25 TV Characters Who Should Be Killed Off

There’s been a lot of talk about television characters dying lately. From the unsatisfying finale of Dexter to The Simpsons opting to lose a character, death is all around us. Now that the excitement over season premieres has died down, the Internet is ready to sharpen some knives. So, who deserves to go under the blade?

There are a number of reasons to get rid of a character. Sometimes, as with Game of Thrones, the book tells you to, but there are many more complex reasons that a character should go. Once vital characters can feel like a leaden weight on the story. An actor who seemed right for the part might not find a tone and rhythm that works with the rest of the cast. Nasty offscreen behavior might trump the character’s onscreen value. Whatever the reason, sometimes characters just have to go. We’ve put together a list of the characters we think should meet their maker for the good of the shows they’re on. Your sacrifice will not have been in vain, extraneous characters: we will think of you whenever we avoid inane subplots and ridiculous story arcs. Here are 25 TV Characters Who Should Be Killed Off.

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It's not that we haven't enjoyed Jere Burns's over the top performance as Wynn Duffy throughout the run of Justified. Burns's sociopathic scenery chewing is always a pleasure. The problem is that Burns's performance has never felt of a piece with the rest of the show's acting. There is a grounded quality to the other performances in the show, even from larger-than-life characters like Boyd Crowder (Walton Goggins). When Duffy shows up, he unmoors the action from a truthful place and adds an element of grotesque theatricality that is brilliant as an individual performance, but doesn't fit with the rest of the cast's work.

When Duffy was played alongside fellow psychotic carpetbagger Robert Quarles (Neal McDonough), we could live with the tonal dissonance they brought to the show. Now that Quarles is no longer terrorizing Harlan, Duffy's performance strikes an weird chord, an admittedly nice sound that simply isn't in the same key as the rest of the show.

There are several characters on Archer more likely to die than Cyril Figgis (Chris Parnell). Lana (Aisha Taylor) and Sterling (H. John Benjamin) put themselves in harm's way every episode, while Krieger (Lucky Yates) and Cheryl (Judy Greer) have unique, kinky death wishes of their own. In terms of story, however, we wouldn't mind seeing Cyril cut loose.

In most episodes, Cyril serves little more use than a sandbag, weighing down our heroes with his cowardly bungling. If the episode antagonists can't screw things up enough for the ISIS agents, Cyril surely will. Parnell's performance is consistently funny, no doubt about it, but Figgis slows the action of a show that works so well because of its breakneck pace and rapid fire joke delivery.

Freddie Lounds (Laura Jean Chorostecki) has seen three incarnations in the Hannibal Lecter universe and the character has never been easy for audiences to enjoy. (Of course, that's the point of the character.) Lounds isn't an antagonist, simply a nuisance. She's the kind of character that is always in the way, but never really taking an active role, the kind of character audiences love to hate.

The writers have Lounds work from the cliché playbook of sleazy journalism: she sleeps her way into stories and tampers with crime scenes. She stops short of sheer villainy, so we aren't permitted to "love to hate" her, but she is far from one of the good guys. This makes her one of the least favorite characters among "Fannibals": you don't have to look far to find a fan-run messageboard clambering for her red locks on a silver platter. Given the nature of the show, that might be aim of the writers after all. It will be a lot less enjoyable to watch a good journalist get eaten when her number gets called.

Something to keep in mind, if you've seen Red Dragon, you should know—well, never mind. It's just, we know you guys know what we know about what's gonna happen. *Thumbs up!*

You have to enjoy Rickety Cricket (David Hornsby) every time he pops up on It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. The only reason we recommend doing away with him is that, after years of enduring the gang's continued abuse, he deserves to be put out of his misery.

