Disney’s Raya and the Last Dragon arrived in 2021 with stunning visuals, heartfelt performances, and a central theme that resonates across cultures: trust as the key to healing a broken world. Critics and audiences largely found it watchable and emotionally engaging, praising its Southeast Asian inspirations and message of unity. Yet beneath its shimmering surface, the film carries a handful of structural flaws that blur its mythic logic and weaken its emotional payoff. These issues don’t ruin the movie—they simply keep it from becoming the timeless fable it wants to be.
Let’s look at where the story drifts and how a few grounded adjustments could let its message truly flow.
The Exposition Avalanche
The film opens by telling us the entire backstory—dragons, Druun, the magical gem, and the world’s division—before we meet a single living soul. Because we never experience these events through emotion, they fade from memory; even crucial details, such as the dragons remaining petrified after the first miracle, slip away. A stronger opening would show the fall of harmony in a brief cinematic prologue, then let the remaining lore surface naturally through dialogue and discovery. What the hero learns, the audience remembers.
The Silly Dragon Lore
We’re informed that dragons “brought water and rain,” as if they were benevolent weather dispensers. This oversimplified notion breaks the myth’s dignity. True elemental beings don’t hand out resources like gifts; they embody the balance of nature itself. Instead, the story could introduce Dragonettes—elemental spirits that like to take the form of dragons. When trust falters, they withdraw, and the elements still. Rain returns not because they “make” it, but because balance is restored.
Cozy, Predictable Dragons
All dragons are portrayed as friendly, plush companions. Without mystery or danger, awe disappears. The Dragonettes should be unpredictable—sometimes gentle, sometimes fierce—reflecting the inner state of the world and of Raya herself. When fear divides her heart, they dim; when she trusts, they shimmer. Mythic creatures mirror humanity’s virtues and flaws, not cushion them.
The First Failed Miracle left dragons petrified
Sisu’s initial use of the gem saves humanity but leaves the dragons stone, a contradiction never explained. To ground the law of magic, Sisu could admit a tragic mistake: she didn’t trust enough. And from that she learned. The gem requires trust—every heart beating as one—for full restoration. Her doubt achieved partial salvation; faith was the missing element.
Ungrounded Shapeshifting
Sisu’s sudden transformation into human form arrives without foreshadowing, feeling whimsical rather than wondrous. If Dragonettes can change shape according to harmony, this should be stated early. Begin with Sisu in human guise—humble, uncertain—so Raya doubts her claim being Sisu. Only when trust blossoms does she reveal her magnificent true form, turning transformation into payoff instead of surprise.
Namaari’s Vague Antagonism
Namaari’s resistance to uniting the gem feels contrived. Facing extinction, why hesitate? Give her a clear motive: fear of being petrified again. The shard she clings to is both shield and symbol of control. Handing it over means surrendering her last defense. Now her hesitation carries emotional logic rather than arbitrary conflict.
Doubt After Sisu’s Death
When Sisu falls, Namaari’s despair and holding on to the shard should deepen: “Only a Dragon can restore the gem.” This belief amplifies the tension. The humans must act with no guarantee, trusting an unseen law. The waiting becomes sacred suspense, turning faith into the film’s true climax.
A Resurrection with Cost
In the current film, Sisu’s automatic revival cancels decision-consequence paradigm. The real resurrection already occurs when the world and dragons awaken anyhow. To preserve weight, Sisu should remain lifeless as the Dragonettes mourn her. Only after Raya and Namaari fully repent—confessing pride, fear, and guilt—does harmony ignite and Sisu breathe again. Her return then embodies transformation, not reset.
How These Changes Heal the Story
With these adjustments, Raya and the Last Dragon transforms from a visually impressive parable with loose logic into a fully realized myth with emotional weight and spiritual coherence. The exposition becomes lived experience; the Dragonettes replace simplistic rain-bringers with elemental grace and symbolic truth; miracles follow consistent laws grounded in moral action.
Trust is no longer a slogan but a tangible force — the current that flows when hearts align. Sacrifice retains consequence, resurrection becomes transformation, and every act reflects a world that operates by clear spiritual physics.
But perhaps most importantly, these changes restore archetypal familiarity and true dragon lore remains intact. When storytellers deviate too far from these shared narrative roots, the audience struggles to orient themselves. The eyes may admire the spectacle, but the soul cannot recognize its reflection.
Without that resonance, even the most lavish film risks feeling hollow — failing to generate the emotional word-of-mouth that drives lasting success. A movie can dazzle in the short term, but if its symbols are unmoored and its miracles unearned, it won’t echo in conversation or memory.
Audiences can’t champion a story they don’t quite understand. You can’t start an excited debate with friends when you’re still trying to decode what you just watched. Imagine the conversation:
Person A: So, what were the dragons like?
Person B: Oh, they brought water… you know, like rain spirits.
Person A: Wait, what?
Person B: Yeah… and they were magical… I think?
Person A: Magical? How so?
Person B: I don’t know… They were turned to stone anyway.
Person A: …Right. And how was Superman the other day?
If viewers can’t explain what moved them, or why the world’s logic makes sense, the emotional spark fizzles. Confusion replaces wonder, and conversation drifts to safer ground.
That’s why mythic clarity matters — not just for artistic integrity, but for cultural survival. When stories honor archetypes and internal laws, audiences recognize their echoes and carry them forward. When they don’t, even spectacle becomes forgettable.
Grounding a story in coherent myth isn’t just artistic discipline — it’s storytelling economics. Connection creates meaning, meaning creates buzz, and buzz fills seats. By aligning emotional truth with archetypal clarity, Raya and the Last Dragon could have become not only a beautiful film, but a cultural touchstone — one that flows like water through time, remembered for what it taught as much as what it showed.
Thank you,
Ira