100 Favorite Shows: #62 — Avatar: The Last Airbender
“Protection and power are overrated. I think you are very wise to choose happiness and love.”
If you want evidence beyond fabulous series like SpongeBob and Drake & Josh that Nickelodeon was streets ahead when it came to original programming, Avatar: The Last Airbender is the show to watch. Created by Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko, Avatar dealt with themes like war, fascism, and genocide, each of which are rare for the animated medium. But Avatar was always different; it combined an anime art style with cultural authenticity (from Inuit to East Asian) and an American sensibility. Based in a world centered around “benders,” people capable of manipulating air, fire, water, and/or earth, Avatar told the story of the Fire Nation invading other nations and the peace-keeping “Avatar” figure, who trains to restore balance to the realm. (In the series, the Avatar in question was Aang (Zach Tyler Eisen), a vegetarian twelve year old initially found frozen like Captain America.) Since its original, three-season run on Nickelodeon (from 2005 to 2008), Avatar: The Last Airbender has spanned generational adoration and disparate bodies of critical acclaim, en route to graphic novel spin-offs, multiple live-action adaptations, and a sequel series, The Legend of Korra. The first iteration remains an undeniable favorite.
(Not only are there spoilers for Avatar: The Last Airbender in this essay, but there are also spoilers for Mad Men and The Office, if you can believe it. No spoilers for The Legend of Korra, though. I’ve never seen it.)
Dear friends of mine have given me recommendations on anime stories in the past. Sailor Moon, Death Note, Spirited Away. Each had their merits sure, but the anime art style was never fully my “thing.” Having been raised on the animation styles of Walt Disney, Charles Schulz, and Pete Docter, anime was never ingratiated into my relationship with the larger popular culture. (It’s nothing personal, of course. I’ve met many people who didn’t grow up with Snoopy and find the neurotic Peanuts gang entirely inaccessible.) As such, when Avatar: The Last Airbender premiered on Nickelodeon and wedged in between perennial home classics like SpongeBob SquarePants and Danny Phantom, it was jarring.
So clearly unlike anything mainstream American television for kids had ever produced, Avatar was my first foray into anime and even though I’ve never fully grasped its intentions beyond magnificent, long-gestating storytelling, on Avatar, I fully understood its beauty.
The sweeping, colorful skies festooned with wispy, whimsical clouds. Vast deserts, cerulean oases, soaring mountaintops. Each of them were a part of Avatar and the gorgeous natural imagery and scenic backgrounds that dotted the show as a canvas for its massive-in-scope narrative ambitions. They’re arguably at their most beautiful and most affecting for the story at hand in season two’s “Zuko Alone.”
The artistic expanses depicted in “Zuko Alone” are evocative of the motifs and tropes associated with the western genre, which is the mode in which “Zuko Alone” is firmly rooted. The episode centers around Zuko (Dante Basco), the heretofore rebellious villain of the series, who was clearly embarking upon his own path to redemption. “Zuko Alone,” which is a clear step in Zuko’s process to bettering himself, sees him transplanted into an off-shoot village. There, he’s tasked with protecting a young boy, Lee (Robby Bruce), from conscription into the ongoing war in the series. It’s a western tale as old as the elements.
Zuko goes it alone in this episode because, at this point in the struggle to uncover his own identity, he believes he’s better off without his Uncle Iroh (Mako and Greg Baldwin), the show’s moral conscience. Contrasted with the pacifism of Uncle Iroh and even of Aang, Zuko is an obviously fiery spirit who believes his most vital fight is the fight for his identity — and it’s a fight he refuses to quit on.
However, this spirit within Zuko (and the lineage of firebenders from which he stems) leads to his becoming highly skilled, even beyond his years. In the early days of Avatar, Zuko’s abilities were used for nefarious, antagonistic purposes. Over time, though, he honed and controlled them more. By “Zuko Alone,” he was outright using them for the protection of others, protection of those with whom he’d managed to genuinely bond.