The Gang has caused him to be defrocked, rendered him destitute, gotten his legs broken by the Mob, slashed his throat, and hunted him over the years. And that's only a small portion of the litany of sins they have committed against Matthew Mara, a.k.a. Rickety Cricket. He gave up everything he had to pursue his unrequited love for Dee (Kaitlin Olson), and his life has been a slow, painful march to the bottom every since. We would miss Cricket if he was killed off of Always Sunny, but we know that no matter what you believe about the afterlife, he would be in a better place.

For a show that aspires to do something fresh, The Michael J. Fox Show indulges in more than its fair share of sitcom stereotypes. Katie Finneran's Leigh is a perfect example of how a show hoping to cover new ground gets in its own way. Props are due as the show's exploration of Fox's Parkinson's Disease is like nothing we've seen on network TV, but most of the minor characters are fleshed out with little more than a string of easy clichés.

The most egregious example is Leigh, Michael's down-and-out sister who just can't get it get it together. She worries aloud bout missing her window to have a child and daydreams about bedding a doctor, and fills every other cliché that comes with a failed career woman afraid of dying alone. If The Michael J. Fox Show is going to succeed, it can't be as a cliché comedy with a novel center. The writers are going to have to take risks outside of Fox's character if this show is going to match NBC's outsized expectations.

Shows based on self-destructive characters are fun. There's nothing like watching rakish anti-heroes tear down the fragile worlds around them again and again. Eventually, however, something has to change.

Part of the reason we could watch Walter White do it as long as he did was that we always knew he had a little further to fall. We could stick with Tony Soprano season after season because his hubris knew no bounds. Despite the brilliance of William H. Macy, we have reached the point where more Frank Gallagher amounts to diminishing returns. At the end of season three, Shameless made a choice few shows would have the guts to follow through on: Frank is told by his doctor that he needs to stop drinking or he will die.

Alcohol is as much a part of Frank Gallagher's essence as his stringy mane, so either choice functionally kills the Frank Gallagher we know. Though we will always want more Macy on our televisions, we're rooting for Frank to bite the dust. Partially, we want to see his family rid of their fraternal bogeyman, but also, we can't help but feel that it's only right that Frank go out on a booze-soaked funeral pyre.

It's strange watching a character who was once essential to a show become vestigial, but that's what happens when their importance hinges on being the mother of a son who ends up on the wrong side of Nucky Thompson (Steve Buscemi). Darmody provides some of the most surprising twists (you know what we're talking about) of the first two seasons, but has been rendered obsolete in Jimmy's absence.

If we have one criticism of the prestige drama in general, and Boardwalke Empire in particular, it is that the show doesn't know how to dispatch characters. The writers for these shows, it seems, feel such a commitment to stick their landings with each character, no matter how many mundane subplots it takes to get there. Rather than abandoning characters who have outlived their usefulness, we see them strung along in C,D, or E plots until they can be brought into play for a grand exit. Though most shows like it suffer from larger than needed worlds, Boardwalk might be the high-end drama most in need of some character pruning.

No ill will, but we'd love to see Karen (Natascha McElhone) exit Californication so that Hank (David Duchovny) can finally stop deluding himself. Mr. Moody rarely keeps it in his pants through the first act break, and after six seasons of the show, he still believes that he is meant to be with Karen. Rather than face his self-destructive habits head on, he continues to make his way back to the woman he believes will magically solve all of his problems.

Instead of continuing Calfiornication as a quixotic quest for a family the will never take him back, it would be more interesting, dramatically speaking, to see the show wrap up with Hank dealing head on with the man he's become. At a certain point, the sex party has to end for Hank Moody and his futile hopes of family reunion must be dashed, so that he can come to terms with a life marked by broken promises and endless flings.

An unenviable task has been given to Jared S. Gilmore, the young actor who portrays Henry on Once Upon A Time. Apparently, it's a requirement that every story about fairytale figures use a bookish child as the entry point. This is a long accepted and totally unnecessary convention that has gotten play everywhere from The Princess Bride to The Pagemaster. In a film, this move is far more bearable. We only have to deal with the precocious child as narrator for a scene here and there, and after two hours we'll never see them again.

