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Tommy Orange was against revisiting Native American history in his new book. Why he changed his mind

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Tommy Orange was against revisiting Native American history in his new book. Why he changed his mind

On the Shelf

Wandering Stars

By Tommy Orange
Knopf Publishing Group: 336 pages, $29

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For Tommy Orange, there was before “There There,” and there was after. Before: He was a struggling writer, teaching in an MFA program. After, the dream: bestselling author, Pulitzer Prize finalist, his book on syllabuses across the country, invited to speak at literary events worldwide. It was a rare and lasting achievement.

His new book, “Wandering Stars,” is also a before and after. This much-anticipated novel serves as both a prequel and a sequel to the first. That unusual choice means it can be read without the centerpiece of 2018’s “There There,” which ended with Orvil, one of the main characters, in peril at a contemporary powwow in Oakland. But if you have read “There There,” it’s an unexpected, multifaceted expansion of that story.

Orange had finished writing “There There” with no intentions of a follow-up when, close to its publication, he heard “Wandering Star” by the band Portishead. “I knew the song already, but something about wandering stars at that moment,” he said over Zoom in January, “I was like, ‘Oh, I want to do a sequel.’

“It had to do with being interested in how Orvil would experience the aftermath of what happened.”

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A sequel would give Orange “a way to also talk about historical trauma … tracing through history and feeling the reverberations of something that happened a long time ago,” he added.

To get there, Orange first goes way back, to two boys fleeing the 1864 Sand Creek massacre. The scenes of violence, deprivation and survival in “Wandering Stars” are reminiscent of Cormac McCarthy’s western frontier novels — only told by Indians, not cowboys. The book comes amid an increased focus on Indigenous representation in media, alongside the FX series “Reservation Dogs” and Martin Scorsese’s Oscar contender “Killers of the Flower Moon” (Lily Gladstone recently became the first Native American to be nominated for the lead actress Oscar for her role in the film).

“It’s an amazing moment,” said Orange, who is an enrolled member of the Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribes of Oklahoma. Aware that Native American stories have emerged and ebbed from the culture before, he’s cautiously optimistic: “I’m hoping this time around we have enough energy to build some kind of sustainable infrastructure that will keep interest in us.”

In the chronological chapters of “Wandering Stars,” Jude Star and Bear Shield’s stories move from one generation to the next and the next, reaching all the way to Orvil and his 21st-century Cheyenne family.

He’s a smart teen in a good school, but he’s on uneasy footing. Some of his friends are screw-ups. He’s more focused on music and video games than schoolwork. And he’s got a prescription for drugs that takes him to a rapturous place, “feeling like the milk of gold was buzzing in his eyes and filling him up.”

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When Orvil is high, the prose is often full of pleasure. “I was trying to write something that felt true to what it’s like to experience these different states and what some of the draws are,” Orange said. The subjectivity of experience is something a novel can do that is rarely captured onscreen, and Orange does it, whether he’s bending time or showing what it’s like to float, for a time.

In some ways, the intoxication is an antidote to the torture and loss portrayed in the earlier parts of the book. But it is not disconnected from it; it’s both an aftereffect and a symptom.

Going back to the era of the Indian Wars had not originally been in Orange’s plans. In fact, characters in his books rail against the cliched depictions of Native Americans in vintage settings. “I was against it,” he said. “I really wanted to write only contemporary stuff.” But a series of coincidences changed his mind.

During a chaotic trip to Europe — he’d missed his departure when his backpack was stolen — his Swedish hosts urged him to take a museum tour of their Native American collection. There was acknowledgment that it’s problematic for Native American regalia to be stored away in Sweden, but they thought he’d like to see it.

“It’s a cool little exhibit,” Orange said. “I see this newspaper clipping and it’s Southern Cheyennes in St. Augustine, Fla., in 1875. I know enough about my tribe’s history to know that we were never in Florida.” Down the rabbit hole he went, learning about the Southern Cheyennes who’d been imprisoned there, forced to adopt white culture while abandoning their own.

