“No one wins a fight.”
– Dalton in Road House.
When Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino premiered their Nickelodeon program Avatar: The Last Airbender in 2005, there was likely little sense of what the response would be. On paper, why would they — it’s a series about a group of children (some with abilities, some without) who live in a world ravaged by war and find themselves pivotal players in the rebellion to put things in balance. And, yet, across three seasons, audiences not only fell in love with the characters, they found themselves moved by the themes explored, never once forgetting that these are children soldiers caught up in machinations cruel and selfish adults could’ve rectified at any point. Though the original series ended 18 years ago, it has been kept alive in our collective memory through comics and games, but, now, via director Lauren Montgomery’s new project, a brand-new adventure awaits rejoining old friends against a brand-new challenge. As in the series before it, the action in the film is complimentary to the narrative, allowing Avatar Aang: The Last Airbender to tackle heavy post-war ideas that remind us how even when the last blade is laid to rest, some wars never stop for us.
Avatar Aang voiced by Eric Nam in AVATAR AANG: THE LAST AIRBENDER. Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures.
Many years after Sozin’s Comet, the world is at rest. Each member of Team Avatar has either returned home to contribute there or is in the newly-formed Republic City, a beacon of harmony for all nations as a symbol of lasting peace. Avatar Aang (voiced by Eric Nam) spends his extra time searching the world for artifacts of the Air Nation, trying to reclaim and restore any part of his culture as the last bastion. However, while exploring the ruins of his old home, he is attacked by a group calling themselves The Denied, discovering in the process that what they seek may contain the very power that can restore the Air Nation to what it once was.
Those who watched both the original Avatar and follow-up The Legend of Korra (2012-2014) will recognize Republic City from the latter, though in full bloom in Korra, it is in development in Aang. There’s no Pro-Bending league here; however, there quite a few familiar faces and reference points are given space to be captured by longtime fans, as well as moments that one could see as beginnings of later tales. These details allow Avatar Aang to function as a solo-outing while maintaining the lively world around the series bookending it, making what occurs within this tale valuable to that world, even without direct connections to main storylines from either series. By not seeking to make direct connections, Avatar Aang enables the audience to lean in more deeply to the profundity of its themes, be dazzled by its amazing action set pieces, and be imbued with a sense of hopeful hope only Team Avatar can instill.
L-R: Toph voiced by Dionne Quan, Katara voiced by Jessica Matten, Sokka voiced by Román Zaragoza, Avatar Aang voiced by Eric Nam, Zuko voiced by Steven Yeun, and Momo voiced by Dee Bradley Baker in AVATAR AANG: THE LAST AIRBENDER. Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures.
Just as the original series balanced heart and humor, so does the script by Tim Hedrick (Karn Evil 9) and Christopher L. Yost (Thor: Ragnarok; The Tiger’s Apprentice) based on a story by Konietzko, DiMartino, Hedrick, and Kenneth Lin. Much in the same way that the original series touched on Aang’s quest for personal redemption based on his fears of the responsibility that comes with being The Avatar (a title hard for anyone, let alone a 10-year-old to bear), the feature film explores the ways in which even victory can’t dispel the guilt that Aang carries, a massive part of the three-season narrative (Aang had to forgive himself for running away, thereby leaving the Southern Air Temple less defended when the Fire Nation arrived looking for him). Using that as the entry point is not only natural as an extension of the series, it envelopes the film with a similar respect for its audience, trusting them to be able to process the persistent grief that Aang’s shouldered and the joy that follows when Aang thinks, even for a moment, that his culture could continue past him. Of course, Aang doesn’t possess the knowledge that the audience has, firmly aware that the Air Benders do return through his and Katara’s lineage (as well as spirit world shenanigans). Rather, this desire speaks to the part of himself that is tethered to the physical realm, afraid that his failure to protect will follow him to the end of his life. That’s a terrible burden for any individual to cling onto and it allows the audience to understand the depth of Aang’s continued sorrow. At first, this might seem like something the series already addressed in Book Two: Earth (2006), except the storytellers in the world of Avatar don’t treat their characters as the typical heroes who never consider or contemplate their past. It makes sense that, once peace is restored, Aang might grieve for his people in a way that he couldn’t as a child. Impressively, it’s handled with the grace and depth one expects of the series, once more creating an opportunity for families to have hard discussions about war-torn communities, refugees, and what happens when fear and violence are used as tools for cultural superiority. For a comparative idea of where Avatar Aang goes, consider Rebecca Sugar’s Steven Universe Future (2019), which took the time to showcase how the persistent weight of being a savior often requires said-hero to be given time to process their own complex emotions. It’s what makes Avatar Aang more poignant because the presentations of these characters are maintained as though we are gathering with old friends, though those friends may not have taken the time to truly understand what they’ve endured.
