Aquaman’s Atlanna joins the long line of DCEU moms who have a big impact on the central hero’s journey.

To tell the story of the DCEU superheroes is to tell the story of mothers.

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Whereas the MCU has tied much of their emotional storytelling to the absence of fathers — whether that be literal (Black Panther, Guardians of the Galaxy) or a figurative lack of fatherhood (Iron Man, Thor) — the DECU has firmly set its foundation on the importance and presence of mothers.

For as close to gods as these heroes are, each of the films which focus on individual heroes — Man of Steel, Batman v Superman (which I know is technically a team-up film, but which I count here as a Batman film), Wonder Woman, and now Aquaman — spend much of their time focusing on just how human each of them are.

Which means starting each story not just before they became heroes, but beginning with who made them what they are — their families.

Specifically, their mothers.

The opening scenes of Man of Steel focus primarily on Jor-El — his hopes for Kal-El, his conflict with Zod — but it is Kal-El’s mother, Lara, who gets the last scene and the final words as the doomed and arrogant world of Krypton crumbles around her.

Make a better world than ours, Kal.

And while he never hears those words, it is what he sets out to do once he learns who he is on our planet.

True, many of the most formative experiences of his life — both as Clark and as a nascent Superman — are shaped by his two fathers, Jor-El and Jonathan Kent. Yet their absence, while painful and ever-present, also doesn’t diminish or supersede the importance of Martha Kent to the life and person of Clark Kent.

It is the threat to Martha Kent that drives Clark to go head to head with Zod in Man of Steel, and it is Martha Kent who we see Clark go to for comfort, advice, and support over and over again throughout both Man of Steel and Batman v Superman.

Clark steps out of the shadows of anonymity and into the glaring light of human scrutiny to save his mother, to save his home, and to save the world.

The opening scenes of Batman v Superman feature a Batman origin story that we have seen dozens of times — the death of his parents in crime alley.

But what lingers with us — and with Bruce — is the final shot. His mother, bleeding out in front of him; his father, whispering his mother’s name as the last words he’ll ever say.

And while a lot has been said about (and many more have unfairly mocked) the “Martha” scene in Batman v Superman, at its core that scene shows how vital mothers are to these two larger than life superheroes.

For Clark, she represents his selflessness and compassion — that even in what he thinks are his final breaths, his thoughts are all turned toward her; for Bruce, she represents humanity — both that which was taken from him in that cold, dark alley as a child, and that which he finds again and then recognizes as shared between him and an all-powerful god from Krypton.

It is a mother who saves the life of a man who could be god, and a mother who saves the soul of a hero who might have become a villain.

Wonder Woman, too, begins with Diana’s two mother figures — her aunt, General Antiope, and her actual mother, Queen Hippolyta. From one, she learns a sense of justice, physical prowess, and discipline. From the other, she learns love, compassion, and empathy.

The loss of Antiope spurs her to turn away from her mother and toward those in the world outside who need her — but it is only because of her mother’s teaching and influence that she has become the type of person who would.

When she hears men sending out soldiers to die yet themselves hiding behind closed doors, she can’t help but shame them — thinking of her own aunt, who was the first to ride out to battle and who died defending those she loved.

Later, when she sees suffering and helplessness up close, she remembers both these great women in her life, and walks across a stretch of land that she’s been told no man can cross in order to save those who others have said are beyond saving.

And in doing so, reminds us that heroism is not solely defined by physical strength, but by compassion and empathy as well.

Aquaman, like previous superhero-centered stories in the DCEU, begins with a mother.

Specifically, a queen — spit out from the sea, in self-imposed exile from a life she doesn’t want and marriage she never asked for.

A world away from the underwater kingdom of Atlantis, she finds love in the arms of Thomas Curry and a family within the walls of a lonely lighthouse tower in Maine. We see the peace she has with Tom, the hope she has for Arthur, the love she shares with them both.

And we are there to witness the moment that it’s all torn away from her.

We see her sacrifice everything she loves to keep them safe, asking only one thing — that Arthur not forget her.

And he never does.

Yet her absence weighs heavily on him — a source of hatred and a burden of shame. As much as he is defined by the warmth, love, and loyalty of his father, he is also defined by the loss and lost love of his mother.

His rejection of Atlantis — as a home, as a kingdom, as his birthright — is driven by this loss. But Atlantis is not just a place — it is also a part of him. A part that he cannot accept because of the loss of his mother. A loss for which he blames himself.

It is one of the few things he shares with his half-brother, Orm.

Orm, the lonely, angry second son of a loveless marriage, who remembers his mother as one who was taken from him — a light extinguished by the words of his father and the creatures of the Trench alike.

And because so much of both of their lives has been so defined by the loss of their mother, it is only in finding her again that they are able to find themselves.

When Arthur reunites with Atlanna, he stops being a blunt instrument, a lost child, an angry man. Instead, he becomes a son hugging his mother after the long, dark sadness of forgetting her. A man who is finally able to put down the heavy burden of shame and self-hatred he’s been carrying all these years he’s blamed himself for her death.

And in doing so, is able to accept those parts of himself that he’s always rejected — Atlantean, king, hero.

And we have Orm, who has played the role of antagonist perfectly the entire film, who has screamed for blood, for war, for vengeance. Suddenly he, too, becomes a sad and lonely child in the arms of his mother. His hatred dissipates in her light, his bitterness recedes in the face of her love. She is his mother — once lost, now found.

We’re left with the hope that maybe this, too, can be his own path.

If we wanted, we could describe Aquaman as a tale of two kings. And it is that.

But what it really is, at its heart, is the story of a queen and who her two sons became without her — one whose hatred burned inwardly, the other whose hatred exploded out in every direction.

Two lost children who charted a path driven by the loss of their mother, and two lost children who found a different way — a better way — when she returned to them.