How to Evaluate Varang, the New Female Villain in Avatar 3?

It’s a case of a strong start followed by a disappointing decline—divided into two parts: before meeting the Colonel, Varang was an unapologetically villainous “female protagonist” whose charisma outshone all other characters, both hero and villain. After crossing paths with the Colonel, however, her character arc plummets, reduced to little more than a supporting role to prop up the Colonel’s development.


In the first half of the story, Varang is genuinely compelling. Abandoned by Eywa, who refused to save her people, she rose from the ashes. (To clarify: I understand Eywa is essentially the planet’s ecological immune system, with neural connections spanning the entire world, allowing all creatures to share information. When alien species invade and threaten ecological balance, this immune system acts to eliminate the threat—but it does not intervene in natural disasters within the planet itself.)

From the perspective of her Ash People clan, her opposition to Eywa is entirely justified: having endured untold suffering, she fights tooth and nail for her people’s survival, rejecting their “god” and sparing no effort to seize resources. This is a philosophy of survival, and the motives behind her “evil” actions are entirely believable.

As a truly independent female leader with no mate, she consolidated all power and ruled her tribe with an iron fist.


She possessed boldness—daring to lead the charge against the “god” of the planet, a risk of incalculable magnitude in a world without modern civilization. Fortunately, as a master of fire, she had no fear of being burned.

She was cunning: using hallucinogenic “drugs” to establish a new “faith,” elevating herself to a godlike figure to control the entire tribe.

She even convinced her followers to willingly set themselves ablaze in suicide attacks—a tactic akin to terrorism, yet framed by her as a “myth.” Just as other clans on Pandora willingly surrender to Eywa, the Ash People’s return to the flames became an act of belonging and martyrdom, a testament to her exceptional leadership.

Most importantly, her unyielding drive to achieve her goals outmatched every other protagonist.


The hero, Jake Sully, spent the entire time enduring and fleeing. The Tulkun clan followed suit—echoing the plot of The Island, where peaceful natives refuse to kill until their village faces total annihilation, finally resolving to fight back. It rendered the entire second film meaningless; their indecision was infuriating to watch.

The female lead, Neytiri, fared better, but haunted by the loss of her son in the previous film, she spent much of the early story drowning in grief, torn between whether to kill her adopted son Spider. This reduced her character, a far cry from the fierce, tribe-first “female protagonist” of the first film who bared her teeth and fought without hesitation. Fortunately, her heroic warrior spirit shone through in the final battle, redeeming her somewhat.

The villainous Colonel, meanwhile, is overly fixated: the core theme of three films boils down to his obsession with dueling a former corporal. I truly believe this motive cannot sustain three installments. His dynamic with Jake is oddly ambiguous—they repeatedly take each other captive yet never kill one another, instead waiting for the final showdown to discard their weapons and fight hand-to-hand. In this film, Jake even saves him, with dialogue explicitly stating, “This is awkward now.” It feels as though the two men will reconcile in the next installment; after three films of entanglement over a single grudge, it’s clear this is “true love.”


Against this backdrop, Varang—the Ash People’s female leader—eclipses them all in both charisma and motivation.

Beyond character appeal, I actually find the ideology of Varang’s Ash People to be more compelling.

First, having been abandoned by Eywa during a volcanic eruption, they rejected the divine and became atheists—this is the first step toward modern civilization.

Second, they embrace new ideas: while most Na’vi refuse to use human weapons, the Ash People eagerly learn to wield guns, even revering them as sacred relics.

For any civilization, such a willingness to learn guarantees success.

Of course, the Ash People’s actions—looting, pillaging, allying with a powerful enemy, and allegedly using hallucinogens to create a new “religion” to control followers—are unquestionably wrong.


But for the Na’vi, as colonized people who reject all new things and wait passively for the power of their ancestors to save them, it stretches credibility to the breaking point. As someone from China, a nation with a rich modern history, I struggle to accept this narrative choice.

Thus, in the first half, I wholeheartedly rooted for the Ash People and Varang.

But after meeting the Colonel, her character takes a nosedive.

She invites the Colonel into a tent with overtly reproductive symbolism, and when she seduces him, I assumed she planned to control him or use him to strengthen her clan. Instead, the scene comes across as nothing more than a powerful man who understands her desires (resources and firepower), and her desire to submit to him like a “kitten.”

