#I need to make a post about the mothers of malevolent as well - Anna and the Wraith; Marie and her Son; the Hag and Mother Darkness

[hydrus101]

It’s so fascinating to me about how much of Malevolent centers around bad or misguided fathers.

We spend ample amounts of time with Arthur’s grief and his faults, his fear of fatherhood, his failings of Faroe and the ensuing spiral afterwards. We hear of Bella’s strict upbringing, of Daniel’s controlling nature, the desire to shape his daughter into what he expected her to be, and even admitting to Arthur’s face that he intended to mold him as well, into what he thought his daughter’s husband should be. We learn of Larson’s betrayals, the sacrifices of his children: the monsters he made of those he should’ve loved, all in the pursuit of power and legacy. There’s an argument to be made even, of fragments and reflections and daughter and sons, that the King - that initial version of him now dead in all respects - was a sort of father, with John and Yellow as his residuals, his sons, his heirs, in a way. Finding their own identities now, free from the shadow of a predecessor, free to chose their own destinies, wether that is to separate themselves entirely, to scream defiantly of humanity and hope and self, or to try and reshape the visage of that dead malevolent god in desperate pursuit of love that wasn’t given, driven by a hate that was shared. What other analogy so seamlessly fits with the relationship between Arthur and Yellow than that of a neglectful father? The one who was supposed to be patient, be caring, be kind, the one who was supposed to teach this new being, this new child, about what life could be like? What love and kindness it could hold? But Arthur was too unsteady then. Too unstable to give Yellow the upbringing that he deserved. His nature was shared with John, and we’ve seen the depths of love he’s embraced. Yellow was simply nurtured wrong, encouraged down that spiral by a foster father who embraced and even venerated his rage. And similarly, in the basement in New York, we are reminded of nature and nurture, of animals and babes. Briefly, quick as a glance, we learn of the Butcher’s father, both a seething livewire and a subtle undercurrent in his motivations, manifested, perhaps, in his tumultuous relationship with failure, his self inflicted violence. Roland and Amanda receive less of the spotlight, but the foundations of everything are built upon their relationship. And now, with the Unclean, we know more of Arthur’s own father—who’s fate is known and the same as his mother’s—and his envy towards his friend, his childish jealousy and vindictive actions, of which he now condemns, having learned better, having known better. Every aspect of the narrative is seeped in fatherhood, in parenting, in children. Malam says as much by the fire: “They are our betters, our futures, our learned mistakes.” Malevolent is, at its core, about parents and children and hope.

And now, Arthur and John are on the run from a mother, on a mission given to them by a father, who’s daughter is largely a mystery, or perhaps, more familiar than we might think.