“A man’s past is his business,” Lee’s father, Gansu (Brian O’Neill), assures his son when he begins probing to learn more about the mysterious stranger’s history. While Lee remains in the dark until the climax of the episode, we receive snippets of Zuko’s past throughout the character-driven episode. From this, we‘re further edified about the influences and people who helped to make Zuko into the aloof, hot-tempered kid we first met at the start of Avatar. In the first flashbacks, though, he was practically the opposite: endearing, dewy-eyed, and sincere.
The flashbacks include moments like Zuko taunting and nearly abusing a “turtle duck,” in an instance of childlike sociopathy that must be accompanied by guilt, regret, and gratitude once the turtle duck survives the attack. In this brief sequence, we see Zuko’s tenacity tempered by his mother Ursa (Jen Cohn), a valuable antidote to the caustic upbringing that would have otherwise surrounded him. However, the flashbacks also include the tempestuous callousness of Zuko’s sister, Azula (Grey DeLisle). Throughout their childhoods, she warps his perceptions on his place in the world, claiming Uncle Iroh is a “crybaby” when he quits command following the death of his son and wishing death upon her own uncle solely in the interest of seeing her father assume grander leadership as a result.
The character-driven “Zuko Alone” zeroes in on this one complicated figure on the series, who contained more depth to him than we could have possibly imagined from the outset of the series. At the time of my first viewing of Avatar, villains having nuance was unheard of for an inexperienced child like me. I was accustomed to the good guys being the good guys and the bad guys being the bad guys. But to learn more about Zuko and to empathize with him? It was truly shocking. Now, young villains being led astray before redemption is a common trope. It’s in Kylo Ren, Loki, Draco Malfoy. But when I was just seven years old witnessing a manifestation of evil defect? It was a jarring, mind-blowing, and intrinsically satisfying experience. The trope may exist across fantasy storytelling, but Avatar executed it perfectly in its apt reversal of Zuko’s character arc. By the end of the series, he was more way more asset than adversary.
This path began before “Zuko Alone,” but a detour into backstory is a crucial piece of how we could ever buy a one hundred and eighty degree turn from one of the show’s focal characters in the first place. By learning about his outcast past and the reason why he’s drawn to a strange, kind family (they’re benevolent, just like his mother), no matter how they perceive him, we see that the compounding of sycophancy and tragedy does not have to persist throughout time. Zuko uncovers his agency multiple times in “Zuko Alone” and, in so doing, employs agency into his own world in the war. It never had to be that way — the wrong way.
It wasn’t often that a “children’s” show would devote time to such rich character development, but that was always the objective of Avatar. Zuko may have had little appreciation for the “cryptic arts” and the world of prosperity through peace, but he learned to be better at every turn. Ultimately, the decision to be better usurped his need for instant gratification and a childlike glorification of power, but Avatar took the necessary steps to bring him there naturally.
Likewise, Avatar was also keen to devote time to the deep lore and world-building that fans have shown an interest in revisiting time and again. Another season two episode, “The Desert,” for example, introduces a group known as the “Rough Rhinos,” who are known for their mastery of various weapons. In the course of the installment, it’s a fairly inconsequential nugget, but it still helps feel the world more-lived in and dense. (Of course, the Rough Rhinos are also met with the light touch of Uncle Iroh, who mostly holds them in esteem for their singing abilities.)
Yet, the Rough Rhinos aren’t even the most important world-building element of Uncle Iroh’s side of “The Desert.” Instead, that honour belongs to the Order of the White Lotus. As a non-weary world traveler, Uncle Iroh embodies an irrepressible spirit of goodness in the frequently bleary world that surrounds the wars and practices of bending. The Order of the White Lotus illustrates a path forward for the many combatants of Avatar by depicting an integrated society of benders, who choose unity over conflict. “Not many still cling to the ancient ways,” Uncle Iroh is told as he is granted admission into one of their gatherings. These ancient ways may not have been appreciated by many, but by staying true to his principles in this instance of lore, Uncle Iroh subtly passed the tradition onto Zuko, whose initial dismissal was merely for show.
