The biggest problem with creating unique stories that capture the imagination of a generation (or sometimes several of them) is that someone is always going to try to get you to rehash that story in the hopes of making more money off of it. The second biggest problem is that if said story was animated on in its initial telling, the first option is always going to be a live-action retelling. The third biggest problem is that if the people who created the story in the first place don’t agree with the people putting up all the money for the retelling, they’re probably going to get the boot.
Which is exactly what happened to Avatar: The Last Airbender at Netflix.
There is a separate conversation I would love to have here, being ‘Why do some people vehemently believe that live-action is superior to animation?” It’s sort of the same question as “Why will some people always watch the movie/tv show and never read the book?” when all is said and done. There’s a subset of audience that wants the art (and its form) to cater to their desires, rather than the other way around. And it’s unfortunate because—as everyone who has watched the original ATLA will tell you—Avatar is an excellent television series fullstop. The fact that it’s animated is, in fact, a feature not a bug.
Fans of the show have been nervous ever since the early departure of ATLA’s creators from the Netflix live-action series. Though Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino were vague and diplomatic in their reasoning, it wasn’t a good look for the fledgling show, and it was only a matter of time before we could all see what the trouble was. It’s not hard to parse out, at literal first glance: The first half of the season is awful. In fact, the first episode itself might be one of the worst pilots on TV. It feels cruel to say it, but it’s hard to overstate how much the initial scripts destroy one of the hallmarks of the series—tackling complex ideas and emotions without over-explaining them.
Instead, the live-action version of ATLA chooses to begin the show with Fire Lord Sozen’s invasion of the other kingdoms, with his genocide of the Air Nomads. Audiences are treated to a brutal Game of Thrones style battle sequence, complete with numerous murders by firebending—we essentially witness Aang’s people being burned alive. Which… who wanted that? Was there a genuine clamoring for more violence in a show that is already dealing with the subjects of mass murder, authoritarianism, and grief?
There’s an awkward issue where many links to southeast Asian cultures seem much thinner on the ground in this version as well, particularly on the spiritual front: In the original story, one of the ways that Aang is tested and found to be the Avatar is through his toy selection as a child, where he chooses the toys of former Avatars—this is meant to be a clear connection to the Dalai Lama, who is similarly tested. This time around, Aang’s discovery as the Avatar is awkward and vague all the way around. The concept of reincarnation is soft-balled in this iteration as well: When Aang spiritually contacts previous Avatars, the idea of them all being the same soul is carefully avoided in those conversations, despite it being relevant. It’s also a known piece of trivia to fans that Momo the winged lemur might have initially been conceptualized as the reincarnated soul of Aang’s beloved friend and mentor Gyatso (Lim Kay Siu), though the creators never confirmed it within the series. There is no possibility for this in the live-action series as we later encounter Gyatso’s spirit… in a place where he is only able to contact Aang for a short period of time with no explanation given for the limitation, his secrecy about it, or his sudden disappearance.
And honestly, don’t get me started on what they did to Bumi (Utkarsh Ambudkar). No, do get me started, in fact, because I have a vested interest in how the original story very deliberately shored up their child heroes with adults who encouraged, mentored, and stood by them, and the way that King Bumi is changed within this version destroys one of those key connections. I’m incredibly unhappy about that, especially given that he was one of the originals’ stand-out characters (and my personal favorite).
There are other small yet seismic tweaks that speak to a lack of understanding about the source material; for example, Aang (Gordon Cormier) isn’t there when his people are destroyed because he’s just learned that he’s the Avatar and has taken a little trip into the clouds on Appa so he can think about it. Rather than allowing Aang the ability to make mistakes—in the original, he was frightened and angry that the monks were planning to send him away for his Avatar training and runs away from home—it’s simply a thoughtless mistake that leads to his absence. The result hollows out the pathos of Aang’s guilt when he emerges from his accidental slumber one-hundred years later. With the agency of stronger choices removed, it was simply a “whoops!” that leads to the new state of affairs for their world, and the whole narrative is poorer for it.
It’s heartbreaking because the actors cast for the show are largely pitch-perfect in their roles. Cormier is practically a ball of sentient sunshine as Aang, and Ian Ousley understands Sokka’s need for comedic timing tempered by self-doubt. Once the story actually remembers to focus on Katara, Kiawentiio shows incredible strength and compassion. Dallas Liu is flawless in the tightrope walk of anguish and ridiculousness that is Prince Zuko (without once resorting to aping Dante Basco’s iconic performance), and his love for Paul Sun-Hyung Lee’s Iroh is more palpable with each frame.
In addition, Ken Leung gets this paragraph all to himself because I have never watched an actor take a nothing-muffin character like Admiral Zhao and go so hard on the comedy and idiosyncratic delivery that I thought “The man should win an Emmy for this.” Give him awards. All the awards. Ken Leung has won, everyone else can truly go home.
Much of the story is smashed together and reordered, which is both nonsensical and unnecessary—with hour-long episodes, there’s really no reason to cut so much or sandwich arcs into the wrong places. There are too many places where the show is clearly putting in fan favorite moments without working for them: The “Secret Tunnel” song makes an unearned appearance, as does our favorite cabbage merchant, whose first shout of the infamous line in no way warrants such an overwrought delivery. And the soundtrack is an unfortunate blend of other well-known orchestrations (you can hear Lord of the Rings and Batman Begins and The Prince of Egypt all over the place) when the original soundtrack provided all the template that was needed.
The scripts suffer horribly from spelling out every important thought or piece of development that the characters endure, to a truly baffling degree. The original cartoon had a mastery of knowing when to let moments marinate without commentary, and when to hang a lantern on them with a goofy joke. (Remember Zuko’s forlorn cry of “Why am I so bad at being good!”) Conversely, the live-action version never met a heartfelt exchange it didn’t want to explain away in big THIS IS THE THEME marquis letters—often times through terrible voiceover monologues. It’s impossible to understand why anyone felt this was needed when the original show proved it wasn’t over and over again, and did so in a show aimed at small kids.
But there are a few places in the latter half of the season where more attention is paid to underserved arcs—and those moments show us what the series has the potential to become if anyone is interested in giving them a real shot. The Blue Spirit storyline leads to more than one conversation between Aang and Zuko, further strengthening a connection that will be essential going forward. The sexism found in the Northern Water Tribe is given more realistic layers and nuance. Sokka’s crush on Princess Yue (Amber Midthunder) is better rendered and given a depth it never received on the first run. The ways in which Fire Lord Ozai (Daniel Dae Kim) is manipulating his children against one another, and how this starts us on the path to Azula’s (Elizabeth Yu) deterioration is excellent and precisely the place where this show has room to expand.
It’s imperfect, but it’s enough for hope’s sake. After all, it would genuinely be a shame for this show to get canceled before they cast Toph for season two.