From that point on, Varang centers her actions entirely on the Colonel’s orders, reduced to his “side girlfriend.” Meanwhile, the Colonel merely dons red paint to superficially “join” the Ash People, all while prioritizing the interests of the human military.


In the final battle, Varang makes a brief appearance before vanishing entirely, with no resolution to her fate (the Colonel at least gets a scene of him falling into the flames, his fate left unknown).

I find it impossible to reconcile her later portrayal with the female villain who rose from Eywa’s “abandonment,” mastered the power of fire, led her surviving people to survive by any means necessary, and relied on no one but herself. It feels as though she lost all agency after sleeping with the Colonel—a tragic waste.

That said, their chemistry as a couple is undeniable.

Varang’s storyline had immense untapped potential. First, she reflects a crucial dynamic in Western colonial history: colonized peoples are never a monolith, and Western colonizers often rely on proxies to incite civil wars. Through Varang, colonizing Pandora would have been far easier—a key part of the Colonel’s plan, only to be dismissed by the female Colonel in a scene that feels like forced plot contrivance.


Second, Varang is clearly a character with a rich backstory. How did she acquire her powers? In the world of Avatar, no clan leader rises to power without reason, and most possess some form of extraordinary ability (e.g., Varang’s neural queue is clearly more powerful than others). When she visited the human base and was looked down upon, she reacted with anger—a sign of her confidence and capability. I was genuinely curious to learn the story behind this.

Finally, Varang is portrayed by Oona Chaplin—yes, the granddaughter of Charlie Chaplin.

If Avatar 4 is greenlit, I eagerly anticipate exploring Varang’s powers and backstory, and hope she is not further diminished to elevate the Colonel’s character.

To sum up Varang’s characterization and the Colonel’s choice in one sentence: Ash People High Priestess Varang is a fascinating anti-Eywa “Antichrist” figure, while the Colonel finds his true belonging with her and the Ash People amid rejection from both humans and other Na’vi clans.

The term “Antichrist” originates from Christian eschatology, typically referring to a figure or force that openly opposes Christ and seeks to usurp God’s position before the apocalypse. In theological interpretations, it is often associated with false prophets and the “great sinner,” symbolizing the ultimate betrayal and challenge to Christian faith.


Sound familiar?

Thus, after seeing Varang and the Colonel on screen, I couldn’t help but draw parallels to three classic films: Dracula, Alien, and Predator.

Dracula questioned God after his lover’s suicide, stabbed Jesus on the cross with his sword, and became a vampire—echoing Varang’s backstory exactly.

In the Avatar universe, there is a deity named Eywa. While from a sci-fi perspective, Eywa is more akin to the planet’s collective consciousness, the Na’vi genuinely worship her as a god.

Varang and her clan are the only ones in the film who reject Eywa, vowing to abandon her. Their betrayal stems from a catastrophic volcanic eruption that devastated their people: they prayed desperately to Eywa for salvation, but received only silence. This silence was interpreted as betrayal or impotence, leading them to renounce Eywa entirely.

After publicly rejecting Eywa, Varang gained control over fire, using this new faith in flames and mysterious substances to rule the remaining Ash People. She wages a campaign of extermination against other Na’vi clans who worship Eywa, cutting off their neural queues as a direct challenge to the deity after killing them.

If you’ve seen Dracula, you’ll surely remember how the count became a vampire: he deemed his faith useless after his lover’s death, became an Antichrist figure, and gained immortality by feeding on blood.

Varang’s character mirrors the count perfectly—both are renegades from orthodox belief.

Their emotional journeys follow the same arc: an individual endures unbearable trauma (lover’s death/clan near-extinction) → pleads with the supreme being in their faith but receives only silence → this silence is interpreted as betrayal or powerlessness, triggering a violent rebellion → abandons the original faith and gains alien powers.

The entire world of Pandora is dominated by the color blue, symbolizing life and vitality. Varang’s power over destructive fire stands in stark contrast, reflecting her role as a force of opposition.

In contrast, Jake Sully and his family follow the opposite path: enduring unbearable trauma (elder son’s death/Spider’s near-death) → pleading with Eywa but receiving silence → the pray-ers reflect on their own flaws and cling to their faith (continuing to pray) → ultimately receiving divine intervention and becoming more devout believers (Eywa finally reveals herself).

In short, whether Eywa remains silent or grants revelations, the Na’vi are expected to remain pious.