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“I realized St. Augustine was the blueprint for the Carlisle and boarding schools across the country that for decades were about ‘killing the Indian to save the man.’ My tribe being the centerpiece for this made me intensely interested because you don’t often hear about Southern Cheyenne history, specifically,” Orange said. “Doing this research was the moment that I decided I was going to do this historical piece.”

That wasn’t all. Among the prisoners’ names, Orange found a Bear Shield. “Reading that, I was overcome with emotion. I think I cried,” he said. The Bear Shield family is a major part of both “There There” and “Wandering Stars.” “There was the name Star also. And I’d already started writing a character named Star without having known this.” And he’d already had the book’s title; the pieces fit so well, it was as if they’d been laid out there for him.

Part of that, perhaps, is the way he approaches the writing itself, both work and something more ephemeral. “It really feels like a collaboration with a part of you that you don’t necessarily have access to,” he said.

“Writing is kind of a mysterious process. You’re tapping your fingers at letters on a keyboard and all of a sudden, you have an idea that you couldn’t have thought of before. Writing is a form of thinking, but it’s a form of thinking you don’t have access to unless you’re writing.”

While working on “Wandering Stars,” Orange occasionally booked himself into a hotel to focus on writing. Like the esteemed writing retreats Yaddo and MacDowell — both of which he’s been to — it’s a way to have quiet time to type, but right in Oakland. “It’s my favorite place to do it,” he says. And it’s a time to get to access that tricky, elusive part of writing.

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“I think writers, you know, want to take credit for everything,” Orange said. “But I feel it’s more mysterious than that.”

Kellogg is a former books editor of the L.A. Times.

Movie Reviews

The Housemaid

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The Housemaid

Too good to be true? Yep, that’s just what Millie’s new job as a housemaid is—and everyone in the audience knows it. What they might not expect, though, is the amount of nudity, profanity and blood The Housemaid comes with. And this content can’t be scrubbed away.

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De Los Picks: 10 best albums by Latino artists in 2025

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De Los Picks: 10 best albums by Latino artists in 2025

Throughout 2025, De Los has championed the rise of the Latino artists from their respective musical silos and into the broader global pop stratosphere. The 2026 Super Bowl halftime show headliner Bad Bunny and Inland Empire corrido kings Fuerza Regida scaled new commercial and cultural heights this year, as emerging acts like Silvana Estrada, Ela Minus and Netón Vega took exciting new detours in their sounds.

De Los recently did a team huddle to determine our personal best releases of 2025 — this is no garden variety Latin genre list, but a highlight reel of our favorite works by artists from Latin America and the diaspora.

10. Cazzu, “Latinaje”
Reeling from a romantic disappointment of mythological proportions and the lackluster reception of her previous album, Argentine trap queen Cazzu fired back with a maximalist travelogue that draws from salsa and cumbia, Argentine folk and electro-pop. Cazzu hails from the province of Jujuy, miles away from the musical snobbery that plagues much of Buenos Aires, and her genuine investment in a pan-Latino idiom is contagious. A sumptuous corrido tumbado about a red dress that went viral (“Dolce”) and an Andean-flavored ode to her daughter (“Inti”) are the emotional cornerstones of an album that refuses to harbor resentment and instead chooses to embrace plurality. Her absence from the main categories in this year’s Latin Grammys was nothing short of criminal. —Ernesto Lechner

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9. Netón Vega, “Mi Vida Mi Muerte”
As one of música mexicana’s most in-demand songwriters, Netón Vega has crafted hits for every big crossover artist, from Xavi to Peso Pluma. Naturally, it’s about time that he delivered a full-length project of his own. Vega’s debut album, “Mi Vida Mi Muerte,” takes stock of the current sound of corridos tumbados and pushes it to its limits alongside the very collaborators that he helped top the charts. Vega’s chameleonic qualities as a songwriter allow him to bend the rules of what counts as “Mexican” music, and over 21 songs, he establishes that his vision includes Californian G-funk, blissed-out boom bap and even Caribbean reggaeton. Vega sounds equally as comfortable on the radio smash “Loco” as he does wailing over a bajo sexto, proving that the future of corridos, with him at the helm, can be more expansive than ever before. —Reanna Cruz

