Solid Snake's secretly superior genetic brother, Liquid was the ultimate evil twin. And let's face it, that's a pretty camp b-movie concept in itself. Holding the other half of the Enfants Terrible DNA, he wasn't merely bad where Snake was good; he took all of the opposing personality traits.
Where Solid was angsty and introverted, Liquid had the demeanour of Patrick Stewart on a coke bender; always riotously theatrical of delivery, extravagant of arm gesture and mugsome of face. Where Solid hid in the shadows, Liquid - particularly in the Gamecube remake - leapt around as much scenery as he chewed, posing on top of anything with even a vaguely flat surface and punctuating every other sentence with a completely gratuitous back flip or somersault, just because he could.
Where Solid was wrapped in dark, constrictive body armour, Liquid demonstrated an abject refusal to ever even wear a shirt, despite Shadow Moses' ball-miniaturising cold. A pair of black leather gloves was alright though. Style over functionality every time with him.
Above: More hammy camp than the piglet Scouts. Glorious stuff.
Liquid reveled in hamming it up like any incorrigible old thesp you could think of, ably aided by a brilliant performance fromvoice of a thousand geek culture iconsCam Clarke. Without his histrionic, English-accented voice-over, Liquid would have been just another scheming megalomaniac, and his lengthy, self-indulgent speeches simply bland filler in a game already packed with over-written cut-scenes. As it was though, he was one of those bad guys we never wanted to see die. Thank god for prosthetic possession.
Number seven ranked assassin Destroyman was basically hero Travis Touchdown gone very wrong. A passive-aggressive nerd with no respectable sense of self image, No More Heroes' "Mr.Cosplay" was like that guy at an anime convention; the big fat dude in the ridiculous costume who thinks he looks great and greets all right-thinking criticism with misguidedly arrogant venom and snark.
He bitched about the people he had to deal with during his day job as a postman, and took out his frustrations in a ludicrous, self-empowering, purple superhero suit. He swung around on a theatrical winch, pretending he could fly. He feigned politeness and honour in order to score cheap hits with an electric hand buzzer, of all pieces of piss-poor weaponry. And to top it all off, he had a gigantic pulsating crotch laser of doom. A crotch laser of doom, people! And machinegun nipples! The poor, sorry bastard didn't have a clue how ludicrous he was, and that posturing lack of self-awareness only made an already camp bad guy doubly so.