I finished the first season of the live action ATLA, and I have to say my reaction is… mixed.
I went into it determined to have an open mind, and there was definitely a good chunk that I enjoyed! For one thing, I love what they did with both Suki and Yue, taking advantage of the longer episode lengths to give them both lives and motivations beyond just “pretty girl that Sokka crushes on” (Suki obviously gets more depth in the og show during seasons 2 & 3, but Yue has always struck me as a rather one-dimensional character).
The best (if traumatizing) choice was to actually show the Fire Nation attack on the airbenders. Doing so gave a real emotional heft to Aang being displaced a hundred years with the weight of failing to prevent a past genocide, and the pressure of having to stop another without any idea how. Not only that, but it did a great job of indicating, right at the start of the show, that this was an adaptation indenting to transform what was fundamentally a kids’ show with complex themes into an adult series with the ability to really expand on that depth and complexity.
…and then it didn’t.
Oh, the show pokes at the repercussions of Iroh having waged a long and deadly siege agains Ba Sing Se, and it does a decent job at deepening the fuckery that is Zuko’s backstory. But so much of the more ambiguous or complex parts of the original have been flattened in this adaptation—and not in ways that can be explained by the compressed narrative. Instead, it feels like the sanitized story and characters are a direct result of a purity culture that demands all things black and white, never shades of gray.
Let’s look at Zuko, the villain-turned-hero with an iconic but bumpy redemption arc in the original series. Part of what makes Zuko’s story so goddamn compelling in the original is that he begins as a true villain, who does some horrible things and is led astray more often than not by his explosive temper; and yet his horrifying backstory and desperation for a loving family that never actually existed compel us to view him with some sympathy, even as he acts against our protagonists.
Yet in the adaptation, Zuko is consistently painted in a softer, kinder light than he was in the original. He has no hand in burning down the village on Kyoshi Island; he hears Aang out and even seems to consider Aang’s offer of friendship rather than immediately lashing out after the Blue Spirit reveal; he is notably more respectful to Iroh and loses his temper much less frequently and violently.
Even the change of Zuko fighting back against Ozai in the agni kai can be construed as him recognizing that Ozai is the bad guy, especially when it means that in order for his exile to make sense he has to defy his father again after he’s already been burned.
This is a pattern that is repeated with nearly all of the characters with any degree of ambiguity. Pakku is depicted as kind of a decent person who’s just being held back by his deference to tradition, rather than being pretty much an asshole regardless of whether he’s following tradition or not. Hahn is a nice guy who is in love with Yue but accepts her decision not to marry him, instead of a dick that sees her as a trophy and is more than happy to marry her despite her disinterest.
Sokka is a huge victim of this flattening of flaws. His early-show misogyny is entirely absent, making his stumbling with Suki a little odd and ungrounded, and his dismissal of Katara’s skills even more so. The narrative doesn’t allow him to be anywhere close to as boneheaded and stubborn as he is in the original—this version of Sokka would never angrily slash through the swamp despite the warning signs, or blatantly lie to Won Shi Ton and then even more blatantly steal from him.
Sokka isn’t even allowed the most understandable tactical mistake from the original show: using the air ship in the fight at the Northern Air Temple, and inadvertently delivering the Fire Nation’s greatest asset. That honor is given to a generalized “spies” that are distanced even from Sai himself.
If the heroes aren’t allowed to have flaws, the villains are even worse off, without anything that might make them sympathetic. Jet, who in the original sits in a similar in-between place as Zuko, is pushed firmly on the side of villain over the course of his two-episode arc. Instead of Jet fighting dirty against Fire Nation colonists who are nevertheless civilians, he bombs buildings in Omashu; it’s easier to denounce him when he’s hurting Earth Kingdom civilians with his tactics, rather than people who may or may not be complicit in the war. He’s even labeled a terrorist, an easy buzzword for a largely usamerican audience to point to and say “ah yes, that’s a bad guy.”
The main villains— Ozai, Zhao, and even the brief scene of Sozin— are ironically even more cartoonishly evil than in the animated show. Ozai and Sozin both declare their evil plans— out loud, with villainous aplomb— to use one major military movement as a distraction for another, even bigger movement. (Sozin’s plan at least made sense, in that the distraction was “leaked” intelligence rather than an actual deployment of troops. How the hell did Ozai have enough troops and a decent supply line to attack both the Northern Water Tribe and Omashu at the same time? And it’s not like the distraction actually served any purpose, since it’s explicitly stated several times that the separate nations don’t send aid to each other anymore.)