8. Juana Aguirre, “Anónimo”
If the music business thing doesn’t quite pan out for Juana Aguirre, Argentina’s newly anointed resident genius could find success as a film director — such is the palpable cinematic gravity of “Anónimo,” a stark masterpiece of digital mood conjuring. Aguirre builds her tracks slowly, armed with an unerring instinct for beauty and a ruthless, try-and-discard methodology. The results are childlike at times — parts of “La Noche” and “Lo_Divino” sound like nursery rhymes — while the nakedness of “Volvieron” brims with a solemn, ageless kind of grace. Her sonic spectrum is panoramic, from esoteric folktronica murmurs and camouflaged industrial noise to the cosmic stillness of “Un Nombre Propio” and the ritualistic piano of “Las Ramas.” Until “Anónimo,” the Argentine avant-garde had never sounded so intoxicatingly sensuous. —E.L.

7. Adrian Quesada, “Boleros Psicodélicos II”
At the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, multi-instrumentalist and producer Adrian Quesada enlisted some of the most enthralling vocalists in Latin music to record “Boleros Psicodélicos,” a love letter to Latin American psychedelic ballads from the ’60s and ’70s. The album, which featured original compositions alongside kaleidoscopic covers of the genre, was hailed as an instant classic after its 2022 release. Three years later, Quesada improved upon the winning formula by actually being in the same room as his collaborators — the first album was made in isolation. “There’s a little bit more life, energy to some of the songs,” Quesada told De Los of “Boleros Psicodélicos II.” That vibrancy is certainly felt in tracks like “Bravo” — Puerto Rican singer iLe’s voice is laced with plenty of venom to do justice to Luis Demetrio’s spiteful lyrics (“Te odio tanto / Que yo misma me espanto / De mi forma de odiar”) — and “Primos,” which has Quesada pair up with guitar vibemasters Hermanos Gutiérrez for the album’s only instrumental track. Here’s hoping that we get another installment of this brilliant series three years from now. —Fidel Martinez

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6. Nick León, “A Tropical Entropy”
Hailing from Fort Lauderdale, Fla., just a hop, skip and a jump north of Miami, the electronic mixmaster Nick León broke through a busy pop music landscape this year as a producer with a distinctly Floridian point of view. In his latest album, “A Tropical Entropy” — the title harks back to a phrase from Joan Didion’s 1987 book, “Miami” — León crafted his moody “beach noir” sound by blanketing his dynamic assemblages of dembow, dancehall and other Afro-Caribbean rhythms with a foamy, oceanic ambience that flows and hisses throughout the record. Featuring the vocal talents of Ela Minus (“Ghost Orchid”), Erika De Casier (“Bikini”) and Esty (“Millennium Freak” with Mediopicky), it’s an audible feast for club kids whose afters entail collapsing on the sand and watching dolphins traverse the horizon at sunrise. —Suzy Exposito

5. Not For Radio, “Melt”
Released in October, “Melt” is the frosty solo album by María Zardoya, lead singer of Grammy-nominated L.A. band the Marías, who wrote and recorded 10 of her most soul-baring songs yet during a haunted winter sabbatical in the Catskills. Imbued with brooding elements of chamber pop à la Beach House, Broadcast and the Carpenters, there is much enchantment to be found in the details of Zardoya’s electric drama; like how the warm fuzz of an organ meets frosty chimes on opening track “Puddles,” or in the restless, skittish pulse of “Swan.” Zardoya’s yearning for a love lost crescendoes, and is most devastating, in the piano ballad “Back to You”; but it seems as though even her darkest, most melancholic moments are touched by the fae. —S.E.

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4. Isabella Lovestory, “Vanity”
With 2022’s “Amor Hardcore,” Isabella Lovestory established herself as a neoperreo princess — the Ivy Queen for the Instagram era. The Honduran pop star’s follow-up album “Vanity” takes a different approach, trading sleazy sexcapades for campy vulnerability. As in her name, Lovestory is inherently a storyteller. Her lyrics are pulled from half-remembered dreams, speaking of herself in immersive, surreal contradiction. She’s a perfume bottle made of foam, or a strawberry made of metal. It’s a deceptively saccharine world, one that she sees as, in her words, a “poisonous lollipop.” And when the production falls somewhere between RedOne productions and Plan B deep cuts, that world becomes a post-cultural, hazy pop dystopia of both the past and a far-off, distant future. —R.C.

