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natlacentral · 2 months

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The Kiwi director bringing live-action Avatar: The Last Airbender to life

Netflix's live-action adaptation of Avatar: The Last Airbender is arguably one of the biggest productions of the year. The project, which has a budget of US$120 million, has captured imaginations worldwide since its debut last month. Today, Netflix confirmed the series will be renewed for two more seasons.

One of the visionaries behind the new show is Asian-New Zealand creative Roseanne Liang. Serving as co-executive producer and director of episodes five and six, Liang knows the responsibility she carries in taking a beloved story from script to screen.

"It is a huge weight to bear," she says.

"We wanted to provide the best thing in the spirit of why we love the original Avatarand that's all we can really operate through. Have faith, trust our instincts that our hearts are pure, our minds are true and we're doing the best we can."

It all started in 2021, when Liang's agent called her about the show. Netflix was looking specifically for pan-Asian directors and her name was on the list.

"I knew about the show because all my friends had been saying 'you need to watch it' at various points. I was like, 'oh it's a Nickelodeon animation' and they're like, 'no, you don't understand. It is life, it's got one of the best dramatic arcs ever, you've got to watch this show' ... I watched the hell out of the three seasons and became a convert. Everything everyone told me was true."

Liang says there were huge challenges in adapting a 20-episode, half-hour animated series into eight hours of epic live-action television.

"The world is so rich, there's bending, there's all this flora and fauna and animals, it's this pan-Asian, indigenous world that is taking from cultures that seem familiar to us but are different and new. The challenge of that world-building was vast.

"It's also hard to get the tone into your head - you can do silly things like sucking frogs and cactus juice in the animation - because it's animation - but I don't know if you can have the tonal whiplash in a live-action like that.

"We'd always have to find that line. The dramatic can't be too dramatic, we've gotta undercut it with probably a quip or something, but the funny can't be too slapstick cause people will be like, what is this."

Liang says casting for the project also came with a bit of pressure. Season one follows a 12-year-old Aang, 14-year-old Katara and 15-year-old Sokka, and finding young actors capable of undertaking the roles was "scary".

"They're all teenagers. I think Dallas (Zuko) is a bit older but still young, just in his early 20s. It's all about casting the right actor - and person. Because the person needs to be able to deal with the pressure of what they're about to go through.

"The children had an incredible support network though. Dallas Liu and Ian Ousley (Sokka), they were best mates, they chose to room together in Vancouver where we shot and they were each other's support buddies. I just love their bromance, it's a beautiful thing when cast members look after each other like that."

The Netflix adaptation attracted some scrutiny after the creators of the original series - Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino - stepped away from the project citing creative differences after being involved for two years. Liang says their departure was "a source of pain and dismay".

"We cared so deeply about the source material ... at the same time, we know what we're doing it for. Some things won't live up to people's understanding, we're never going to be able to completely mimic or mirror the animation, but some things - I've gotta hand it to the writing team - some things they made even better."

A plot tweak in episode six, directed by Liang, follows Zuko's journey in a way that strengthens what the character stands for - Liang argues, better than the animation itself. While episode four features the addition of one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking flashbacks of the series, the funeral of Iroh's son Lu Ten.

"The Leaves from the Vine storyline about how much Iroh grapples with his part in the war and the cost of who he was in the army, the writers were like, we think we can add this moment in here to really cement the relationship between Zuko and Iroh.

"Zuko did an immense kindness to Uncle Iroh by sitting with him in mourning and it is a gift that Iroh repays. That relationship is one of the most rewarding, beautiful, fun, funny relationships of the whole series."

As a Chinese-New Zealander, Liang says it was a huge honour to be involved in a project that highlights the richness of a pan-Asian, indigenous world.

"It was the ethos of the entire production team that we do something new in this sphere that won't draw the silly, polarised calls of "wokeness" because it makes complete sense in this beautiful world that Bryan and Michael created in the original series. It was always diverse and that was their vision.

"All we had to do was serve that vision and it was just the most natural thing in the world."

While she hadn't worked on a project of this scale before, Liang could draw on rich experience from her involvement in local productions such as Creamerie (with RNZ's own Perlina Lau), Banana in a Nutshell and My Wedding and Other Secrets. She hopes her success inspires other New Zealand creatives to aim for the stars.

"Just because we come from a small country or are part of a diasporic community, that's no barrier to working at this level ... whether it's your ethnicity or your upbringing, don't let it limit you because you can get there."