Ozai’s treatment of Zuko is even more abusive than in the original, especially with the aforementioned change where Zuko actually does fight back as ordered. His choice to burn Zuko and then later banish him then must be explained by Zuko showing compassion, a much more typically “evil” motivation than the more complex (though no less abusive) notion of Zuko dishonoring himself.
Zhao gets an even worse character lobotomy, which is impressive given that his original character is pretty unabashedly villainous. But rather than a devious, powerful, and ambitious commander looming over everything Zuko or Team Avatar does, this version of Zhao is cartoonishly incompetent. (It doesn’t help that the only thing I’ve seen Ken Leung in is Person of Interest, where he plays a similarly buffoonish character constantly in need of rescue. When held up against Jason Isaacs’ mesmerizing but intimidating voice in the original, there’s no comparison.)
Zhao is no longer a respected military leader but a backwoods commander who barely passed the exam to become an officer; his rise through the ranks isn’t due to military successes or a commanding presence but because Azula finds him easy to manipulate; cutting Jeong Jeong means that we don’t see Aang get the better of Zhao by playing on his temper and lack of control; even discovering the secret of the moon and ocean spirits seems more like blundering luck than actual determination and intelligence. You can’t take Zhao seriously as a threat in this adaptation, even when he’s killing the moon spirit and destroying the balance of the world— he’s a nuisance at best, with Azula as the real looming danger.
Disliking Zhao’s character changes might just come down to a matter of taste, of course. I’m always going to be more interested in intelligent, competent characters, whether they are heroes or villains. But it forms part of this pattern of flattening characters and plots and arcs, and brings me back to the fundamental question that kept hitting me over the head while watching the series.
Why?
Why make an adaptation? This is a question that comes up whenever an adaptation of anything is made: what does the adaptation bring to the table that the original did not? Often the answer to this question is money, but there’s usually an attempt to point to a different answer, if only to distract from the greed.
Sometimes the answer is simple— a translation, for example, is an adaptation made to reach a wider audience. Sometimes the answer is more complicated— changing Lord of the Rings from books to movies, as another example, took advantage of the music, acting, and visuals to pack more emotional punch than the books did.
I would argue, as I began to at the start of this post, that the benefit of adapting ATLA from an animated kids show to a live action series is the bucking of those “kids show” limitations. ATLA deals with a lot of serious, heavy topics that don’t get fully explored because they are too complicated and intense to be greenlit in a network show aimed at 10 year olds. In addition, ATLA (and particularly Legend of Korra after it) faced an uphill battle to portray some more sticky topics such as queerness, in part due to the time period when they were produced.
A live action show produced by Netflix seems to bypass all those hurdles, allowing for a darker and more socially progressive show than what the original was able to accomplish. But despite showing onscreen the destruction of the Air Nomads, the adaptation of ATLA seems more sanitized than the original, playing to the lowest common denominator in a way that the original never did, despite the latter being a kids show and the former ostensibly being for adults.
I came away from the new series with a bad taste in my mouth, even with some things that I really enjoyed, and I think this is the crux of why. The adaptation didn’t update the original; it stripped it of anything that might be deemed problematic and replaced it with a black and white worldview that is, in fact, antithetical to the themes of the original show.
After all, the creators seem to have reasoned, who would root for Zuko’s redemption if he actually needed redemption in the first place?
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Eddie giving Buck his turnout sounds like a great start for some whump with mistaken identity 👀
But like are we saying both of them got lost? Someone finds Buck, assumes he's Eddie, Eddie is still lost? Because I have this weird thing with fics where Eddie is presumed dead, and to have like, both of them disappear, Buck gets found and taken to a hospital that doesn't know him, they call Bobby thinking he's Eddie, Bobby gets there and it's Buck, so Buck is gonna be fine, but where is Eddie? And then Buck, who can absolutely find a way to blame himself for absolutely anything, is losing his mind because he can't help look for Eddie and Eddie is out there without a layer of protection because of him. Then they find Eddie is perfectly safe at another hospital, just unconscious, obviously, because we want tension, not actually kill anyone, and a very emotional scene in a hospital room where Buck just breaks down crying when he sees Eddie. Yeah, I love that.
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