3. Fuerza Regida “111XPantia”
In summer 2024, while promoting the band’s previous album, “Pero No Te Enamores,” Fuerza Regida frontman Jesús Ortiz Paz assured me that the San Bernardino quintet was not abandoning the sound that made it one of the biggest acts in the música mexicana space. Simply put, JOP was scratching a creative itch by flirting with Jersey club, drill and house music. True to his word, the charchetas and tololoche are now back and on full display in “111xPantia.” Yet the band’s 9th studio album is by no means a rehash of their past work; Fuerza Regida is as experimental as ever, whether by incorporating a banjo on “Peliculeando” (what’s next, a collab with Mumford & Sons?) or sampling Nino Rota’s iconic theme song on “GodFather” (given the focus on excess, the lyrics are more Tony Montana than Michael Corleone). This year, JOP & Co. set a new benchmark for the ever-evolving genre, all while becoming the biggest band in the world; Fuerza Regida was notably the only non-solo act to crack Spotify’s end-of-year top global artist list. —F.M.

2. Silvana Estrada, “Vendrán Suaves Lluvias”
Estrada’s second full-length album is a musical masterclass in maintaining serenity through loss. With her head held high, the Latin Grammy-winning Mexican singer-songwriter soldiered through an extended period of grief to write “Vendrán Suaves Lluvias,” including a harrowing heartbreak and the shocking murder of a friend. The bones of songs like “Como Un Pájaro” and “Un Rayo de Luz” are folk ballads, which she initially wrote using her trusty cuatro; but with the mighty backing of an orchestra, Estrada’s compositions swell with a symphonic grandeur that bolster the songbird’s more empowered and optimistic stance in the face of disappointment. “¿Cuál еra la idea de aventartе sin dejarte caer? Qué manera tan desoladora de querer,” she sings with an arid, jazzy inflection on “Dime” — a plea to a half-hearted lover who cowers at the force of her integrity. —S.E.

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1. Bad Bunny, “Debí Tirar Mas Fotós”
“Debí Tirar Mas Fotós” has managed to dominate conversation all year — from its No. 1 debut in January to this summer’s blockbuster residency and subsequent world tour. Much has been said already about Bad Bunny’s magnum opus; the album is a generation-spanning, full-throated celebration of boricua resilience, and simultaneously a pointed warning about the ongoing neocolonization of La Isla del Encanto. But perhaps, in the spirit of its title, its best function is as a series of timeless musical snapshots: There’s the sweeping voice of the jíbaro calling down from the mountains on “Lo Que Le Pasó A Hawaii.” Sweat from rum-soaked nights in Brickell and La Placita lingers on “Voy a LLevarte Pa PR” and “Eoo.” Hands fold together on “Weltita” as waves ebb and flow, and the warmth of a grandparent’s final forehead kiss lingers on “DTMF.” It’s a record that is designed to be intimately understood by Latinos, with Bad Bunny’s personal ethos of Puerto Rican independence managing to build a bridge between the island and those displaced from it. And with Benito’s Super Bowl victory lap right around the corner, “Debí Tirar Mas Fotós” is poised to dominate not just 2025, but the coming months as well, cementing him as — to paraphrase “Nuevayol” — el rey de pop, reggaetón y dembow.

Honorable mentions:

Reanna’s pick: Corridos Ketamina, “Corridos Ketamina”
There’s one night at the start of every Los Angeles autumn when you can begin to feel the chill of loneliness in the air. When I heard “V-Neno,” the opening track on Corridos Ketamina’s self-titled debut EP, I was taken back to the first time I felt it: walking around at 3 AM alone and moody as hell. The 14-minute EP is like if Lil Peep and Lil Tracy went down to Sinaloa for the weekend. Triple-tracked vocals drenched in reverb drift over sluggish guitar loops, all struggling to claw out of the K-hole. Yes, technically Corridos Ketamina are making narcocorridos (what you see is what you get: in an interview with the Fader, they put it simply, “Let’s make the first corrido about doing K”), but there’s something still warm and inviting at the core of these seven songs. Maybe it’s the familiar blend of emo, rap, shoegaze and corridos — or it’s the fact that this is a record that could only come out of Los Angeles, born out of late nights on empty freeways and in seedy apartments. —R.C.