Perhaps this is Eywa’s test?

The dynamic between Varang and the Colonel is equally compelling.

Their connection is not mere lust—it is genuine mutual admiration.

To the Colonel, Varang is not just an ally; she represents a clan that can truly accept him.

Who is the Colonel?

A U.S. soldier—a grizzled veteran who built his life on military merit and bloodshed, a quintessential redneck white man.

What does Jake say when he tries to redeem the Colonel?

“You’re no longer human—you could integrate into Pandora as a Na’vi.”

Jake is not wrong: the “normal humans” at the base reject the Colonel, and he is no fool.

But this does not mean he can join Jake’s faction.

Because Jake’s camp is far too “virtuous”!

Asking this redneck to abandon his roots and embrace the Na’vi’s spiritual worldview is like forcing a farmer to eat organic gluten-free burgers in the city—it would kill him.

As a soldier loyal to humanity trapped in a Na’vi body, the Colonel is an outcast to both sides. Varang and the Ash People offer him a sense of belonging.

Stripped of his human form, rejected by his human compatriots, and unable to accept the Na’vi’s spiritual beliefs,

Varang and the Ash People provide the perfect solution: “a Na’vi body to execute humanity’s conquest.”

A Na’vi body, a soul of a ruthless killer, and no need to worship Eywa—perfect!

One scene perfectly encapsulates the Colonel’s transformation.

After emerging from Varang’s tent, the Ash People gathered around the campfire bow to him in submission. The Colonel’s response is essentially: “Bring me a large cup—I’ll drink with you all to your heart’s content.”

In any culture, sharing a drink symbolizes integration and acceptance.

At the human base, the Colonel is an outcast.

Among the forest and ocean clans, he is a hated invader.

Among the Ash People, the Colonel can be unapologetically himself—a fierce warrior, revered as a leader.

Thus, this scene is far more than just drinking; it marks his transition from a displaced wanderer to the official war chief of the Ash People.

The union of the Colonel, Varang, and the Ash People in the film is truly a match made in heaven, promising prosperity for their clan.

The Ash People are warlike, and the Colonel provides them with weapons and advanced tactics.

In the film’s final battle, Jake’s faction was on the verge of victory—until the Colonel and Varang arrived with a hundred Ash People warriors, instantly turning the tide.

Just as Jake Sully became the “Toruk Makto” of the forest clan through his union with Neytiri,

the Colonel becomes the war chief of the Ash People through his union with Varang.

Varang and the Ash People’s design likely draws inspiration from Alien and Predator.

This is not to say their appearance resembles the Alien or Predator—rather, Varang exudes the same aura as the Alien Queen, while the Ash People’s camp layout and tactics mirror the Predator’s style.

Varang’s characterization clearly references Alien.

In the scene where the Colonel visits the Ash People’s territory to meet Varang, a shot lingers on her tent: its entrance bears an uncanny resemblance to female genitalia. Any Alien fan would immediately recall the open maw of a Facehugger upon seeing it.

Like the Alien Queen, Varang is the absolute core and will of her clan—cold, powerful, and radiating a primal, reproductive threat.

The Ash People’s camp design, body paint, practice of cutting off neural queues as trophies, and reverence for pure strength and hunting rituals all evoke the “primitive high-tech hunter” vibe of the Predator franchise. This sets them in stark contrast to other Na’vi clans.

That said, Avatar 3 carries such strong religious undertones that Varang and the Colonel—despite being villains—exude a dangerous, captivating vitality.

To put it plainly: she is a terrorist for a political organization.

As I analyzed in another discussion, her rule is defined by three key elements:

First, religious control;Second, cult of power;Third, fusion of theocratic and military authority.

Together, these make it clear that she is a textbook example of an extremist mobilizing political leader—fueled by martyrdom narratives, jihadization of her organization, and legitimization of violence.

What’s more, I firmly believe she and Quaritch are not true collaborators in the latter half of the film, but merely allies of convenience bound by mutual exploitation.

This dynamic is reflected in modern military strategy:

The tactic of co-opting the Ash People is known in strategic studies as a proxy war—where an external power provides funding, training, intelligence, or weapons to local armed or paramilitary groups to fight common enemies or rival factions, while minimizing the external power’s costs and political risks.

