Incoming character analysis ramble about Boy Kavalier because he’s so freakin’ fascinating:
“Glass half full, kid.” The way he talks to Atom Eins — the sort of condescension toward this strong, authoritative, grown man; this substitute for a father. It reminds you that Kavalier made Atom, and in a way, Atom is a “kid” and Kavalier is his father. It’s such a compelling dynamic. And paired with Kavalier’s jealousy over T. Ocellus’ focus on Kirsh, it also emphasizes the starvation of proper love and nurturing that contributed to how Kavalier is today.
Where Kavalier doesn’t simply receive warmth he must seize wonder. He doesn’t grow genuine bonds but rather calculates and crafts connections of service to control. And establishing control over anything he desires is the only way he really knows how to go about doing anything because his life is honestly such a mess.
He never had a proper childhood, so he lives more childishly, more impulsively, more daringly now than you would expect from an adult. He frames his endeavors through his ideal — a fantastical story of adventure — one he can connect to so well because it isn’t a sanitized children’s tale. Peter and Wendy can be as dark as it is joyful, and there’s even delight in the unsavory and dangerous. And Kavalier can latch onto the most glorious aspects of this story without disconnect because that relatability makes the story not just some frivolous absurdity and because the darkness doesn’t keep Peter Pan down. People come and go in Peter’s life — something Kavalier isn’t unfamiliar with — and yet Peter stills soars through the skies with glee, finding new excitement. If Peter can triumph without all these things others insist he needs, and let’s be honest, if he can triumph with all of his flaws, why can’t Kavalier?
Peter Pan and Kavalier somehow carry on with these opposing forces in their lives. They’re youths who lively freely and wouldn’t dare take commands from someone else like a child forced to submit to a parent, but who also must have the ultimate say over others. They reject the idea of needing a parent but both play the part themselves and seek out someone else to play the part, as if not actually being a parent makes this play pretend acceptable.
Both Peter and Kavalier dress in a way that suggests being carefree — Peter in his skeleton leaves and Kavalier in loungewear. Yet they possess great arrogance, with Kavalier, for sure, already wearing it through his almost paradoxically luxurious clothes. Peter expects applause for his triumphs, and Kavalier probably first felt a semblance of the worth he desired through the recognition of his accomplishments when he was hailed a prodigy. And that kind of title comes with the pressure to live up to it every single day, which is exhausting and leads to a lot of image projection that prevents genuine bonds from being formed.
Because how can you open up entirely without people seeing your flaws? And what do these flaws — no, these vulnerabilities — even mean to Kavalier who has his hands full with the struggle of his strengths being what he was hated for? His genius was a threat to his father, but it is a wonder to the world. What do you do with that kind of contradiction being part of the foundation of your identity? How do you act when what makes you special is praised by the world, who may be numerous but by no means special to you, while the lone man who should have treated you like you mean the world hates what makes you special and resents you?
That kind of existence isn’t just tiring, it’s lonely. And so Kavalier made it his mission to find someone else out there like him. Not just pretty smart like Dame Sylvia, not just “information-smart” like Kirsh, but someone who is practically a miracle — someone who is a trailblazer like him. And it’s a complex matter because, as shown in Kavalier’s conversation with Dame Sylvia in episode 2, he measures the hybrids by their achievements; and when Dame counters that their focus should be on nurturing the hybrids to be themselves, he responds with a mere “uh-huh” that’s both dismissive and something more.
While Dame isn’t the genius Kavalier is searching for, I think she hit the mark in their conversation at least twice. The first time was during that specific exchange, where she got a curt response from him that somehow seemed to be hiding his deeper feelings. The second time is when she asks what they would ultimately win in the intelligence race between man and machine if the humanity of the hybrids is erased in the pursuit of technological advancement. And Kavalier would lose greatly if such a thing were to happen because he says in that conversation that he doesn’t want a clinically smart person like Kirsh; he’s seeking someone greater. And I think it’s just habitual to brush off what others have to say sometimes — at least on the surface — because Kavalier is caught in a limbo of having to engage with people of inferior intellect, adults and other authority figures whom he may carry some resentment toward because of how his father was, and literal children. But, in time, these children can be the key to the future, just as he has been.
So, even as he echoes his own father’s jealousy as he is compelled to snatch T. Ocellus’ attention away from Kirsh, this action isn’t just petty, and it isn’t just about ego. It literally means everything to Kavalier. Because this mission is the product of his own vision and desires, and how cruel would it be for T. Ocellus to not latch onto the one who made all this happen in the first place? Kirsh isn’t the genius who sought after superior life that exceeds what humanity knows; Kavalier is. Kirsh the Walking Computer doesn’t have a wealth of various kinds of intelligence and experience, but Kavalier does as a human being who is smart and more because he’s more complex than a machine. I’m not dissing or belittling Kirsh or synths, btw. And the possibility of finding someone who can match or outdo that with their own x-factor is why Kavalier is here. And he can’t lose that to a machine in this intelligence race between man (himself) and machine. He can’t lose to a lesser being that wasn’t even the child of his own specific genius contribution to human achievement — at least latch onto one of Kavalier’s hybrids, T. Occy!
And more than anything, Kavalier can’t lose this rare opportunity to find a being who can make him not so alone. It’s why he also instructed more protection for Wendy than the other less extraordinary hybrids. The stakes are higher for him. This isn’t just discovery; it’s a second chance. It’s like found family, in fact. And while Kavalier may not pour so much sentimentality into it, I do believe he’s searching for something to fill the hole left by his childhood scars. It’s not enough to have achieved greatness with his intellect when his father tried to snuff it — and him — out. It’s not enough to make Atom Eins a father figure, a machine to substitute another sort of machine, because Kavalier’s father — though characterized by all the drunken flaws of a human — had no human heart. Kavalier must find a being who can understand, challenge, and consequently somewhat nurture and heal him through the bliss and relief of finally being able to form and maintain a true bond.
So, yeah, the jealousy, the condescension, and any other less palatable trait of this character isn’t just the result of being some inexplicable man-child. It’s the consequence of being a lost soul — a Lost Boy, if you will.
I only wonder about his family outside of his father and how they inform his character. Where his mother was throughout his childhood and what she was like. What he may have been grieving, or if he was even grieving at all — if the media just believes he missed his father when he really didn’t, at least not the man specifically. But he may have always been grieving never having a proper father in the first place. My, Boy Kavalier is fascinating! What the hybrids and T. Ocellus is to him, he is to me and more. What a character!
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