In fact, Liang's "New Zealand-ness" was a strength on set. Wearing an 'Aroha Mai, Aroha Atu' shirt, she explained that the Māori phrase means 'love received, love returned' - an understanding that helped connect with the First Nations indigenous crew that worked on the show.

"The ethos that we have in New Zealand, the multi-cultural understanding of people and relating to each other, it helps - so much of my job is feeling people's energy and giving my own energy back to them and growing up in New Zealand where these - usually indigenous - ideas of how to serve people and act with love has served me so well.

"It's really been nothing but an asset to my entire process."

#natla #atla #avatar the last airbender #netflix avatar #netflix atla #avatar netflix #atla netflix #roseanne liang #rnz

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blickety-split · 5 years

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An Open Letter to Bryan/Bryke: “Forbidden Love”

Hi, @bryankonietzko,

I want to begin by saying I’m a pretty hardcore Avatar fan. Even without the benefit of nostalgia (I watched both ATLA and LOK for the first time no more than a couple years ago), ATLA will always hold a special place in my heart. Despite the age disparity between myself and the target crowd, so many of the character moments in the original series deeply resonated with me (I found Aang’s grief after losing Appa particularly meaningful; the way he loses control over himself in multiple ways, struggling to find meaning/distract himself in the things around him, reminded me of myself after losing a friend not too long before). The beautifully-written world you and the ATLA team created inspired me to become more connected with my own heritage, influenced my writing, began my love for hard magic systems, and was even the reason why I started working towards an animation minor or pushed my art style into comic form in the first place.

That being said... I was extremely disappointed when I found this video on your Tumblr a couple days ago. Apparently, it’s a reaction video to the various shipping pairs in ATLA, done with satirical voiceovers and animated fan-art sent to you over the years. By creating this, not only did you mutilate the work of the young aspiring artists who (once) admired you the most, but also the presences of characters in your own show (and your clear misinterpretation of them), your presence as a role model, and— as you may imply— my lasting perception of your work.

Honestly, I understand the discomfort you probably felt towards some of the artwork you’ve received. I understand how frustrating it may be for your work to be received in a way you never meant it to be, and I sympathize with the urge to respond back with equal crudeness. But as the creator of your series, it is your responsibility to react to this attention with consideration and maturity, and to not further encourage the already-infamous divisiveness of your own fanbase. It’s one thing for children to act inappropriately— and another for a full-grown adult, let alone one with the utmost influence over the millions who responded and continue to respond to your show.

You should have known better.

You should have been better.

And to make this even worse, the public video didn’t just divide— it clearly condemned that sweeping group of people, explicitly stating, “Women who think Zuko and Katara should be together will forever have bad relationships”. Content that is downright demeaning and profoundly hurtful to a massive portion of your fans— and all wrapped up with an extra attack on the females of this group, to put a cherry on top. (And why would you have this come out of Sokka’s mouth? For goodness sake, isn’t he the one whose arc centered around losing his misogynistic beliefs?) But though this was frownable enough, the real jaw-dropper (yes, my jaw physically dropped, which speaks volumes, considering I was sitting in my dorm room alone, a situation where physical communication is at its lowest) was when I saw the final message of the video: “Thanks for all of the fan art over the years. SOME. MOST.” The blatant message of not appreciating the hours someone put into creating and sending you their intimate interpretation, most of these people— I remind you— being children. Specifically, the children who were indubitably the ones who looked up to you the most, to have gone through the effort of getting their work to you (indubitably a much more laborious task back then than it is today).

And yes, I realize that you said this was a “joke”, and that you didn’t mean to “cast aspersions” or “offend”. But first off— the way that you “explained” that point came off as sarcastic and insincere. Pasting the definition of a Joke makes it even more condescending. Secondly, there is a HUGE difference between laughing with someone and at someone. If a person called a woman wearing a hijab a “terrorist” for her beliefs, would explaining that it’s a “joke” justify that behavior? If a comedian goes on live television stating, “Do you find Asian men attractive? NO. Thank you,” is it on the men who were offended for finding this offensive since it was, after all, framed as a “joke”? The way your disclaimer was worded contributes to the notion that you should be safeguarded based on your lack of sensitivity, and that the “some people” you targeted in your preface should be wrong if they have a higher level of sensitivity to being insulted by these attacks— dare I say, in the rhetoric of 2019, a minor offense of toxic masculinity.

