For Asian Representation, Netflix’s Avatar Is an Important Step Forward

I’ve written a lot about the historically trenchant racism that Asian performers have faced in Hollywood. About how even a trailblazing actor (who starred in the original Avatar!) lamented that he wouldn’t live to see Asian actors on par with white actors. There have been some strides toward more serious representation in recent years, even some high-profile accolades for Asian actors and Asian-led productions.

It’s getting better out there for Asian representation, even if, sometimes, the most badass Asian-led show is about a Chinese-American guy who is portrayed (very ably, don’t get me wrong) by a guy of Japanese descent. There’s a lot to celebrate, but there’s also a lot further to go. And there’s perhaps no show that’s taken a more forceful and intentional step toward addressing that than Netflix’s Avatar: The Last Airbender live-action adaptation—a feat it manages much better than its lighting, sound mixing, character choices, and changes to longstanding series lore.

I’m not here to talk about any of that, since Paste has already ably reviewed this eight-episode run and you’ve already formed your opinions. My daughter was captivated by it, and that’s basically all that matters. What’s more interesting to me is how this show—which was probably doomed from the start to be less well-received than the original—is going to be regarded as closer in spirit to the intent of the original story just because of who is on screen.

A:TLA was not a lightning rod of controversy when it aired, and there’s no question it remains among the most well-regarded cartoon shows ever. The cast included some prominent Asian actors (most memorably the unstoppable Mako Iwamatsu as Iroh and Dante Basco as the tortured antihero Prince Zuko), but the principal characters—Aang, Katara, Sokka, Toph—were all portrayed by white actors. After a lot of debate, some of it embarrassingly recent, representation in live action film has arrived at a place where it’s relatively straightforward: you can’t just cast a white person as an Asian person anymore if you want your movie or show to be taken seriously.

(The previous live action adaptation of this very show, a theatrical production directed by M. Night Shyamalan, who is himself Asian, faceplanted on this, drawing criticism for casting white actors, with Shyamalan bizarrely arguing that the characters in the show presented as white. Reader, I say to you: come on. Which character reads as white to you, the kid who is transparently based on the Dalai Lama, or the two siblings whose clothing and culture recall the Inuit?)

It hasn’t been until very recently that questions about what that means for animation have been taken seriously and spurred reflection in Hollywood. It’s a conversation that absolutely would apply to the A:TLA cartoon, were it to be released today.

The reason this is such a sore spot is that, in ways that matter, the original A:TLA is Asian, or at least Eastern, in its sensibilities and themes. The elements and martial arts are obvious Asian influences, but it goes deeper. The concept of an avatar—the earthly incarnation or agent of a deity—is a powerful theme in Eastern religion and mythology. Rama, hero of the Ramayana, is an avatar of Vishnu. The current Dalai Lama’s surname is Gyatso, the same as Aang’s mentor, and the Air Temples evoke the imagery of the mythical Shambala.

Imagery is easy enough to appropriate, of course. But Aang’s quest, his role in the world, his dogged insistence on nonviolence and the show’s absolute refusal to give him an easy out when his beliefs conflict with his duties—all of it feels different than most other American cartoons because they are different, in ways that are very Asian and Eastern. I wrote about this when extolling the original’s finale, one of the best in TV history. Avatar sets up from the beginning of the show that Aang is non-violent, possibly to a fault: his flight from his responsibilities at the onset of the show is part of Avatar‘s inciting incident.

Faced with a violent nationalist foe in Fire Lord Ozai, a foe who doesn’t share the least of Aang’s values, Aang must face the fact that in order to stop this man, he may have to kill him. He agonizes over this, and the show wants us to agonize with him and to even see how he might be wrong.

In that clip above, Aang points out that he is supposed to free himself from the world, in a concept that echoes Buddhist ideas of enlightenment. One of his past selves, another airbender monk like him, explains that he also has a duty, and it’s one that may force him to sacrifice his own spiritual needs.

In Spider-Man, the 2002 Sam Raimi film, the guy who killed Uncle Ben and knows Peter Parker’s secret identity kind of trips over a pipe (or something) and falls to his death, because it’s sort of inconvenient for the writers to have him out there somewhere, but even more inconvenient to have Peter kill him. When Aang tries to use a similar rationale for Avatar Kyoshi’s victory over another heedless conqueror who fell to his death, Kyoshi sets him straight: she doesn’t let herself off the hook for her enemy’s technically accidental death. She caused it by her actions and, she says, she would have done it on purpose if that’s what it took to stop him.

Kyoshi, who shows up in person much earlier in this adaptation (portrayed by Yvonne Chapman), won fan-favorite status long ago with her bold character design and complete immunity to impostor syndrome. I watched the episode where she appears twice, with two different daughters, and both openly wondered how, if Aang can tag in Kyoshi, there is any dramatic tension. (He can only do it at her shrine, I learned after watching the replay and turning on subtitles. It seems to me, Aang should challenge Ozai to a duel there and have Kyoshi punt him into the moon.)

This is all to say that my kids, who are white, regard Kyoshi as akin to Goku—she is a constellation in their pantheon of heroes, one they can point to, one they use to navigate their understanding of fictional ass-kicking. Portrayed in the cartoon by Jennifer Hale (one of the most skilled and prolific actors in the history of speaking into microphones, and a white woman), this is the first time this very Asian-coded character is being portrayed by an Asian actor. So it was a special treat to cackle alongside my daughters while Chapman got to jet around with glowing eyes and stomp a bunch of dumbass mooks into the dirt.

I’m annoyed with this show for a million different reasons: the able and hard-working younger cast members’ dialogue gets lost, many of the dramatic choices they make compared to the original show are just not as compelling, it is too! damn! dark! 

But it’s also a milestone in representation, a reimagining of a show that everybody agrees was phenomenal but which fell short in that way. Every single principal character, and from what I can tell, all or nearly all background or incidental characters are Asian or of indigenous descent, and they constitute a truly massive, truly star-studded ensemble. All the principal cast members are exceedingly well-cast as the characters fans know from the cartoon: Paul Sun-Hyung Lee’s Uncle Iroh in particular.

It’s frustrating that the show doesn’t succeed in getting out from under the shadow of the original, but if it gets these actors more chances to headline more stuff—if a show deeply indebted to Eastern culture finally lets people who are descended from those cultures throw around some kung fu fireballs—I’ll take it, guys.

Kenneth Lowe is more of a go with the flow kind of avatar. You can follow him on Twitter @IllusiveKen until it collapses, on Bluesky @illusiveken.bsky.social, and read more at his blog.

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