The person who said "experience comes from age" definitely didn't meet James Cameron or, more accurately, didn't watch his Avatar movies. The 71-year-old filmmaker, through these science-fiction epics, constantly reminds us that he is short on ideas and reliant on technological trickery. These big-budget extravaganzas are powered by a thin, sentimental core that revolves around the concept of family. "Sullys always stick together" is the motto of Jake (Sam Worthington) and his family, consisting of his wife, Neytiri (Zoe Saldaña), and a mix of biological and adopted kids. Cameron fits this traditional, familial worldview into a generic revenge plot in which Colonel Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang) hunts down Jake and his family.
Miles, too, is a parent. He is the father of Miles "Spider" Socorro (Jack Champion), but it is a deeply fractured relationship. Spider sees Jake as his father and Miles as an enemy. Even the new villain, Varang (Oona Chaplin), is defined through familial trauma: her parents and other Mangkwan clan members died in a volcanic eruption, an event that led her to reject Eywa, the deity worshiped by the Na'vi.
This brings me to another aspect of Avatar: Fire and Ash, and that's religious belief. The Sullys place absolute faith in Eywa. Varang, on the other hand, is a cult figure — she is treated as a god by her acolytes. Cameron, though, shows little curiosity about what this belief system actually looks like. Do Varang's people practice rituals? Do they have a code of conduct? Is there any philosophical grounding? Cameron merely uses them as obstacles, a fact made evident by how quickly he dispenses with the clan's history in a single line. Their drug use is employed only for flashy gimmicks (there is a brief hallucinogenic POV shot through Miles's eyes) and for narrative convenience, allowing Jake and his children to escape unnoticed while the group dances in a haze, ecstatically. This surface-level treatment aligns with the cursory attention Cameron gives to other plot points.
For instance, he shows no genuine interest in exploring Spider's inner conflict when he finally meets his biological father after years of separation. All we get is a vaguely confused expression, a face trying to process the weight of this meeting. Even at the end, when Spider is placed between his real and adopted fathers, Cameron opts for a joke rather than confronting the emotional complexity of the scene.
What's more, Miles's character arc is riddled with inconsistency. At one point, he shifts from hating Jake to trusting him, only to revert to his original stance after a while. This change in perspective is handled like an on-off switch, with Cameron altering behavior purely to meet the script's immediate needs. Decisions like these render Avatar: Fire and Ash mechanical; instead of psychology, we hear plot gears moving thuddingly.
Cameron even presents a moment in which Jake comes close to killing Spider, yet refuses to explore the consequences of an act like this. This reluctance stems from Cameron's clear division between the good and the bad guys. The good characters are always right, regardless of their morally dubious actions (take Neytiri's suspicion of Spider or Jake's near-justification of her hostility). In contrast, the bad characters remain irredeemable, even when they display genuine humanity (as Miles does in his love for his son).
There is a scene in Fire and Ash where Jake scolds Lo'ak (Britain Dalton) and declares, "This is family, not democracy." In this version of "family," men start wars while women primarily exist to support them in their fight. They grieve, debate about medicinal herbs, and participate in combat, but Cameron's view of women remains strikingly narrow and a little archaic. Varang's fire of leadership, for example, is almost extinguished once she enters a relationship with Miles. She is pushed into the background as he steals her narrative spotlight. If Varang seeks power, we are never told what she intends to do with it. Does she have a vision? A plan? Any ideological ambition? She is denied the space to articulate her desires, while Miles seems content to use her to satisfy his sexual appetite.
Cameron's worldview, then, appears fairly patriarchal, with men occupying positions of authority and narrative importance. While he may be experimenting with new technology, his thematic vision is backward, outdated, and formulaic. Even the technology itself is deployed conventionally. The camera simply gazes at immaculately rendered visual effects, filling the screen with hollow spectacle. Some of these images are undeniably beautiful, especially the merchant ships floating through the sky like giant, colorful butterflies. What's missing, however, from this million-dollar display is a sense of awe, a distinctive cinematic personality.
Cameron also fails to bring his scenes to life with dramatic vigor, which is why so many of them feel monotonous, lifeless, and uninteresting. After a while, Fire and Ash begins to test your patience; it nearly lulls you to sleep. What the film ultimately reveals is that it is not the work of a filmmaker with a sharp cinematic eye, but of a mind trapped in a childish dream world for a long time. Cameron no longer sits behind the director's chair and shouts "Action!" Instead, he resembles the owner of a private island, inviting audiences to take an exclusive peek at his fantastical creatures and beasts. He has drifted away from filmmaking and into spectacle management, selling tickets to his personal house of amusements—theme-park rides masquerading as cinematic delights. If only those rides were worth the price.
Final Score- [4/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
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Publisher at Midgard Times