(Speaking of “toxic masculinity”, I could go on about the subtext of the joke of Katara belonging with Aang to be “happily ever after” and “make babies”, and how that submissive role echoed both in the actual portrayal of that relationship throughout ATLA and so many times in not only the elderly Katara, but also with nearly all of the older female characters in LOK, but I’ll restrain myself.)

As a fellow Avatar fan, I’m a big believer in redemption. I want to believe that someday, maybe today, you will understand the issues with what you’ve done and that you will eventually hold yourself accountable for the way you made so many avid fans of your show feel. But the fact that you not only showed this at a live Con, but shamelessly reposted this four years later, then responded to your LOK: Book 1 reception with an equally-sarcastic attack on a similar, female-targeted populace, I feel I’m given no reason to have faith in your benevolence as a creative. So unless you face this issue anew, put yourself in the shoes of the young artists (as Zuko did venturing the Earth Kingdom), and own up to what you’ve done, I won’t be watching the live action series. Because as it stands now, it’s all-too-clear to me that if THIS is how you see the characters of your own show (cornering them into single-sided tropes, seemingly ignorant to their sixty-one episodes of development), if THIS is how you treat your fans, if THIS is your level of awareness and sensitivity— then there is absolutely no way I can believe you are capable of “further deepening” your characters as you so claimed in your press release of the series.

Once again, this doesn’t change my gratefulness to you for the impact you had on countless people— including myself— through your work in ATLA. And I hope you learn/have learned (in the seven years since that post) to preserve that legacy appropriately and positively. And despite my current frustrations, I wish you nothing but the best on your future progress as an artist and human.

Good luck,

Quin

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sophieakatz · 6 years

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Thursday Thoughts: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Coming-of-Age Stories, and Where The Heck Are The Adults In This World

Recently, I finally watched all sixty-one episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender (ATLA) - a show that literally every friend I’ve ever had has been surprised to learn I never watched as a kid.

(Returning readers will already know that I never watched most TV shows as a kid. I’m making up for lost time now.)

Overall, I enjoyed ATLA. It’s an emotional adventure with complex morals and strong positive themes like the power of friendship and family. I had a lot of fun finally discovering the contexts for all the memes I’ve become familiar with because of Tumblr (like “Sparky Sparky Boom Man” and “That’s rough, buddy”).

But I also felt uncomfortable while watching, for one specific reason: how young everyone is.

Aang is twelve years old. So is Toph. The other protagonists, and several major antagonists, aren’t much older. It hit me in the middle of the second episode that I was watching kids play at war – a thought that I know wouldn’t have occurred to me if I had been watching as a twelve-year-old myself, but one that stuck with me for the rest of my watch-through. ATLA is a story about kids in a world of absent or incompetent adults, with the fate of the world in their hands. And that kind of weight just plain doesn’t belong on the shoulders of twelve-year-olds.

The show makes some ventures towards confronting the topic of the kids’ age, and how circumstances have forced them into adult roles far too soon.

Aang was taken away from childhood play because of his destiny as the Avatar and the monks’ fear of the impending war.

Sokka and Katara’s mother died when they were little, leaving Katara as the only “mother” Sokka can remember. Their father left to fight the war after that, leaving Sokka as the only “man” of their village.

Zuko’s father treated him not as a preteen son, but as an adult inferior, and physically tortured him in public over a perceived slight.

The show points at these situations as unfortunate, and in Zuko’s case outright states that it was wrong. But then it keeps going, as all stories about child heroes do, and shows that it’s necessary for the kids to save the world. It’s unfortunate that Aang and Zuko and the others were taken out of childhood so soon, but even when they do go to adults for help, they are turned away and told that only they can solve the problems. It is their plot-driven destiny to be adults before their time.

ATLA also gives us a supporting cast of children whose too-adult qualities are portrayed in a completely uncomplicated, even praiseworthy way.

Suki and the Kyoshi Warriors, Princess Yue, and Jett and his Freedom Fighters all are treated by the narrative as though in being responsible “adult” figures they are as they should be, even though none of them could possibly be older than fifteen.

Toph’s entire character arc revolves around her hatred at being treated like a child by her overbearing parents, and the narrative unquestioningly supports her – the only moment in which it seems her parents might actually support her (the letter from her mother) turns out to be a lie, and leads to Toph achieving her destiny as the world’s first metal-bender. There is no middle ground, and we never actually see or hear from her parents again.