Watching a television series attempt to fit such a character into season long arcs is painful. Henry has served the purpose of introducing us to the world of make believe and the colorful characters that inhabit it—but with that task completed, why are we stuck with kid? His baggage isn't the draw here. It's hard to blame Gilmore or even the show's writers for Henry, as genre convention dictates that we have a human guide to the fairytale realm. We've had Alice in Wonderland, Dorothy in Oz, and now we have Henry, whether we like it or not.

David Simon raises many, many issues in the complex study of New Orleans that is Treme. There's questions about the environment, capitalism, what it means to be fom a place, how place shapes the political and personal—but the most pressing and grave among these questions is why the hell Sonny (Michael Huisman) is a character on the show at all.

Matt Zoller Seitz gamely suggested in his comprehensive season three recap over at Vulture that Simon likes the challenge of making characters that are uninteresting or annoying work for audiences. In Seitz's estimation, after three seasons with Sonny, the musician-addict finally became a character worth caring about. He said, "Sonny's sobriety and courtship/marriage this season were unexpectedly gratifying; he was such a sullen pill in the first two seasons that I never imagined I'd care about him as much as I eventually did—which proves Simon right, at least in this case."

You have to respect Simon's sense of the long game, but it has been tough sledding dealing with characters like Sonny when performances on the level of Clarke Peters's turn as Albert Landreux aren't getting as much screen time as we all want. It's hard to have anything but the utmost appreciation for Simon's patchwork vision of New Orleans, but despite Simon's gifts, some patches remain far more appealing than others. To wit: kill Sonny.

Community creator Dan Harmon’s contentious relationship with Chevy Chase is the worst kept secret in comedy. Their protracted public battle seemed resolved when Harmon was booted off of the show after season three. It turns out that wasn't the end of it after all, as Harmon is now helming the show for its fifth and final season while Chase has left. Though Hawthorne managed a decent gag here or there, reports are that his value to the show wasn't worth Chase's massive ego.

Not only is Chase given to the arrogant outbursts of a faded star, but he has reportedly let loose racist and sexist salvos on his co-workers. Harmon deserves some of the heat for continuing the feud, as he made a point to script insults geared at Pierce that could just as easily be interpreted as personal digs at Chase. Technically Pierce is already gone, but how great would it be to watch Hawthorne's funeral, which would serve as a final grace note in the cacophonous relationship between the meticulous showrunner and his faded comic star. Time to bury the hatchet, not?

One of the most intriguing ongoing subplots in Parks and Recreation is Leslie Knope's (Amy Poehler) battle with the local media. The Councilwoman is beset on all sides with pressure from radio stations, newspapers, and talk shows. Joan Callamezzo (Mo Collins) is among the most contentious relationship with Leslie out of Pawnee's media personalities. (It certainly isn't Perd Hapley [Jay Jackson], after all.) Callamezzo's death would create yet another amazing bout of inner turmoil for Leslie.

We know that Leslie and the rest of the Parks Department couldn't stand Callamezzo in life, but how would she be remembered in death? Just as The Wire found a way to show us the darkness hiding in every human soul, Parks and Recreation provides a glimpse at the goodness in even its most offputting characters. We wager that the passing of Ms. Callamezzo, hastened by booze and pills, would give us a chance to see her as more than a ratings chasing local incarnation of yellow journalism. She would be yet another character on Parks and Recreation given a humanizing treatment when we least expect it.

Rarely does Will McAvoy (Jeff Daniels) miss a chance to position himself as the great maverick newsman who isn't afraid to take the shot others shy away from. That's pretty easy terrain to stake out when you know you always have cover. Teflon Will has been untouchable for two seasons of The Newsroom, and it isn't luck that's keeping Will on air and uncensored—it's Charlie Skinner (Sam Waterston).

