The impact of the original 2009 Avatar is undeniable. As a self-proclaimed “Disney Adult” who lives 7 hours away from Orlando, Fla. I will proudly boast that my favorite attraction at Walt Disney World is the “Avatar Flight of Passage” ride (at this point, I’ve ridden it at least 20 times). However, long before its theme park implementation, Avatar had made strides in both cinema and pop culture. Directed by James Cameron, the film has grossed over $2.92 billion and has continued to represent the unyielding power of imagination and capture the dangers of unchecked colonial expansion.
Therefore, it was no surprise when the original film transformed into a collective franchise. In 2022, the release of Avatar: The Way of Water reaffirmed the cultural relevance and cinematic ambition of the original story. Although the first two films had undeniable flaws, such as an overreliance on familiar tropes and a narrative reminiscent of a “White Messiah fable,” they still succeeded in centering an effective anti-colonial message in a stunning world. Unfortunately, in 2025, Avatar: Fire and Ash has given me clarity into the consumerist agenda that undermines the series’s foundational critique of exploitation.
Avatar: Fire and Ash is the third installment of the series and is a direct continuation of the previous film. The narrative revolves around former Marine Jake Sully, who is now fully embedded within the Na’vi society as a leader and symbol of resistance. After the violent displacement of his family into an unfamiliar culture and the escalating invasion of Pandora, Jake is forced to manage the long-term consequences of resistance.
On a technical level, Cameron seems to have extensive knowledge of what it takes for a movie to be a classic. From Titanic to The Terminator, Cameron has a particular talent for crafting stories that have timeless emotional resonance. Avatar: Fire and Ash delivers characters that are undoubtedly compelling. It is impossible to deny that audiences felt moved by character deaths and the subsequent hurdles they face, such as how Jake’s Na’vi partner, Neytiri, struggles to accept their adopted human son, Spider, and cope with her crippling grief. The way the film handles these losses transforms painful moments into turning points that redefine the Sully family dichotomies amongst themselves and the world around them.
Furthermore, two key moments stand out in the film. The first is the suicide attempt of Jake’s son, Lo’ak. As the audience watches his self-imposed isolation at the edge of the Metkayina clan’s territory and his struggles with overwhelming guilt and anger, his pain becomes an expression of how war and colonization can fracture the strongest of bonds. Through Lo’ak, we see his sadness and feel the weight of his grief and the unyielding burden of expectations.
The second occurs when Jake faces his most difficult choice yet: whether to let Spider live as part of the Sully family or to kill him. This tense moment in the forest, with Neytiri recognizing the destructive nature of her hatred and Jake summoning the strength to lower his blade and accept Spider as his own, underscores the film’s central themes of family and forgiveness.
Unfortunately, the characters of Quaritch (Jake’s former mentor who is now in an Avatar body) and Varang (the leader of the Ash Na’vi Mangkwan clan) fell flat. Although Quaritch’s slow transformation into Jake’s foil — as he becomes accustomed to Na’vi culture by aligning himself with Varang — seems initially complex, his arc ultimately lacks depth and motivation. His choice to wander between the Na’vi and human worlds by supporting human expansion while partaking in Mangkwan clan cultural practices (such as donning battle paint) leaves him feeling passive or idle, like a plot device rather than an exploration of redemption or a compelling antagonist.
Avatar: Fire and Ash’s central theme of faith is embodied in the Na’vi’s connection to Eywa, the spiritual force that sustains life on Pandora. Eywa, as a concept of faith, is one of the aspects of the film that I genuinely loved. The idea of an interconnected spiritual presence adds a richness to the narrative. However, the film’s commentary on religion as an allegorical construct is not always entirely accurate. Within the universe of Pandora, Eywa is a real being rather than a matter of blind faith. This certainty thus limits the exploration of doubt and moral struggle that comes with traditional religious commentaries.
Although the Avatar franchise continues to captivate with its immersive world-building, it would be less than honest to ignore the inherent hypocrisy that comes with the creation and continuation of overt advertisements that contrast with the central message of anti-colonial resistance and environmental preservation. As a Disney-owned property, Avatar exists within the machinery of a mega-corporation that profits from the commodification of the narratives that it claims to condemn. The film’s marketing apparatus transforms its characters and cultures into consumable products, rendering the audience complicit in the system that the narrative frames as destructive.
For example, the series’s extensive merchandising, like theme-park attractions and brand tie-ins, repackage struggles into entertainment commodities. Although I must admit that I do enjoy immersing myself in the world of Pandora, I can’t help but have a slight distaste in my mouth for partaking in the kind of consumerism that the film critiques (which can be seen in the slaughter of the Tulkun for their biological resources).
This contradiction is especially unsettling given that the film has such a powerful depiction of exploitation within its fictional world. The Na’vi are subjected to oppression with their livelihoods dismantled by human industrialist production. However, they are also simultaneously presented to the audience in a manner that mirrors the dynamics of consumption that the story condemns. In a way, there is an uneasy sensation of dehumanizing resistance for the sake of a spectacle.
Still, to dismiss Avatar: Fire and Ash — and by extension the franchise as a whole — would be to overlook Cameron’s artistic passion. Visually, the film remains stunning. Cameron’s command of scale and environmental detail allows for Pandora to erupt in a world of its own. The environment breathes, and the graphics are absolutely exquisite, reminding viewers of how Avatar had become a cultural landmark in the first place.
