Avatar: The Last Airbender Review
BY DIVYASRI KRISHNAN '21
(Spoilers!)
Say you just got a Netflix account, and you’re looking for something to watch. There’s Riverdale, but you’ve had your share of horror stories. Sierra Burgess is a Loser? Yikes, you’re not into manipulative protagonists. 13 Reasons Why… who decided romanticizing suicide was a good idea? Ugh. Is there anything you can watch?
Well, your search is over. The greatest show ever has returned to Netflix: Avatar: The Last Airbender.
Now, a moment, for raucous applause. This is monumental. In only three seasons, Avatar defined childhoods. Its every quality strengthens its legacy: rich Eastern and Indigenous-inspired world-building; well-developed, diverse characters; and timeless messages about life, childhood, and war.
You can’t discuss Avatar without first mentioning its world-building. Four elements—water, earth, fire, air—and four corresponding nations. There are normal, powerless people like us, and benders, born with the ability to control one element. Then, there’s the Avatar, who can control all four, reincarnate into another body after death, and combine its past forms’ powers through the volatile Avatar State. This key information is communicated at the start of each episode to give the audience a concrete understanding of this fantastical world; without that foundation, the story would fall through.
But Avatar’s cultural base distinguishes it from other shows as it’s heavily inspired by Asian and Indigenous cultures. The term “Avatar” comes from the Hindu Dasavataram, the ten reincarnations of a god. Twi and La, the moon and ocean spirits, depict yin and yang. Although many Western shows play with dichotomies like “good” and “evil” in a strict, black-and-white sense, Avatar follows the Eastern tenet of good within evil and vice versa. The spirit world and the human world, for instance, are depicted as mostly separate, but aspects of each blend into the other. The Avatar’s very job description is to balance opposing forces—to bridge spirit and human, good and evil.
The show continues with its Asian and Indigenous influences in the characters and nations of each element. Katara and Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, are likely inspired by the Inuit. Aang and his people, the air monks, take after the Tibetan monks of our world. The Fire Nation draws heavily from Imperial Japan through its values of filial pride and honor. The Earth Kingdom therefore symbolizes monarchical China; for God’s sake, the city of Ba Sing Se is surrounded by great walls!
It takes a lot of guts to draw from Eastern influences for an American show. Many a seasoned writer would have used that four-element premise with elves or fairies or other traditionally palatable fantasy characters (*cough* The Dragon Prince *cough*). After all, our culture is a Eurocentric one, and there is so little Asian and Indigenous representation in mainstream media. Michael Dante DiMartino and Brian Konietzko, the creators of Avatar, took a chance, and so did Nickelodeon. In the end, they reaped the rewards tenfold.
Another part of Avatar’s success comes from the way it was written. One episode aired on Nickelodeon each week, which was typical before the streaming era. Thus, most shows back then were formulaic and episodic rather than serialized, meaning that episodes were largely self-contained and shows rarely had a strong, overarching plot. Not so with Avatar. This show was both episodic and serialized, which made it timeless; it could thrive both in its original format and on streaming services.
Its overarching plot is simple: Aang, an 112-year-old little boy-monk, needs to go on a journey across the world with his friends so he can learn to control the four natural elements. The end goal? Defeat the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Fire Lord. It’s the classic epic hero cycle, made all the more compelling by its foundation in Eastern mythology and the four-element magic system. Every episode builds towards that final battle with the Fire Lord. But here’s where the serialization ends. Hell, we don’t even see the Fire Lord until the final season! Every episode is self-contained, a little journey on its own, where each character encounters different challenges and grows a little more. It’s almost as if we see a miniature hero’s cycle within each episode that also serves to progress the larger cycle.
Beyond a clever structure and a great premise, Avatar appeals to all audiences because of its honesty. It doesn’t shy away from the consequences of war, despite being a kids’ show, which makes everything so much more real. In the first episode alone, we are shown how war has taken its toll on the world: the Southern Water Tribe has been decimated, reduced to a single village, and the Air Nation has been wiped out. That’s right; before Avatar’s audience would learn about World War II and the Holocaust, they encountered genocide in a children’s show. The Fire Nation, unprovoked, wiped out an entire nation and bending technique, leaving only Aang, the titular “Last Airbender.” Avatar also shows how victims of war exist even on the victors’ side. We see Iroh, a former Fire Nation general, take on the role of the grieving father as he mourns his son, who died in battle. Zuko, the Fire Lord’s son, has been banished from his home and carries a scar, courtesy of his own father. War, says Avatar, leaves no one unscathed. It is fought in grey areas, and it wounds both sides.
As it turns out, a show that seemed so inexplicable in its success actually could not have been better structured for it. In three seasons, Avatar emerged as a revolutionary story, highlighting cultural influences Western shows had fled from for years, structured to thrive both serially and episodically, and incorporating a magic system that would remain relevant more than a decade later. And yet, it still retained the most important tenet of a children’s show: good messages. The audience of Avatar grew up learning how total war infiltrates every aspect of life, destroying families and civilizations while forcing the innocent to mature too fast. This is a show for the ages, whose structure is endlessly adaptable, whose messages are timeless. Avatar is having its rebirth now, and no wonder—this is a show that will never die.