Every time Will or others at ACN go out on a limb for journalistic integrity, Skinner is there to pick up the pieces and stand up to corporate overlords. The show's flaws have been pointed out elsewhere and so often, it's become a blogger right of passege, so allow me to join the fray and propose one fix that would make the show instantly more entertaining: If they lose Skinner, we might see what Will McAvoy is really made of. Any man can make a brave principled stand if he knows he has protection, but what becomes of the newsman if he loses his buffer and the constant threats against him become tangible?

It's hard to hate a character on Mad Men. No question, pretty much everyone on the show has done something despicable at one point or another, but the characters are so richly layered that you find yourself making excuses for them. Everyone that is, except for Greg Harris (Sam Page). From the moment Harris stepped on the scene, he was a world-class douche, and without the smoldering elegance of the other douches we've met on the show. Shortly after meeting him, he pole-vaults past douche by raping Joan. And don't even get us started on the scene where he tries to stitch up a wounded Joan.

In light of his despicable behavior, here's hoping that Greg catches a bullet in Vietnam before the show comes to a close. Not only would Matt Wiener have a nice opportunity to further explore the way, but then Joan (Christina Hendricks) would really be rid of the bastard forever.

What is meant to be mysterious can often come off as boring. Case in point: Shana (Aeriél Miranda), one of the more recent additions to Pretty Little Liars. Since Shana's arrival on the scene in the series webisodes, she's made the Rosewood rounds, flirting, hooking up, and digging up secrets. Cool.

The problem is that though she's everywhere, she hasn't contributed much of anything to the story. After her flurry of activity in season three, it looked like she was poised to make some major moves in the in the fourth. Our hopes were all for naught, as she remained basically worthless. Off her. It's not like that would be foreign terrain for the series.

For the most part, Netflix's House of Cards put together a tense season that accomplished the ambitious goal of stretching a Macbeth story out across a dozen episodes of TV. The show only stumbled at a few points, and all because of the same root cause: House of Cards's creative team is hell-bent on giving us a glimpse into the more innocent pasts of our main characters.

For Frank Underwood (Spacey) this nostalgic impulse is embodied by a trip to his alma mater. While back on his old stomping grounds, Underwood reminisces with his college pals about days gone by. Claire Underwood (Robin Wright) clings to her lost past through her relationship with Adam Galloway (Ben Daniels). When Frank flaunts his affair a bit too openly or the couple have a spat, Claire traipses off to New York to be with the one who got away.

This exploration of our main characters' past gets in the way of otherwise tight plotting of House of Cards. Season one managed a satisfiying landing, but you can't help but wonder how sharp the season would have been with a few less glimpses into the past.

Everybody loves Game of Thrones because you never know who is gonna get got. The problem is that with so many Westerosians come under the blade, the show needs to keep a long bench of characters in reserve at all times. This results in more than a few scenes of people walking around doing very little in each episode.

One of our least favorite subplots of season two was the "Stark children wander the North" arc that was barely resolved. We were thinking about including young Bran (Isaac Hempstead Wright) on this list as well, but we get the sense that he's being set up for bigger things. Once I ruled out Bran, someone suggested brother Rickon. To which I replied, "Who?"

Surely the book-readers know something about Rickon that requires his continued presence. But from this vantage, Rickon looks very expendable.

The rumors that Robin Williams was lured back to TV pretty much entirely for the cash seem believable after watching an episode of The Crazy Ones. The latest in a long line of shows trying to harness Mad Men's heat, this ad man comedy stumbles from beginning to end. Co-star Sarah Michelle Gellar is uninspiring as Williams's co-star, but she doesn't visibly strain underneath the subpar material. Williams, however, comes across like a man in chains.

