The Downfall of the Antihero

Once upon a time, we had a third category, in addition to heroes and Sues. It was called the antihero, and it was the protagonist with whom the author didn't quite agree. It could be a protagonist with one or two appealing qualities but who is ultimately despicable (Milton's portrayal of Satan, Rorschach from Watchmen) or it could be a flawed and somewhat unlikeable character to whom we can still relate (the protagonist from any of Shakespeare's tragedies). It was a way of refusing to dictate to the audience and forcing them to judge the characters, rather than blindly accept an archetypal plot at face value. The problem with that is that people like being dictated to, they hate judging characters, and they like archetypal plots. So you see douchebags writing about how Milton's Satan is admirable and thinking that blindly going along with what their id tells them makes them rebels. People admire Rorschach because he's good at fighting and he's willing to start a nuclear war just to get to one guy. People build up Romeo and Juliet as the ideal of the romantic couple. They turn these characters into victims of an unjust world, and refuse to see that what happens to them at the end is really their own fault, because the people themselves hate taking responsibility for anything. If they did take responsibility, then they'd actually judge the characters.
So we got a brand new variation on the antihero: the character who is a jerk and is celebrated for it. This goes back at least to Byron (you may have noticed that I hate this guy), and his thinly-veiled Gary Stus. This is the antihero so many people pretend to be on the internet with their screen names like “darkwolf666”, the antihero angrily glaring at you from the cover of that '90s comic book. People like him because if he's an asshole who is still made to look cool, then they can feel better about the fact that they, too, are assholes.
The counterpoint to this is the lovable villain. Let's use Hannibal Lecter as an example. And when I say 'Hannibal Lecter', I mean the diabolical mastermind of Red Dragon and of The Silence of the Lambs, and not the pussified Romantic emo of Hannibal and Hannibal Rising. We like Lecter in an anarchic, somewhat sociopathic way. Unlike Rorschach, we don't think he'd actually be a good role model. We know he's an absolute bastard, but we enjoy him anyway because he's so much fun. He's an outlet for our worst aspects. In fact, it was when they tried to build him up as actually admirable that the whole thing fell apart.
I think the lovable villain is a related phenomenon to the madcap comedy protagonist, like a character played by Groucho Marx. Rufous T. Firefly, for example, is a bastard, albeit not on the same level as Hannibal, and we enjoy him because he's funny. Comedy attracts us to him as a character, but distances us from his as a person, because comedy is, by its very nature, sociopathic. That's why we laugh when a cartoon character gets hit in the crotch – so we can dismiss the pain. Think about it: all the villains we love anyway, Lecter included, are, on some level, hilarious. Kevin Spacey's Lex Luthor, Dr. Facilier, Sam the Trick 'r Treater, Blofeld, Sneidly Whiplash, Dr. Phibes, Dracula, Papa Lazarou, the Dial M For Murder guy, Anton Chigurh, any given incarnation of The Joker...
So if a fictional jerk is funny, we can't take them seriously, and they don't become this degraded version of the antihero that is demanding to be taken seriously. The antihero was originally a way for the author to ask the reader “You're not like this character, are you?” But readers, too lazy and self-indulgent to admit their flaws and learn from the book, shouted “Hell yes I am! That character is awesome, and therefore I am awesome too!” Twats.