The Quiet Brilliance of One of Avatar's Most Subdued Scenes · 6:44pm Jun 27th, 2017
Over the past month, I took the time to rewatch both Avatar: The Last Airbender, and its sequel, The Legend of Korra—my personal pick for the best animated series of all time. While I’d seen the whole of Airbender a number of times, I’d never finished watching Korra, so I figured now was as good a time as any to correct that mistake. What I gained from my long marathon was not only the knowledge that Korra is way better than I originally gave it credit for, but also an appreciation for the more subtle aspects of Airbender’s storytelling.
Yet, whenever I think about all the scenes I’ve come to love over the course of this last rewatch, there’s one sequence I keep coming back to: Season 3, Episode 19, “The Old Masters,” in which Aang contacts his past four lives in order to discover a way to defeat the Fire Lord without killing him. Considering how much action is going on all over the place during the finale, it’s easy to overlook Aang’s subplot, which stays quiet for most of the first two episodes.
The first few times I watched this episode, I appreciated this scene for its worldbuilding—unless you’d played some obscure Nick.com flash game, this would be the first time you meet Avatar Kuruk and Avatar Yangchen—but now, I appreciate it even more for how well it builds into Aang’s character arc, and acts as one of the last major obstacles on his quest to become a fully realized Avatar.
(note: this contains heavy spoilers for Avatar: The Last Airbender, as well as a few small ones for The Legend of Korra. If you haven’t seen them, turn back and go watch them right now!)
I recently saw a comment that described the difference between Airbender and Korra as such: “Aang never wanted to be the Avatar, but he was born into a world that desperately needed him to be. Meanwhile, Korra loves being the Avatar, but lives in a world that doesn’t want her anymore.”
While this is a fantastic breakdown of both main characters, what it also shows is how different Aang is from the Avatars that preceded him. As we learn during a flashback in “The Storm,” due to the looming threat of war, Aang began his Avatar training at least four years earlier than was considered tradition. In addition, he was forced to learn the elements without the aid of his home nation, or designated masters hired solely to teach him—luxuries that we know were afforded to Avatar Roku, and likely at least a few Avatars before him. All this is to say that one of Airbender’s prevailing stories is Aang’s quest to discover his own identity, independent both from what the rest of the world expects him to be, and from what the Avatars before him were.
This struggle to retain his identity while also fulfilling his role as Avatar brings us to the finale, “Sozin’s Comet.” Faced with the responsibility of taking down Fire Lord Ozai by any means necessary, Aang finds himself paralyzed with self-doubt. After all, Aang is the last airbender—the last living remnant of the Air Nomads, a culture dedicated to honoring the inherent worth of creation. Avatar or not, how can he be expected to betray that culture, to single-handedly force it into extinction?
Thus, desperate for another way out, Aang turns to his past four lives: Roku, Kyoshi, Kuruk, and Yangchen. Each conversation Aang goes through beautifully heightens the conflict.
“In my life, I tried to be disciplined, and show restraint. But it backfired.”
First up, Roku recounts being betrayed by Sozin, a story we first heard in “The Avatar and the Fire Lord. However, of note here are the visuals: as Roku explains how believing in mercy cost him his life, the camera pans across an image of the Southern Air Temple being burned to the ground. Without it being said aloud, the connection is made clear: if Roku hadn’t shown mercy, and killed Sozin when he had the chance, the Air Nomads would have survived. The genocide of Aang’s people is a result, indirect or no, of Roku’s decision to spare Sozin.
Can you think of a greater indictment of Air Nomad philosophy? The Air Nomads, an entire nation dedicated to protecting life, to believing in second chances—and it ends up being that sort of thinking that leads to their destruction.
And consider the role that Roku has played in Aang’s life to that point. While characters like Katara and Toph have served as Aang’s friends and bending teachers, Roku has taken the place of Monk Gyatso as Aang’s foremost spiritual mentor and confidante. How must it feel, not only knowing your mentor’s actions (or lack thereof) led to the death of your people, but that that mentor considers his mercy—a quality you’ve spent your life striving towards—a form of weakness? Something to regret?
Roku leaves Aang with this wisdom: “Be decisive.” But while this advice may sound open-ended, it’s clear from both Roku’s backstory and demeanor that this decision only has one acceptable answer.