And the villainous Azula, though she displayed a frightening level of competence in every other episode of the show, is finally defeated when she starts behaving in an age-appropriate childlike way. I might be reading too much into this (I am an English major, after all), but the four-episode finale arc left me with the impression that the show was condemning childhood. When push comes to shove, no matter how old you are, you better grow up, or else.

To be fair, this is a coming-of-age story. Naturally it’s pro-adulting. Also, twelve-or-so is the normal sort of age for these stories. That’s when Gregor enters the Underland in Suzanne Collins’s Gregor the Overlander, and when Lyra and Will’s daemons settle in Philip Pullman’s The Amber Spyglass

For a twelve-or-so-year-old reader, as I once was for both these books, it feels perfectly natural. As Neil Gaiman said about his book Coraline:

Reading audience number one is adults. Adults completely love it and they tell me it gave them nightmares. They found it really scary and disturbing, and they're not sure it's a good book for kids, but they loved it. Reading audience number two are kids who read it as an adventure and they love it. They don't get nightmares, and they don't find it scary. I think part of that is that kids don't realize how much trouble Coraline is in -- she is in big trouble -- and adults read it and think, “I know how much trouble you're in.”

A kid reading these coming-of-age stories sees “someone like me saving the world” and goes along with it, not having the external perspective necessary to stress about whether or not the child hero will be able to save the world.

But me? I’m twenty-three. I’m too old to see Aang and company as “someone like me.” I don’t connect with Katara or Toph nearly as much as connect to Uncle Iroh, the closest thing this story has to a constant responsible adult figure. I look at the child heroes and I think, “Where the heck are the adults in this world?”

The adults are gone, as is necessary for the plot. In order for a “kids save the world” story to take place, the adults must be absent or otherwise incompetent, as nearly all the adults in ATLA are. They’re dead, or they’re off fighting another part of the war in a distant land, or they don’t understand their children, or they’re just plain stupid. It puts me in mind of the make-believe games the next-door-neighbor children I babysat in high school would create: in those stories, their parents were always dead.

In her book Good Girls and Wicked Witches: Changing Representations of Women in Disney's Feature Animation, 1937-2001, Amy Davis examines the tendency of parents in Disney films and other fairy-tale kinds of stories to be either absent or otherwise unable to protect their children. This lack of adult guidance is what creates the circumstances for those children to go on an adventure. Grown-ups can’t solve the world’s problems, so kids must step up and solve it.

Or rather, the kids must step up and be grown-ups, and solve it.

But take it from a twenty-three-year-old: a twelve-ish-year-old is not a grown-up, no matter what they’ve been through.

When I was sixteen, it suddenly hit me that it’s ridiculous that Lyra and Will’s daemons settle at age thirteen. Settling indicates that their personality is done changing, that they are who they are and they’ve finished growing up. But at sixteen, I could tell that I wasn't the same person that I had been at thirteen. At twenty, I wasn’t the same person that I had been at sixteen. I’m different again now, though less dramatically. I’m still figuring things out, and there are still adulting steps that I haven’t yet taken, but I’m much more a grown-up than I’d ever have called myself at thirteen.

I can see the value in “kids act like grown-ups and save the world” stories. They’re not written for me, who’s beginning to find them troubling. They’re written for kids, who don’t find them troubled, because they don’t see the dangers that the child-heroes face. They see that the child-heroes succeed.

My mother doesn’t like The Lion King because it’s about a child being told his father’s death is all his fault. She told me so when I was little, and my response was that it’s okay, because we know Scar is lying and that Simba will defeat him in the end. I’m closer now to my mother’s perspective than to my younger self’s response in regards to how I watch ATLA.

We do need to tell kids that they can and will grow up to do great things, and the best way to do that is to show them people their age that they can relate to doing great things – even if it makes adults feel uncomfortable. While the adult behavior of the children might be unrealistic, the ideal that it encourages in them, to become people who save the world, is absolutely realistic.

ATLA is not a story intended for me, though it might have been if I’d watched it then. I’m content to recommend it to children Aang’s age, and to derive an entirely different kind of enjoyment from it by over-analyzing, critiquing, and otherwise completely picking it apart. As I said, I am an English major, after all.

By the way, I highly recommend Amy Davis’s book. It was an instrumental piece of my thesis research and a super interesting read.

