Beau Is Afraid, Ari Aster’s epic absurdist plunge into one man’s terrified psyche, doesn’t just address that horror. It dissects it.
What strikes me the most when I watch Beau Is Afraid is not the feverish chaos of Beau's world. It is the ominous presence of Mona, his mother. Mona is a woman whose love is weaponized, whose legacy is surveillance, and whose gaze never rests or shifts away from Beau. This remains the case even after her alleged death.
If you yourself have ever lived under the shadow of maternal control, then you know what it's like. Even when mother isn't in the room, she's present in uncomfortable and invasive ways.
Beau Is Afraid doesn’t flinch from showing how love can become a trap –– how being raised to please someone else can result in a kind of emotional paralysis. And it absolutely nails how surveillance, even subtle, turns us into reluctant performers who are forever trying to get it "right."
The Devouring Mother
If you've read much mythology, then the devouring mother is a familiar figure. She appears to offer everything, but she also demands everything in return. Her love consumes. She defines herself by her children, defining them in the process, as well. When they inevitably try to leave or become people of their own, she takes it as the most profound betrayal.
Mona Wasserman is a modern version of this archetype turned all the way up to 150 percent. She is not merely overbearing. She is omnipotent. Godlike, even. A business empire bears her name. Her portrait looms, sucking the air out of the room. Her voice follows Beau through every nuanced layer of his myth-like journey. Even when he tries to escape, she is there, or maybe especially then.