After the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003, Al-Qaeda in Iraq (AQI) emerged to oppose the U.S.-backed Iraqi government. Around 2007, Iraqi militias formed the Awakening Councils, which—with U.S. support and funding—turned against AQI. Their motivation was pragmatic: defeating AQI brought both U.S. salaries and weapons. Studies have noted that during certain periods, the Awakening Councils “used the United States” to counter AQI.

This is exactly what the Ash People are doing with Quaritch’s military support: joining forces to take down Jake.

And this is exactly what Varang is doing: using Quaritch to fight Eywa.

Yet their alliance is inherently unstable.

The core of any proxy relationship is tension between the external power’s desire for control (Quaritch) and the local proxy’s hunger for autonomy (Varang). Their partnership is superficial, marked by mutual reservations and long-term friction.

Modern military history is replete with examples proving that proxy wars breed no loyalty—only transactions.

Returning to the film: does Varang know the Sky People’s ultimate goal is to colonize Pandora, and how will she choose her side?

My bold prediction:

She is likely fully aware—and deliberately taking the risk.

As I’ve argued before, she is a fanatical ideologue, a born politician. She will never sacrifice her goals for love; sleeping with Quaritch means nothing—certainly not that she intends to be “the boss’s woman.”

Her apparent subservience in the latter half of the film stems from her clan’s existential crisis: devastated by disaster, the Ash People are desperate for firepower, resources, allies, and deterrence. She also understands that greater external support means deeper dependence. If she truly saved Quaritch after his fall in Avatar 3, in Avatar 4 she will likely push for further negotiations:

“I helped you capture Jake—now you must deliver more weapons so I can destroy the Sacred Tree. Don’t forget our deal. My goal is to eliminate Eywa.”

If Quaritch refuses, conflict is inevitable.

After all, if Cameron has framed her as a terrorist, would such a character suddenly abandon her ideology for love? Would she fracture her own movement?

Remember: at the start of the film, she ordered her people to launch suicide attacks on enemy ships.

Her willingness to sacrifice her own clan proves her bottom line is not emotion, but her objective.

The sidelining of her character in the latter half is clearly a plot device: after showcasing her brilliance, it was time to shift focus to the primary villain, Quaritch.

Her eventual fallout with Quaritch is essential to the story of Avatar 4, 5, and 6.

I also suspect that the female military officer who berates Quaritch at the human base lacks his strategic clarity.

Her logic is baffling: when Quaritch returns to the base with Varang, she threatens, “Get your girlfriend out of here.” But without the Ash People, would they have captured Jake so quickly?

A truly military-minded leader would have courted Varang, employing a divide-and-rule strategy—exploiting fractures within the enemy camp by trading weapons and resources for loyalty, making Pandora’s colonization far easier.

Divide-and-rule is most infamously associated with British colonial governance in India and its role in fomenting religious division, which ultimately led to India’s partition upon independence in 1947. After the 1857 Indian Rebellion, the British Crown replaced the East India Company and conducted large-scale censuses, classifying society into rigid, mutually exclusive castes and religious groups. British administrators in the 19th century believed that identifying these differences was key to efficient colonial rule: by mapping India’s social and religious fabric, they could divide and co-opt potential allies while neutralizing resistance.

Colonizers excel not at winning wars, but at sowing division.

In the end, Varang has turned grief into ideology and faith into a weapon. Her alliance with Quaritch is temporary.

Once she secures sufficient firepower, her first move will be to renegotiate their deal—and if it fails, she will burn it all down.

The future of Avatar 4, 5, and 6 hinges on when she decides to flip the table.

I’ve been utterly hooked on Mirage and couldn’t stop watching—even saw this prompt while in the bathroom. So why not take the chance to discuss when the female villain was originally supposed to ally with the Colonel in the original script?

As everyone knows, Avatar 2 and Avatar 3 were split from a single film. The extensive repetition between the two is because James Cameron wanted each installment to have a complete, traditional three-act structure, forcing many elements to be reused twice.

This is why you’ll notice countless parallels between 2 and 3:

The young tulkun is exiled twice for “killing”;

Spider is captured by humans twice and escapes twice;

The eldest daughter fails to connect with Eywa twice;

Tulkun pods are hunted en masse twice;

The Sully family is hunted twice…

Crucially, these parallels all involve character arcs left unfinished in 2 and resolved in 3.

By merging these repetitive elements, we can roughly reconstruct the original script’s structure.

Returning to the female villain: her “parallel arc” ties into the Colonel’s quest to find the Sullys.