Say you just got a Netflix account, and you’re looking for something to watch. There’s Riverdale, but you’ve had your share of horror stories. Sierra Burgess is a Loser? Yikes, you’re not into manipulative protagonists. 13 Reasons Why… who decided romanticizing suicide was a good idea? Ugh. Is there anything you can watch?
Well, your search is over. The greatest show ever has returned to Netflix: Avatar: The Last Airbender.
Now, a moment, for raucous applause. This is monumental. In only three seasons, Avatar defined childhoods. Its every quality strengthens its legacy: rich Eastern and Indigenous-inspired world-building; well-developed, diverse characters; and timeless messages about life, childhood, and war.
You can’t discuss Avatar without first mentioning its world-building. Four elements—water, earth, fire, air—and four corresponding nations. There are normal, powerless people like us, and benders, born with the ability to control one element. Then, there’s the Avatar, who can control all four, reincarnate into another body after death, and combine its past forms’ powers through the volatile Avatar State. This key information is communicated at the start of each episode to give the audience a concrete understanding of this fantastical world; without that foundation, the story would fall through.
But Avatar’s cultural base distinguishes it from other shows as it’s heavily inspired by Asian and Indigenous cultures. The term “Avatar” comes from the Hindu Dasavataram, the ten reincarnations of a god. Twi and La, the moon and ocean spirits, depict yin and yang. Although many Western shows play with dichotomies like “good” and “evil” in a strict, black-and-white sense, Avatar follows the Eastern tenet of good within evil and vice versa. The spirit world and the human world, for instance, are depicted as mostly separate, but aspects of each blend into the other. The Avatar’s very job description is to balance opposing forces—to bridge spirit and human, good and evil.
The show continues with its Asian and Indigenous influences in the characters and nations of each element. Katara and Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, are likely inspired by the Inuit. Aang and his people, the air monks, take after the Tibetan monks of our world. The Fire Nation draws heavily from Imperial Japan through its values of filial pride and honor. The Earth Kingdom therefore symbolizes monarchical China; for God’s sake, the city of Ba Sing Se is surrounded by great walls!
It takes a lot of guts to draw from Eastern influences for an American show. Many a seasoned writer would have used that four-element premise with elves or fairies or other traditionally palatable fantasy characters (*cough* The Dragon Prince *cough*). After all, our culture is a Eurocentric one, and there is so little Asian and Indigenous representation in mainstream media. Michael Dante DiMartino and Brian Konietzko, the creators of Avatar, took a chance, and so did Nickelodeon. In the end, they reaped the rewards tenfold.
Another part of Avatar’s success comes from the way it was written. One episode aired on Nickelodeon each week, which was typical before the streaming era. Thus, most shows back then were formulaic and episodic rather than serialized, meaning that episodes were largely self-contained and shows rarely had a strong, overarching plot. Not so with Avatar. This show was both episodic and serialized, which made it timeless; it could thrive both in its original format and on streaming services.
Its overarching plot is simple: Aang, an 112-year-old little boy-monk, needs to go on a journey across the world with his friends so he can learn to control the four natural elements. The end goal? Defeat the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Fire Lord. It’s the classic epic hero cycle, made all the more compelling by its foundation in Eastern mythology and the four-element magic system. Every episode builds towards that final battle with the Fire Lord. But here’s where the serialization ends. Hell, we don’t even see the Fire Lord until the final season! Every episode is self-contained, a little journey on its own, where each character encounters different challenges and grows a little more. It’s almost as if we see a miniature hero’s cycle within each episode that also serves to progress the larger cycle.
Beyond a clever structure and a great premise, Avatar appeals to all audiences because of its honesty. It doesn’t shy away from the consequences of war, despite being a kids’ show, which makes everything so much more real. In the first episode alone, we are shown how war has taken its toll on the world: the Southern Water Tribe has been decimated, reduced to a single village, and the Air Nation has been wiped out. That’s right; before Avatar’s audience would learn about World War II and the Holocaust, they encountered genocide in a children’s show. The Fire Nation, unprovoked, wiped out an entire nation and bending technique, leaving only Aang, the titular “Last Airbender.” Avatar also shows how victims of war exist even on the victors’ side. We see Iroh, a former Fire Nation general, take on the role of the grieving father as he mourns his son, who died in battle. Zuko, the Fire Lord’s son, has been banished from his home and carries a scar, courtesy of his own father. War, says Avatar, leaves no one unscathed. It is fought in grey areas, and it wounds both sides.
As it turns out, a show that seemed so inexplicable in its success actually could not have been better structured for it. In three seasons, Avatar emerged as a revolutionary story, highlighting cultural influences Western shows had fled from for years, structured to thrive both serially and episodically, and incorporating a magic system that would remain relevant more than a decade later. And yet, it still retained the most important tenet of a children’s show: good messages. The audience of Avatar grew up learning how total war infiltrates every aspect of life, destroying families and civilizations while forcing the innocent to mature too fast. This is a show for the ages, whose structure is endlessly adaptable, whose messages are timeless. Avatar is having its rebirth now, and no wonder—this is a show that will never die.