Come back every week for a new Thursday Thoughts!

Got a suggestion for a topic? Send it my way!

Like what you read? Consider tipping the writer!

#thursday thoughts #avatar #avatar the last airbender #atla #tumblr originals #reviews

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rickthaniel · 7 years

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Avatar Aang, Feminist Icon?

“Who’s your favorite character?” I hear that question come up a lot over Avatar: The Last Airbender, a show particularly near and dear to me. Iroh and Toph get tossed around a lot. Zuko is very popular. Sokka has his fans. But something I’ve noticed? Aang very rarely gets the pick. When he comes up, it’s usually in that “Oh, and also…” kind of way. Which is strange, I think, considering he’s the main character, the titular airbender, of the entire show.

I never really thought much about it until a couple weeks ago when I finished my annual re-watch of the series and found myself, for the first time, specifically focused on Aang’s arc. Somehow, I never really paid that much attention to him before. I mean sure, he’s front and center in most episodes, fighting or practicing or learning big spiritual secrets, and yet, he always feels a little overshadowed. Katara takes care of the group. Sokka makes the plans. Zuko has the big, heroic Joseph Campbell journey. Aang…goofs around. He listens and follows and plays with Momo. And yes, at the end his story gets bigger and louder, but even then I feel like a lot of it dodges the spotlight. And here’s why:

Avatar casts the least traditionally-masculine hero you could possibly write as the star of a fantasy war story. Because of that, we don’t see Aang naturally for everything he is, so we look elsewhere.

To show what I mean, I want to talk about some of the show’s other characters, and I want to start with Zuko. Zuko is the hero we’re looking for. He’s tall and hot and complicated. He perseveres in the face of constant setbacks. He uses two swords and shoots fire out of his hands. He trains with a wise old man on ship decks and mountaintops. Occasionally he yells at the sky. He’s got the whole 180-degree moral turn beat for beat, right down to the scars and the sins-of-the-father confrontation scene. And if you were going into battle, some epic affair with battalions of armor-clad infantry, Zuko is the man you’d want leading the charge, Aragorn style. We love Zuko. Because Zuko does what he’s supposed to do.

Now let’s look at Katara. Katara doesn’t do what she’s supposed to do. She doesn’t care about your traditionally gender dynamics because she’s too busy fighting pirates and firebenders, planning military operations with the highest ranking generals in the Earth Kingdom, and dismantling the entire patriarchal structure of the Northern Water Tribe. Somewhere in her spare time she also manages to become one of the greatest waterbenders in the world, train the Avatar, defeat the princess of the Fire Nation in the middle of Sozin’s Comet and take care of the entire rest of the cast for an entire year living in tents and caves. Katara is a badass, and we love that.

So what about Aang? When we meet Aang, he is twelve years old. He is small and his voice hasn’t changed yet. His hobbies include dancing, baking and braiding necklaces with pink flowers. He loves animals. He doesn’t eat meat. He despises violence and spends nine tenths of every fight ducking and dodging. His only “weapon” is a blunt staff, used more for recreation than combat. Through the show, Aang receives most of his training from two young women – Katara and Toph – whom he gives absolute respect, even to the point of reverence. When he questions their instruction, it comes from a place of discomfort or anxiety, never superiority. He defers to women, young women, in matters of strategy and combat. Then he makes a joke at his own expense and goes off to feed his pet lemur.

Now there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this, and it’s the one that shielded Aang from the heroic limelight in my eyes for ten years. The reasoning goes like this: Aang is a child. He has no presumptuous authority complex, no masculinity anxiety, no self-consciousness about his preferred pastimes, because he’s twelve. He’s still the hero, but he’s the prepubescent hero, the hero who can’t lead the charge himself because he’s just not old enough. The problem is, that reasoning just doesn’t hold up when you look at him in the context of the rest of the show.

Let’s look at Azula. Aside from the Avatar himself, Zuko’s sister is arguably the strongest bender in the entire show. We could debate Toph and Ozai all day, but when you look at all Azula does, the evidence is pretty damning. Let’s make a list, shall we?

Azula completely mastered lightning, the highest level firebending technique, in her spare time on a boat, under the instruction of two old women who can’t even bend.

Azula led the drill assault on Ba Sing Sae, one of the most important Fire Nation operations of the entire war, and almost succeeded in conquering the whole Earth Kingdom.