With his standard bag of voices and the twinkle in his eye, this looks like the Williams of Mrs. Doubtfire, Good Will Hunting, and Aladdin, but the emotional depth we expect isn't there. We're treated to the same old impressions that we expect from him, but without the heart that makes Williams special. It's clear that Williams thinks about as much of the script as the viewrs do. The ratings for The Crazy Ones are looking pretty solid through the first few weeks, which means Williams will have to tolerate the show and we'll have to tolerate Williams in the role at least a while longer.

We almost got our wish. If you're among the brave souls who have stuck with True Blood since the beginning, you've probably been wishing for the exit of Tara (Rutina Wesley) for a while now. Not only does Tara feel shoehorned into the plot, the creative team has bent over backwards to keep her involved in the increasingly convoluted story. Not only does the bartender-turned-MMA-fighter-turned-vampire not quite fit into the story, Wesley's performance doesn't exactly gel with the rest of the cast, either.

Stephen Moyer's Bill and Nelsan Ellis's Lafayette bring a heightened, theatrical sensibility to their work on the show, making Wesley stand out for all the wrong reasons as she leans on volume and hysterics rather than style. Most of the actors on the show integrate gothic melodrama into the fiber of their characters, but Wesley merely brings a mixture of yelling and crying whenever possible. Between Wesley's grating performance and the writing staff's inability to convince us to care about her character, Tara is prime candidate for the true death.

"Hamlet on motorcycles" has been a favored shorthand for the show since Kurt Sutter's Sons of Anarchy began. The thing about Hamlet is that—500-year-old spoiler alert!—dad has to die. The high-octane series has felt stalled since the show went to Ireland rather than settle the score between father and son. Sons of Anarchy seemed to pit Clay (Ron Perlman) and Jax (Charlie Hunnam) on a collision course, and then shifted the tracks at the last minute. Even as the show adds more gangs and explosions with each passing season, it's hard to escape the feeling that the series is dragging its feet.

We can't blame Kurt Sutter for wanting to keep Ron Perlman on the show, but as long as Clay is alive, it doesn't matter how interesting the rest of the characters are, there is nowhere else for the central characters to go. Though the show has managed to hit some compelling emotional high points over the last several seasons, we can't help but wonder if the legacy of Sons of Anarchy will be defined by the choice it couldn't make. Far be it from us to question a master storyteller like Sutter, but that Shakespeare guy might have known a thing or two about plot as well.

Through Kenny Powers's (Danny McBride) quest to return to the majors, Stevie has been his faithful Sancho Panza. Kenny mocks and hurts Stevie, but the former music teacher has remained by Kenny's side. Now that the initial arc of Eastbound and Down has drawn to a close, it's time for Stevie to ride off into the sunset.

The central question at the heart of Eastbound and Down is, Will Kenny ever gain any measure of self-awareness? No matter how many people Kenny hurts, no matter how much damage his self-destruction causes, he continues to view himself as the hero at the center of his personal epic. We aren't saying that Stevie's death would provide Kenny the spark he needs to gain some measure of awareness, but it would confirm the depths of Powers's egomania. Of course, Kenny learns nothing from Stevie's death, at least we know for sure he would throw one kick-ass, self-serving funeral.

The Internet has stuffed Homeland's suggestion box about as full as can be with ways to fix the stumbling show. Every critic and commenter has an idea of what Homeland should be doing.

The question at the heart of Homeland has long been what exactly the show is going to be. Is Homeland the story of star-crossed (insane) lovers or is it an ongoing look at the evolving world of counterterrorism? Most vocal voices have said they want to see the latter, but that is a request more easily asked for than delivered.

Networks are used to hanging shows on a star. Executive David Nevins reminded critics of this at TCAs this year when he pointed out that they consider both creative and business considerations when planning a show's trajectory. We all know that Game of Thrones likes to kill off stars, but that doesn't change the fact that such a move is a gamble. So, yes, we're advocating that the show leave Brody behind as it moves forward, but we understand the challenges that come with finding a new core for a show that recently faltered after a beloved and Brody-centric first season. But clearly something needs to change. And, dammit, we love Claire Danes too much.