“I would have done whatever it took.”
One of my favorite running gags in Avatar is how much of a dick Avatar Kyoshi is. Aside from the villagers on the island that she expressly created and ruled over, no one in the world seems to like her. It’s easy to understand why; Kyoshi lived for over two-hundred years, and if what few glimpses we get of her are to be believed, never smiled once. She’s best known to historians not only for killing Chin the Conquerer and splitting Kyoshi Island from the mainland, but founding the Dai Li and crushing a peasant uprising. Kyoshi is cold, merciless, and is not above using fear and intimidation to achieve her goals.
In other words, Kyoshi is the exact opposite of Aang. Not surprising, when you consider their natural elements (air vs. earth).* Aang’s anger after speaking to her only emphasizes the ideological disconnect between them.
Yet, despite her cruel ways, it’s interesting to note that Kyoshi is perhaps the most successful of all the recent Avatars. Whereas Roku allowed Sozin to kill the Air Nomads, and Kuruk’s negligence led to the death of his lover (as we’ll discuss later), Kyoshi faced few, if any, conflicts she couldn’t deal with easily. As noted, she lived for over two centuries, signaling that no physical threat ever posed any real danger to her. When discussing how she killed Chin the Conquerer, Kyoshi claims that doing so allowed the world to enter “a great era of peace.” Even the Earth King bowed to Kyoshi, groveling for his life at even the slightest showing of her power. Unlike Aang, who always looks for the peaceful way out and thus struggles, Kyoshi is not afraid to do whatever it takes to maintain balance in the world, and thus succeeds.
Aang, being the airbender he is, tries to dodge and weave his way out of her logic, making excuses so he can pretend Kyoshi wasn’t the stone cold killer she claims she is. Kyoshi didn’t really kill Chin, he desperately reasons: “Technically, he fell to his doom because he was too stubborn to get out of the way.” Note how Aang avoids saying “death” here, instead opting for the ambiguous “doom.” Even when faced with historical facts, he subconsciously sugarcoats them.
But as Kyoshi makes clear, it makes no difference whether she killed Chin directly or indirectly; either way, he died, and his death led to prosperity and happiness for the world. Prosperity and happiness that was lost under the watch of Roku and Aang, who both showed mercy. Such is Kyoshi’s worldview: “Only justice will bring peace.” A commendable piece of wisdom, but when accompanied by Kyoshi’s bloody past, one that is tinged with darkness.
“People seemed to work out their own problems.”
Avatar Kuruk, the waterbending surfer dude from the North, gets the least amount of time to tell his story, and does so without a single interjection from Aang. However, Kuruk doesn’t need to say much for us to realize that despite their shared occupation, Kuruk can’t relate to Aang’s problems at all.
As Kuruk states, unlike the Avatars who came after him, he lived in an era of “peace and good times,” where he never had to face a world-threatening danger. In fact, from what he tells us, Kuruk never faced any sort of prolonged struggle. From other sources of canon, we learn that Kuruk spent his days challenging random strangers to battle, forever seeking someone worthy of besting him in combat. He watched over the world without difficulty, having more than enough time for both romance and leisure.
Yet, it is his response to the one true tragedy in his life that illuminates the depths of his character. As Kuruk recounts, the greatest tragedy in his life was the loss of his lover to Koh, the Face Stealer. And while this scene may be the first time we meet Kuruk, this isn’t the first time this tragedy has been mentioned.
All the way back in Season One, Aang got the chance to speak to Koh. But Koh was not happy to see Aang—Koh remembers the Avatar, claiming that “one of [Aang]’s previous incarnations” attempted to kill him for stealing the face of a woman he loved. Although it isn’t stated outright, it can be inferred that the incarnation who came to kill Koh was Kuruk. In short, upon meeting the first real enemy in his life, Kuruk immediately resorted to violence (understandably so, perhaps, but still)**. It was only after realizing that slaying Koh would mean losing his lover’s soul forever that Kuruk backed down.
Thus, we find another Avatar who has no good answers for Aang. Kuruk leaves Aang with this wisdom: “You must actively shape your own destiny, and the destiny of the world.” Very easy words from a man who never had to consider what it meant to shape the world.