Characters like Zuko and Uncle Iroh are obviously aces, but the same is proven of the remainder of the main cast in “The Desert.” Each season chronicled a different “book” and the second arc is known as “Book Two: Earth.” Through this particular story, Aang and his companion travelers, aspiring waterbender Katara (Mae Whitman), her brother, Sokka (Jack DeSena), and lemur Momo and flying bison Appa (Dee Bradley Baker) join forces with the earthbender with blindness, Toph (Jessie Flower).
Essentially, Toph is the character leading the arc of earthbending and honing Aang’s abilities with the practice. She leads by feeling, almost becoming one with the earth as her non-visual senses are heightened to the point of excellency. Yet, when Appa is stolen away to Ba Sing Se in “The Library,” it becomes Aang’s mission to find and rescue him throughout “The Desert.” The only problem was that, in the desert, there was no way to use their abilities for more expedient travel to the Rivendell-esque destination city.
By stripping the travelers of their most basic abilities and using the endless sand dunes to nerf them, “The Desert” helped to show that these characters were worth rooting for beyond just what they were capable of in the larger world and narrative. It would’ve been easy for them to despair throughout the desert, but instead, they proved they still had mettle. Aside from Sokka, who spent most of the episode hallucinating as a result of cactus consumption (“It’s a giant mushroom. Maybe it’s friendly!”), each of the characters manage to conquer their stranding. They’re so brilliant in doing so, in fact, that Aang enters into the Avatar State when confronting the bison thieves, perhaps at the peak of his powers thus far in the series — even in spite of his lack of resources.
The most crucial element of this moment, though, is that, in Aang’s rage-fueled state, Katara becomes the one to soothe him and ease his passion before it inflicted unwanted and unwarranted damage. Throughout the episode, Katara proves herself as a worthy leader of the group, maintaining their spirits and encouraging their resolve as they navigated aimlessly through a barren landscape. The whole lot of them were just kids, but they still managed to demonstrate the best of their traits when they had nothing and no one on their side. That was the true test of Avatar’s characters and “The Desert” supported them exceptionally.
After all, it’s Aang’s bond with Appa that drives the episode. Learning that the thieves muzzled Appa is even what drives Aang into the Avatar State in the first place. Pacifism was a major theme of both Avatar: The Last Airbender and Aang’s character journey, but one could not know true peace unless one was also at peace with the natural world around him, her, or them. Respect and support for animals and those who are unable to advocate for themselves is a crucial function of pacifism and Aang’s connection with Appa is one of the more special hearts of the series.
The affection Aang harbors for all animals also manifests a few episodes later, in “Tales of Ba Sing Se.” In Aang’s segment of the episode (it’s a vignette-based anthology episode, akin to “22 Short Films About Springfield” from The Simpsons or “Dreams” from M*A*S*H), he uses his abilities (combining his airbending and earthbending powers for the first time) to help construct environments and pastures for Ba Sing Se’s animals to roam and live in, rather than dingy pens. (As a lover of animal rights, this segment spoke to me, even though I’ve heard many suggest that Aang’s plot in “Tales of Ba Sing Se” is the episode’s weakest.)
Vitally, Aang shows a tendency to implement his powers for purposes of peace, rather than purposes of war. While Avatar was undeniably rich for its characters’ training and journeys towards larger climaxes, it’s also clear that the characters were richly defined and positively depicted so as to understand that their missteps were in service of a larger narrative. After all, Avatar: The Last Airbender is one of television’s most incredible examples of high-concept fantasy storytelling with expertly plotted arcs. The amount of time spent training Aang, while potentially seen as monotonous to some, is unequivocally the whole point of the series. Before he could save the world, Aang had to train and learn and listen to those who knew better on certain topics. To do otherwise, would be dangerously arrogant — and this was never the main motif of Avatar.
It’s also never present in the rest of “Tales of Ba Sing Se.” Like “Zuko Alone,” this episode is a character driven one, more content to show how the heroes of the series spend their time in the city they’ve long awaited than in busing them along to the next checkpoint of their destinies.