Ernesto’s pick: Amor Elefante, “Amigas”
I dare you not to smile when you listen to “Hipnótico,” the synth-pop fantasia that kicks off “Amigas,” a welcome return to action for Buenos Aires quartet Amor Elefante. The band moves in the fertile periphery where sunshine pop meets dream rock, channeling the Police on the reggae vibe of “Universal Hit” and diving into Cocteau Twins ether on “La Vuelta.” If anything, “Amigas” illustrates the band’s bloom as composers of potential singles: drummer Rocío Fernández goes funky on the folk-driven “La Vuelta,” while keyboardist Inés Copertino flexes her disco diva status on the outro line to “Foto de una Coreografía.” In lead singer Rocío Bernardiner, Amor boasts one of South America’s most radiant voices. —E.L.

Suzy’s pick: Ela Minus, “Día”
Born in Bogotá, Colombia, and now based in Brooklyn, electronic artist-producer Gabriela Jimeno, or Ela Minus, first bonded with beats as a tween drummer in a hardcore band. That rugged punk rock intensity would later unify the vast, synth-laden sprawl that is her second album, “Día”: a chronicle of her displacement during the COVID-19 pandemic and subsequent ego death. She lets her listeners in with the vulnerable yet galvanizing dance track “I Want to Be Better,” which she has described as her “only love song” — but icily calls for the world’s end on the Latin Grammy-nominated club cut “QQQQ,” and rejects the parasocial worship of pop stars in “Idols,” chanting: “Chasing after phantoms / Bowing down to someone else’s idols.” Indeed — how embarrassing! —S.E.

Fidel’s pick: Cuco, “Ridin’”
Hawthorne’s own Cuco (real name Omar Banos) tapped into the soundtrack of Southern California’s lowrider culture — soul and R&B — to make “Ridin’” one of the best neo-Chicano soul albums in recent years. Tracks like “My 45” and “ICNBYH” (“I Could Never Break Your Heart”) are perfect accompaniments for slow drives down Whittier Boulevard. “Para Ti,” the only Spanish song on the LP, sounds like it could come out of one of your abuelo’s bolero albums. —F.M.

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Movie Review – Avatar: Fire and Ash (2025)

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Movie Review – Avatar: Fire and Ash (2025)

Avatar: Fire and Ash, 2025.

Directed by James Cameron.
Starring Sam Worthington, Zoe Saldaña, Sigourney Weaver, Stephen Lang, Oona Chaplin, Kate Winslet, Cliff Curtis, Joel David Moore, CCH Pounder, Edie Falco, Brendan Cowell, Jemaine Clement, Giovanni Ribisi, David Thewlis, Britain Dalton, Jack Champion, Trinity Jo-Li Bliss, Jamie Flatters, Bailey Bass, Filip Geljo, Duane Evans Jr., Matt Gerald, Dileep Rao, Daniel Lough, Kevin Dorman, Keston John, Alicia Vela-Bailey, and Johnny Alexander.

SYNOPSIS:

Jake and Neytiri’s family grapples with grief after Neteyam’s death, encountering a new, aggressive Na’vi tribe, the Ash People, who are led by the fiery Varang, as the conflict on Pandora escalates and a new moral focus emerges.

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At one point during one of the seemingly endless circular encounters in Avatar: Fire and Ash, (especially if director James Cameron sticks to his plans of making five films in this franchise) former soldier turned blue family man (or family Na’vi?) and protector Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) tells his still-in-pursuit-commander-nemesis-transferred-to-a-Na’vi-body Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang) that the world of Pandora runs deeper than he or anyone imagines, and to open his eyes. It’s part of a plot point in which Jake encourages the villainous Quaritch to change his ways.

