‘the cost of business’. It’s not until his choices almost destroy everything that he recognises the cost of what he’s done.
And through it all, we still like Londo. We laugh at his jokes. We cheer when he wants to start doing right by his friends.

We want to hope that he *can* find that redemption. Because you know what? Londo is *us*. Or at least, what we’re all capable of becoming.
He’s a man who shrugs off the laughter of those around him, and unleashes his potential. He succeeds. He’s charming. He’s funny. But the more accomplished he becomes, the more he loses touch with the world.
He’s selfish. He doesn’t recognise consequences until they’re upon him. He ignores those he claims to trust when they tell him things he doesn’t want to hear.

He longs for a simpler, better time that even he knows never really existed.
We’ve all done it, at least in degree.

If only once.

If only for a moment.

Sure, our choices don’t nearly destroy the galaxy or doom a people to slavery beneath ghastly CGI overlords, but the scale’s not the important thing. It’s the lies we tell ourselves to get there.
When it comes to writing, folk talk a lot about relatable characters. Londo is a great character precisely *because* he’s relatable. Sure, we’re none of us ambassadors of alien empires or whatever, but we relate to his mistakes, and the character flaws that provoke them.
That’s the essence of a relatable character. One whose decisions, good and bad, are ones you can see yourself making – if only for a moment.

If you’re setting out to write a tragic character, that empathy is what you’re looking to provoke.

#writetip
Why else would we cheer this monster on, or feel our heartstrings tug when – having achieved redemption – he’s sucked into hell anyway?

It’s because very few of us are ‘one bad day’ away from being the Joker, but we’re all one bad day from being Londo Mollari.

#amwriting
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