Azula then bested the Kyoshi Warriors, one of the strongest non-bender fighting groups in the entire world, successfully infiltrated the Earth Kingdom in disguise, befriended its monarch, learned of the enemy’s most secret operation, emotionally manipulated her older brother, overthrew the captain of the secret police and did conquer the Earth Kingdom, something three Fire Lords, numerous technological monstrosities, and countless generals, including her uncle, failed to do in a century.

And she did this all when she was fourteen.

That last part is easy to forget. Azula seems so much her brother’s peer, we forget she’s the same age as Katara. And that means that when we first meet Azula, she’s only a year older than Aang is at the end of the series. So to dismiss Aang’s autonomy, maturity or capability because of his age is ridiculous, understanding that he and Azula could have been in the same preschool class.

We must then accept Aang for what he truly is: the hero of the story, the leader of the charge, who repeatedly displays restraint and meekness, not because of his age, not because of his upbringing, not because of some character flaw, but because he chooses too. We clamor for strong female characters, and for excellent reason. But nobody every calls for more weak male characters. Not weak in a negative sense, but weak in a sense that he listens when heroes talk. He negotiates when heroes fight. And when heroes are sharpening their blades, planning their strategies and stringing along their hetero love interests, Aang is making jewelry, feeding Appa, and wearing that flower crown he got from a travelling band of hippies. If all Aang’s hobbies and habits were transposed onto Toph or Katara, we’d see it as a weakening of their characters. But with Aang it’s cute, because he’s a child. Only it isn’t, because he’s not.

Even in his relationship with Katara, a landmark piece of any traditional protagonist’s identity, Aang defies expectations. From the moment he wakes up in episode one, he is infatuated with the young woman who would become his oldest teacher and closest friend. Throughout season one we see many examples of his puppy love expressing itself, usually to no avail. But there’s one episode in particular that I always thought a little odd, and that’s Jet.

In Jet, Katara has an infatuation of her own. The titular vigilante outlaw sweeps her off her feet, literally, with his stunning hair, his masterful swordsmanship and his apparent selflessness. You’d think this would elicit some kind of jealousy from Aang. There’s no way he’s ignorant of what’s happening, as Sokka sarcastically refers to Jet as Katara’s boyfriend directly in Aang’s presence, and she doesn’t even dispute it. But even then, we never see any kind of rivalry manifest in Aang. Rather, he seems in full support of it. He repeatedly praises Jet, impressed by his leadership and carefree attitude. Despite his overwhelming affection for Katara, he evaluates both her and Jet on their own merits as people. There is no sense of ownership or macho competition.

Contrast this with Zuko’s reaction to a similar scenario in season three’s The Beach. Zuko goes to a party with his girlfriend, and at that party he sees her talking to another guy. His reaction? Throwing the challenger into the wall, shattering a vase, yelling at Mai, and storming out. This may seem a little extreme, but it’s also what we’d expect to an extent. Zuko is being challenged. He feels threatened in his station as a man, and he responds physically, asserting his strength and dominance as best he can.

I could go on and on. I could talk about how the first time Aang trains with a dedicated waterbending master, he tries to quit because of sexist double standards, only changing his mind after Katara’s urging. I could talk about how Aang is cast as a woman in the Fire Nation’s propaganda theatre piece bashing him and his friends. Because in a patriarchal society, the worst thing a man can be is feminine. I could talk about the only times Aang causes any kind of real destruction in the Avatar state, it’s not even him, since he doesn’t gain control of the skill until the show’s closing moments. Every time he is powerless in his own power and guilt-ridden right after, until the very end when he finally gains control, and what does he do with all that potential? He raises the rivers, and puts the fires out.

Aang isn’t what he’s supposed to be. He rejects every masculine expectation placed on his role, and in doing so he dodges center stage of his own show. It’s shocking to think about how many times I just forgot about Aang. Even at the end, when his voice has dropped and his abs have filled in, we miss it. Zuko’s coronation comes and we cheer with the crowd, psyched to see our hero crowned. Then the Fire Lord shakes his head, gestures behind him and declares “the real hero is the Avatar.” It’s like he’s talking to us. “Don’t you get it?” he asks. “Did you miss it? This is his story. But you forgot that. Because he was small. And silly. And he hated fighting. And he loved to dance. Look at him,” Zuko seems to say. “He’s your hero. Avatar Aang, defier of gender norms, champion of self-identity, feminist icon.”

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