In Ba Sing Se, Toph and Katara enjoy the reprieve of a spa day, finally doing something fun for themselves. Sokka engages in a haiku battle with a local poetry club. Momo searches for Appa and instead finds animal kinship when freeing creatures who had just recently preyed upon him. Zuko strives to temper himself while on a date, teaching himself to be sweet and open, rather than continuously maintain the structural integrity of his emotional walls. Katara looks out for Toph when defending her against passing by bullies (illuminating how the themes of Avatar could be relatable across time and across realms, even if we don’t have the ability to bend water or air), Momo forgives his near-death experience, Sokka understands the level his haikus are at when competing with others, and Zuko curses himself for never being able to bridge the emotional chasm he still faces. Not a touch of arrogance is present; we see only the hope of being better.
In the best segment of “Tales of Ba Sing Se,” though, we follow the least arrogant character in the entire series, Uncle Iroh. (This vignette is dedicated to Mako, Iroh’s voice actor who passed away in 2006.) Following Uncle Iroh’s day, we see him buy a basket woven with dedication, help a flower stand upright, and lead with kindness when helping a robber (Quinton Flynn) improve his stance and outlook on life.
“A little help goes a long way,” he preaches before smiling and carrying on with his day, knowing he helped the life of another. It would’ve been entirely justified to react negatively to someone trying to mug you, but that was never Uncle Iroh’s philosophy. His first-chance-basis respect is the kind of philosophy we need more of in the world: to see the good in those who feel they have no choice to do bad, to fight for the redemption of others, and to challenge those who choose to do bad when they’re capable of good.
An episode as rich with character development as “Tales of Ba Sing Se” could’ve ended Uncle Iroh’s segment right here, but instead, it pushed further into emotionality in what many (myself included) consider to be the series’ high point. When Uncle Iroh arrives at a grassy hilltop, he lays out a blanket and a photo of his late son in the aim of celebrating his birthday. Despite all the people he helped in “The Tale of Iroh,” he still feels the remorse over having not been able to help his own son. It’s a gutting wallop that overwhelms the senses of the viewer and of Uncle Iroh, who tearfully pays tribute to his son with a song, “Leaves from the Vine.”
Leaves from the vine
Falling so slow
Like fragile tiny shells
Drifting in the foam
Little soldier boy
Come marching home
Brave soldier boy
Comes marching home
My favorite experience with a beloved television series is when it dips into highly emotional territory like this. Call me a masochist, but my favorite scenes to rewatch are those which are the sweetest and the most melancholy. Jim saying goodbye to Michael on The Office, Don being visited by a ghost on Mad Men, Uncle Iroh singing a beautiful song to his fallen soldier boy. When a series can bring the heart like this, it’s hard to match.
Uncle Iroh always brought the heart of the show to the forefront, leading with a kind spirit, yes, but also with an intrinsic advocacy for tranquility and peace. These gentle qualities were always what Avatar spoke to over the course of its three seasons. The inciting act of the series is the attack of the Fire Nation, but the series is never defined by that. Instead, it’s defined by the acts of bending (a word which is naturally gentle in its connotation), including waterbending, which I will always believe is the best one.
But Avatar never believed in a “best” one; it believed in strength in unity. Waterbending is great, but it is at its best when it coexists with firebending, airbending, and earthbending. This gentility blanketed every frame of Avatar, even in its most ferocious moments, whether through lilting music, stunning scenery, or tears bubbling at the eyes in the name of care for one’s loved ones, familial, animal, or otherwise. These eastern philosophies of peace and oneness fused gorgeously with the western tropes that were subverted at every turn of Avatar. Never one to emulate war, Avatar: The Last Airbender emphasized peace over bombast. Just as Aang was needed to bring balance back to a world in tumult, Avatar: The Last Airbender, since its debut, has always been there on the television landscape to bring us balance for our reality. Whether you grew up with it or have rediscovered it on Netflix, the balance is always there, falling so slow.