More fascinatingly, it comes across as a plea of trust from James Cameron (once again writing the screenplay alongside Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver) that there is still much untapped lore and stories to tell in this world. If this repetitive The Way of Water retread is anything to go by, more isn’t justified. Even taken as a spectacle, the unmatched and undeniably stunning visuals (not to mention the most expressive motion capture ever put to screen, movie or video game), that aspect is less impactful, being only two years removed from the last installment rather than a decade, which is not to be confused with less impressive. Fortunately for the film and its gargantuan 3+ hour running time, James Cameron still has enough razzle-dazzle to scoot by here on unparalleled marvel alone, even if the narrative and character expansions are bare-bones.

That’s also what makes it disappointing that this third entry, while introducing a new group dubbed the Ash People led by the strikingly conceptualized Varang (Oona Chaplin) – no one creates scenery-chewing, magnetic, and badass-looking villains quite like James Cameron – and their plight with feeling left behind, rebelling against Pandora religion, Avatar: Fire and Ash is stuck in a cycle of Jake endangering his family (and, by extension, everyone around them) with Quaritch hunting him down for vengeance but this time more fixated on his human son living among them, Spider (Jack Champion) who undergoes a physical transformation that makes him a valuable experiment and, for better or worse, the most important living being in this world. Even the corrupt and greedy marine biologists are back hunting the same godlike sea creatures, leading to what essentially feels like a restaging, if slightly different, riff on the climactic action beat that culminated in last time around.

Worse, whereas The Way of Water had a tighter, more graceful flow from storytelling to spectacle, with sequences extended and drawn out in rapturously entertaining ways, the pacing here is clunkier and frustrating, as every time these characters collide and fight, the story resets and doesn’t necessarily progress. For as much exciting action as there is here, the film also frustratingly starts and stops too much. The last thing I ever expected to type about Avatar: Fire and Ash is that, for all the entrancing technical wizardry on display, fantastical world immersion, and imaginative character designs (complete with occasional macho and corny dialogue that fits, namely since the presentation is in a high frame rate consistently playing like the world’s most expensive gaming cut scene), is often dull.

Yes, everything here, from a special-effects standpoint, is painstakingly crafted, with compelling characters that James Cameron clearly loves (something that shows and allows us to take the story seriously). Staggeringly epic action sequences are worth singling out as in a tier of its own (it’s also a modern movie free from the generally garish and washed-out look of others in this generation), but it’s all in service of a film that is not aware of its strengths, but instead committed to not going anywhere. There are a couple of important details here that one could tell someone before they watch the inevitable Avatar 4, and they will be caught up without needing to watch this. If Avatar: The Way of Water was filler (something I wholeheartedly disagree with), then Avatar: Fire and Ash is nothing. And that’s something that hurts to say.

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Without spoiling too much, the single best scene in the entire film has nothing to do with epic-scale warring, but a smoldering courting from Quaritch for Varang and her army of Ash People to join forces with his group. In a film that’s over three hours, it would also have been welcome to focus more on the Ash People, their past, and their current inner workings alongside their perception of Pandora. It’s not a shock that James Cameron can invest viewers into a villain without doing so, but the alternative of watching Jake grapple with militarizing the Na’vi and insisting everyone learn how to use “sky people” firearms while coming to terms with whether or not he can actually protect his family isn’t as engaging; the latter half comes across as déjà vu.

The presence of Spider amplifies the target on everyone’s backs, with Jake convinced the boy needs to return to his world. His significant other Neytiri (Zoe Saldaña), with rage building inside her stemming from the family losing a child in the climax of the previous film, encourages a more aggressive approach and is ready to kill Spider if him being a part of the family threatens their remaining children (with one of them once again a 14-year-old motion captured by Sigourney Weaver, which is not as effective a voice performance this time as there are scenes of loud agony and pain where she sounds her age). The children also get to continue their plot arcs, with similarly slim narrative progression.

Not without glimpses of movie-magic charm and emotional moments would one dare say James Cameron is losing his touch. However, Avatar: Fire and Ash is all the proof anyone needs to question whether five of these are required, as it’s beginning to look more and more as if the world and characters aren’t as rich as the filmmaker believes they are. It’s another action-packed technical marvel with sincere, endearing characters, but the cycling nature of those elements is starting to wear thin and yield diminishing returns.

Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★ ★ ★

Robert Kojder

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