“This isn’t about you. This is about the world.”
Aang’s conversation with Avatar Yangchen is easily the most powerful of all these sequences—and by extension, the most devastating.
For a moment, consider the context of their meeting here: this is the first time in one-hundred-twelve years that Aang has spoken to another Air Nomad. This is the first time since learning about the genocide of his people that Aang has to someone who shares his culture and upbringing. Aang has found someone who also believes in the innate value of life, who understands his struggle.
It comes as a horrendous shock, then, when Yangchen tells him that saving the world requires him to reject his Air Nomad origins.
Yangchen has experience with such a task. In her time, despite the belief that Air Nomads were pacifists, Yangchen was feared globally for her willingness to do “whatever it takes” to keep peace. As such, Yangchen’s argument is this: for the Avatar, keeping the world safe is a duty more important than any other. If spiritual beliefs—like a refusal to kill, even in the case of evil dictators—stand in the way of that duty, those beliefs must be abandoned, no matter how “moral” they might be.
It’s here that we see Aang at his most desperate, his most fearful. When reminded of his duty to the world, Aang once again tries to find common ground with Yangchen, arguing that the Air Nomads sought to detach themselves from the world, in order to find enlightenment. Note the 180° turn Aang takes here; back when Guru Pathik suggested the same sort of detachment, Aang angrily rejected the idea. But now, realizing that detachment is the only way to retain his beliefs, he’s all for it.
But Yangchen’s meaning is clear: yes, Aang is the last airbender. But he isn’t the last Air Nomad. The Air Nomads are dead—he is the Avatar, and must stop avoiding his destiny.
“Selfless duty,” Yangchen states, “calls you to sacrifice your own spiritual needs, and do whatever it takes to protect the world.” That’s the last conversation Aang has with the Air Nomads. And thus, Aang’s hopes of finding another way out die.
But there’s a reason why the last episode of the series is entitled “Avatar Aang.”
Before, I mentioned that one of Airbender’s big stories is Aang’s struggle to create his own identity as the Avatar, separate from the identities of the Avatars that came before him. And if you’ve seen the finale, you know that Aang does find a way out, and does find a way to stop the Fire Lord without killing him: removing Ozai’s bending.
What’s great about this is the way Aang utilizes the wisdom given to him by each Avatar, without violating his moral code. Roku told Aang to be decisive, and so Aang was, taking action to remove Ozai’s ability to hurt others. Kyoshi said that only justice would bring peace—stealing the tool Ozai was going to use to destroy the Earth Kingdom is surely just. Kuruk urged Aang to actively shape the destiny of the world, which he is clearly doing here.
The only advice he completely ignores is that which comes from the Avatar he was most eager to meet: Yangchen. Yangchen told Aang that he had to give up his spiritual needs in order to protect the world. But in the end, it ends up being Aang’s devotion to that spirituality that leads to not only the end of the Hundred Years’ War, but also the reintroduction of energybending into the world (an event that plays heavily into the plot of Korra).
In becoming a fully realized Avatar, Aang builds upon the past without abandoning all the things that make him unique, and without giving up his place as the last surviving Air Nomad.
*It gets mentioned once or twice throughout the series, but the way that each character’s bending style impacts their personality has always been one of my favorite little details about the world of Avatar. In a sense, benders tend to resemble their elements:
Just like how a breeze flows without care, airbenders are calm, free, and nomadic. Think of Aang, or the lackadaisical ways of Monk Gyatso.
Much like how liquids tend to stick together, waterbenders are fiercely loyal to their family, friends, and kinsfolk, and will do anything to protect them. Think of the tightly knit Southern tribe, Avatar Kuruk, or Katara and Sokka’s dedication to helping Aang.
Earthbenders, much like the rocks they control, are sturdy, stubborn, and resistant to change. Think of Toph and Lin Beifong, Kyoshi, or Kuvira.
Finally, just like a raging flame, firebenders are full of passion, vigor, and life. Think of Zuko’s unquenchable ambition to restore his honor, or even Ozai’s quest to conquer the world. Or alternatively, think of Aang’s music teacher in “The Headband,” who gets so worked up with patriotism for his country that he starts crying.
