But what to do when the protagonist himself is a serial killer whom you just can’t help but root for? That’s the dilemma I faced while watching Dexter.

Before I talk about Dexter, let’s take a dive into psychopathy, because that’s what the series mostly revolves around. A psychopath, by definition, is an individual characterised by a persistent pattern of antisocial behaviour, impaired empathy and remorse, shallow emotional responses, and a tendency towards manipulation and deceit. Contrary to popular belief, psychopathy is not synonymous with violence. Many psychopaths never commit serious crimes; instead, they navigate society wearing what psychologists often describe as a “mask of normalcy”.

Dexter Morgan, however, is written as the extreme outlier; a textbook case of psychopathy funnelled into serial killing. He openly acknowledges his inability to feel genuine empathy or guilt, referring to his urges as a “dark passenger” that must be fed. What makes Dexter so compelling, and frankly unsettling, is that his psychopathy is not portrayed as chaotic evil. Instead, it is regimented, controlled and governed by a strict moral framework instilled by his adoptive father: the Code. He kills only those who have themselves committed murder and escaped justice. All that, and Michael C. Hall’s onscreen charm as a nerdy forensics analyst who brings doughnuts to work while having these long inner monologues, can’t help but make you root for the guy.

From a criminological standpoint, Dexter’s Code is where the discomfort begins. Dexter violates almost every ethical principle we associate with justice: due process, proportionality, and the prevention of vigilantism. Yet the narrative places us squarely in his head. We see the failures of the criminal justice system that allow dangerous offenders to walk free. We see Dexter’s internal monologue, his rituals, his attempts to blend in. The result is a subtle manipulation of the viewer: we are encouraged to see his murders not as crimes, but as solutions.

This creates a moral paradox. Dexter fits many diagnostic criteria of psychopathy, but he also exhibits traits that complicate the label. He forms attachments, however imperfectly. He demonstrates a cognitive understanding of right and wrong, even if his emotional response to it is muted. The show blurs the line between innate pathology and learned behaviour, raising the question of whether Dexter is a born predator or a product of trauma shaped by guidance.

For people who haven’t watched Dexter yet, what are you still doing reading this? Go to your favourite third-party streaming site and binge on what’s easily one of the best crime dramas of the 21st century. For those who have watched Dexter, let’s look back at some of Dexter’s greatest hits.

The Ice-Truck killer
“You can’t be a killer and a hero. IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY!” What better way than to start off a series than a mysterious serial killer cat-and-mouse game. The Ice Truck Killer arc was perfect, everything down to its last minute details. The kills were gory, the lore was intense and he was Dexter’s first major adversary. For the first time, Dexter encountered someone who truly understood him without explanation. He was a mirror Dexter could look at and see him as he truly is. The real Dexter, not the one created by Harry. The ultimate twist was the reveal of the relationship between Dexter and the Ice Truck Killer, which honestly left my mouth wide open the first time I saw it. Finally, the ending: a bittersweet one where Dex realised that even though he is being seen for who he really is, he cannot abandon the Code which he lived by all his life. The first season set an impossibly high bar for future villains: personal, psychological, and deeply entwined with Dexter’s identity.

Sergeant James Doakes
“Jesus Christ, Morgan. You’re the Bay Harbour Butcher!” This iconic line will forever ring in the ears of every person who ever saw the show. If you have, you know just how iconic the moment was. Doakes was the other side of the coin that Dexter is. While Dexter leaned into his homicidal and psychopathic tendencies, Doakes tried hard to make himself and others believe that he was a just person with a well-calibrated moral compass. He always had a thing for Dexter in all the wrong possible ways. He could always sense something off about Dexter because, believe it or not, he could see a sliver of himself in Dexter. Which low-key genuinely freaked him out. Because Dexter could make himself seem likeable, while no one really liked Doakes that much. His relentless suspicion grounded the series, reminding us that Dexter was not some misunderstood vigilante, but a monster hiding in plain sight. Doakes’ fate remains one of the show’s most bitter pills to swallow: an innocent man destroyed not because he was wrong, but because he was right too early.

The Trinity Killer
“Hello, Dexter Morgan.” Easily THE BEST season of the show in terms of story, kills and shocking twists. This arc worked because it dismantled the fantasy Dexter had built around himself. Trinity was living, breathing proof that a serial killer could maintain the façade of domestic normalcy, which Dexter wanted oh so badly. So instead of killing him right away, he studied him, tried to learn his ways while placing himself in the crosshairs of a man far more dangerous than Dexter gave him credit for. Ultimately, Dexter’s overconfidence and failure to follow the Code led to one of the most catastrophic and heartbreaking endings of the show. The slow-burn tension, the false sense of control, and the devastating consequences made this storyline not just the show’s peak, but one of television’s most effective explorations of predatory duplicity.

The Doomsday Killer
“Light cannot exist without darkness. Each has its purpose.” This arc marked the beginning of the show’s creative decline. Heavy-handed symbolism, clumsy religious allegory, and a twist that felt more gimmicky than earned signalled that the series was starting to lose its narrative discipline. What once felt psychologically sharp now leaned towards spectacle, sacrificing nuance for shock.

As a criminology graduate, rooting for Dexter feels like professional heresy. We are trained to examine crime through structures, systems and social contexts; not to cheer for individuals who take justice into their own hands. And yet, the show exploits a very human weakness: our desire for moral clarity. When institutions fail, Dexter becomes the fantasy of decisive justice, however flawed and dangerous that fantasy may be.