One of the most persistent messages within the film, one which could be argued is a defining concept of what makes Aang Aang, is that no one wins a fight. Yes, you can throw a punch, use a space sword, or bend someone into submission, but no one who transcends discussion to violence actually wins. Aang tries time and again to talk with people, to connect. When attacked, he defaults to airbending which, as shown by Zaheer (voiced by Henry Rollins) in The Legend of Korra’s third season, can be positively deadly when used by someone willing to wield it as an offensive measure. Instead, Aang uses it to evade, deflect, and deter attackers before using its power to possibly cause harm. A vegetarian and pacifist, he fights within the capacity of being The Avatar and only when he must. The most brilliant thing about the series finale is that Aang (then voiced by Zach Tyler Eisen) defeats Ozai (voiced by Mark Hamill) by restricting the self-proclaimed Phoenix King and removing his bending abilities — a choice made when the entire series, including Ozai’s own son, Zuko (voiced by Dante Basco then; voiced by Steven Yeun here), had told Aang that he would need to kill Ozai to stop him. When faced by his latest opposition, Aang tries speaking with them even as they seek to kill him, their perceived hurt cultivated by a lifetime of “living under benders.” Fascinatingly, their pursuit of power becomes aligned with Aang’s own hopes to assuage his guilt for past mistakes, transforming our own expectations as we watch Aang struggle to maintain his sense of self and maintain his integrity in the process. Don’t mistake this to mean that Aang betrays his own beliefs, his private guilt becomes a motivation that creates a deafness to the wisdom of others so that even his most devout lesson becomes a message he must relearn once more.
Center: Avatar Aang voiced by Eric Nam in AVATAR AANG: THE LAST AIRBENDER. Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures.
Don’t fret, though – Avatar Aang is not a dour affair. This film is not a hangout film by any stretch of the imagination, with its personal stakes for Aang and the wider impacts for all peoples of the world, but it does feel like reconnecting with old friends. Never forced, never contrived, Avatar Aang manages to keep Team Avatar just as rambunctious as ever, despite their adulthood and respective responsibilities. They reference things that make sense to display their familiarity, they give one another grief in the way that only old friends can, and it all expresses their intimacy with such surprising sentiment that even something small that results in an (in-world) eye-roll will leave audiences welling with emotion. It could be something as simple as an old-fashioned greeting in a modern setting or providing a reminder of the old days, each one evoking a sense of levity despite the larger context. Likewise, in the same way that the original series utilized the strength of animation by changing structure or presentation based on the internal logic of the episode, so does Avatar Aang continue the tradition. This permits the characters to retain their adult stature and their comedic characteristics without breaking the reality of the moment. Frankly, it’s an absolute magic trick that, even with brand-new voice actors inhabiting new presentations of the well-established figures, one finds themselves immediately struck by how much the film feels like returning to someplace comfortable and familiar.
It’s worth noting that the animation for Avatar Aang is vastly different from the two series that released before it. The 2D and CG animation, not incongruous to those series, pushes things a little further in the way the world of Avatar borrows heavily from wuxia stories out of China. Though a variety of cultures and communities are represented throughout the four nations, there’s no denying the specific Asian influence that courses through each corner of the world. The art is a mixture of styles in that the characters and objects are hand-drawn and the environments (especially the natural ones) are Guohua-like, a traditional Chinese watercolor style. This choice infuses Avatar Aang with a mythical sense, as if we’re watching a legend as its being born. And, to a degree, we are. Aiding in this sensation is a beautiful score by series composer Jeremy Zuckerman that dabbles in nostalgia for certain themes but generally doesn’t rely on the past to define the present. There are affectations, little hints and teases of significant tones or songs, but, largely, this is a brand-new score to amplify the notion of a different chapter in the lives of Team Avatar.
L-R: Zuko voiced by Steven Yeun, Katara voiced by Jessica Matten, Sokka voiced by Román Zaragoza, Toph voiced by Dionne Quan, and Appa voiced by Dee Bradley Baker in AVATAR AANG: THE LAST AIRBENDER. Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures.
Without question, the biggest bungle of Avatar Aang: The Last Airbender is that it’s been relegated to streaming. Even watching it at the advised optimal distance from my 63” 4K UHD television with my 5.1 surround sound, as enveloping as the experience is, there’s still a sensation of missing the gravity of it all. Carrying on the grandeur of key confrontations from the series (Ozai and Aang, Zuko and Azula (voiced by Grey DeLisle), Tenzin (voiced by J.K. Simmons) vs. Zaheer and The Red Lotus, Korra and Kuvira (voiced by Janet Varney and Zelda Williams, respectively), to name a few), there is such artistry on display here in the construction of setting and cinematography that one feels a scale that should’ve been experienced on the big screen. The decision to drop the film on streaming makes the film more accessible to fans established and new, but not giving it a full, nationwide theatrical release is a disservice to the work by the artists who created it. In that vein, do try to stream it with as few distractions as possible and on the biggest screen you can. This is an adventure unlike any Aang has faced before and you’ll want to take in every moment of it.
Be advised that there is no credits sequence, but you’ll want to stay through the credits to see some wonderful still frames of life for Team Avatar. Much like the various references that litter the world to signify its continued existence outside the frame of Team Avatar’s well-known adventures, these stills are reminders that what mattered as children is not only permitted to continue to matter as adults, what matters should be cultivated, to remain as genuine as possible, to preserve it for the next generation. One of the big messages in Avatar Aang, one that is likely to feel familiar having explored the other stories, is that the cyclical nature of harm humanity engages in can only be broken to truly find peace by allowing ourselves to heal by opening ourselves to others. Based on what we know of the Avatar timeline, it may not be reached in Aang’s lifetime, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible in their futures or, hope against hope, in our own.
Available on Paramount+ July 25th, 2026.
In select Los Angeles and New York City theaters July 24th – July 30th, 2026.
Final Score: 4.5 out of 5.
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Categories: In Theaters, Reviews, streaming
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