**It’s interesting to note that the next Water Tribe Avatar, Korra, experiences a similar moment of blind rage. In “Civil Wars, Part 2,” upon learning that her father and his allies have been sentenced to death, Korra’s immediate response is to shout at the judge: “You can’t do this! You take their lives, and I’ll take yours!” In the middle of a crowded courtroom, she says that out loud!
Say what you will about Aang, and I’ll always love the little pacifist, but there’s something refreshingly badass about hearing the Avatar threaten someone’s life like that. Korra has another great moment like that at the end of Season 3, when she’s captured by the Red Lotus, screaming, “When I get out of here, none of you will survive!”
Damn, man. Don’t mess with waterbenders.
Damn man. Good analysis. I really need to rewatch ATLA
Very fascinating and cool stuff. I fell out of ATLA but I still have tons of respect for the story they told.
This was definitely very deep, but i personally couldn't connect with the characters of Avatar the way i could the ones of FiM
AtLA is, to this day, my personal favourite cartoon. Korra, I've struggled to watch, despite desperately wanting to get into.
Tell me, is there a way to watch the show that avoids the whole love triangle/slice-of-life stuff in the big city that seems to make up the vast majority of what goes on, at least in the early episodes? Because that part really put me off.
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It's difficult in the first two seasons, because the romance subplots (which I agree are pretty bleh) are so prevalent. That said, I disagree that it takes up the vast majority of time—there's one episode in S1 that's centered around it, yes, but the majority of the season is pro bending, Amon kicking ass, and other action. Avatar had similar shipping-centric episodes like that (Cave of Two Lovers for example). I think the romance is worth sitting through for what the show becomes, especially in the later seasons.
I had a similar distaste for Korra because of what I saw as its preoccupation with filler. But this rewatch has allowed me to appreciate it a lot more. I'd say watch until the end of S1, and if it doesn't grab you, feel free to stop watching (or skip straight to S3... the show has a big upswing in quality around that point, IMO, and this is coming from someone who likes the first two seasons).
Yeah, I've seen this episode brought up before as an example of why Avatar is amazing. We all need to stop saying that it's the best kids show or best cartoon, though. It's one of the best shows ever made, period.
Yeah, Avatar had a lot of deep thinking woven into it. It's incredibly how many layers there are... even if I thought energybending was a little bit of a deus ex machina.
That said, "The Legend of Korra—my personal pick for the best animated series of all time." NOW WE MUST FIGHT WITH KNIVES.
The knives of polite dialogue and empathic interest in each other's perspective.
Thank you for the analysis. I really should get around to watching the legend of Cora. I watched all three seasons of avatar in like one week. Very good show, though like my little pony, it sometimes can be a victim of its children's rating.
That was a nice thing about the new last season of samurai jack: its higher rating allowed an appropriate level of violence.
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I should specify—when I say "series" in that sentence, I'm referring to AtLA and Legend of Korra as one entity.
4585588 ... yeah okay, that's more acceptable. Airbender is definitely good enough to still qualify, even carrying Korra like a millstone around its neck.
I'm just... very aware of all the ways that Korra catastrophically failed to live up to Airbender's legacy. It's a crying shame; a lot of the visual design was incredible, but Korra's personal arc kept shooting itself in the foot due to the show's the show's nearly pathological inability to handle complex problems with any nuance beyond finding the right person to punch in the face until the problem goes away. There were a bunch of disturbing implications, too, like the proliferation of daddy issues and the absence of meaningful mother figures until Suyin, the recurring theme and validation of Korra using threats or emotional torture to extract information, the honestly sodding gross ending to Tarrlok and Noatak's story and how it trampled the incredibly fragile and healthy message of Zuko's arc for a cheap shock, the domestic abuse played for laughs that was Bolin/Eska, the casual ageism that ate both Katara and Toph in a setting where that is so out of place... Then there's the minor stuff, like the degeneration of bending's mapping closely to real-life martial arts into people just punching and Stuff Happens.
Argh. Now I feel bad for bringing so much bitching in here. Um, I guess the KorrAsami arc was remarkably well handled, even if Asami probably deserves better.
Plus, as indicated by Gyatso's skeleton, Air Nomads weren't afraid to kill if pushed