In 2, after fruitlessly searching for the Sullys, the Colonel teams up with the whaling crew to lure the family out by hunting tulkuns.

In 3, the Colonel once again searches endlessly for the Sullys (surely all nearby fishing villages have been wiped out by now) before allying with the female villain.

This is clearly a parallel—2 spends its runtime circling back to square one.

We can thus infer that in the original story, the Colonel only searched for the Sullys once; failing to find them, he turned to the female villain’s clan for an alliance.

In 2, the Colonel’s team hunting the children in the forest mirrors their encounter with the female villain’s group at the start of 3. In the original script, this is likely where the Colonel first met the female villain—and where Spider’s respiratory issues should have been foreshadowed.

The “parallel theory” also explains other plot inconsistencies, such as why the second son feels it’s his “mission” to find the exiled young tulkun.

Logically, the second son shouldn’t owe the tulkun anything—his older brother died saving it at the end of 2.

But merging parallels suggests that in the original script, the young tulkun was never exiled initially; it may have faced discrimination for a physical defect but still bonded with the son as a spirit brother.

In the original story, the second son didn’t get his brother killed to save the tulkun. Instead, he likely called on the tulkun to help rescue a loved one (most likely Spider—if Spider’s respiratory crisis was moved earlier, humans would have been hunting Spider here, not tulkuns; the tulkun hunt only happened once, in 3), inadvertently causing the tulkun’s exile.

This explains his sense of mission to find the exiled tulkun in 3—he carries guilt.

We can further infer that the end of 2 in the original script marked the second act of the three-act structure (similar to the destruction of Hometree in Avatar 1), where all characters face devastation and the plot hits rock bottom: the eldest son is dead, the tulkun is exiled, and Spider’s fate hangs in the balance.

The turning point hinges on Spider’s fate. Jake’s decision to spare Spider in 3 was likely the key second-act-to-third-act twist (echoing becoming Toruk Makto in 1). (Side note: Some claim this “Spider peeing” scene is a bathroom break moment for audiences—this is entirely misleading, as it’s the most crucial dialogue-driven scene in Avatar 3.)

Choosing not to kill Spider reveals their humanity, uniting them to rally for the final battle against humans.

This resolves another parallel issue: why the Sullys vow to stop running and fight at the end of 2, only to flee again in 3 until the final showdown.

The female villain’s clan was originally meant to be forest-dwelling Na’vi who ride banshees (is that the correct spelling?), just like the clan in 1. Thus, the Colonel’s team repeating Jake Sully’s training to tame their own mounts in 2 should have been merged with their encounter with the female villain—they received training from her clan and rode the clan’s unique banshees.

This explains the plot hole in 2: how a group of clueless humans magically trained themselves to become competent Na’vi warriors.

The clan’s connection to “volcanoes” and “fire” is entirely forced. In 3, fire plays no meaningful role—they’re essentially no different from the forest clan in 1.

From my perspective, this is because their original design had no ties to volcanoes; the split into two films required each to have a gimmick and theme, hence the “ocean” and “fire” distinctions.

The true original script likely merged the parallels from 2 and 3, followed the ending of 2, and led directly to the ending of 3—allowing the story to be hastily told in 3-4 hours.

That said, I think the current version is better than that hypothetical cut.

Anyway, I’m going back to binge Mirage.

Personally, I don’t think the portrayal of this new indigenous villain is very successful.

By Varang’s own account, she renounced Eywa and turned to the “Way of Fire” after her home was burned to the ground and her people perished in the flames, and her prayers to Eywa for salvation went unanswered.

Looking at her actions: the moment she encountered human firearms, she immediately realized they were far more powerful than conjuring fire with her fingertips, so she quickly submitted to modern thermal weaponry—her face lit up with joy when she saw a flamethrower. At first, I thought, “Wow, this villain is gorgeous, powerful, ruthless, a formidable fighter, and utterly compelling!” But then, when the cloned eldest daughter took control of her mind, she immediately fled in abject terror—this is a complete contradiction and collapse of her character.

Initially, it seemed understandable: Varang submits to whoever is stronger.

On closer inspection, however, this is absurd, for the following reasons:

Technologically, the planet’s indigenous people are extremely primitive, almost uncivilized. They worship Eywa, believe in harmony between nature and spirits, and respect ecological balance.

What exactly is Eywa? She is a planetary biological neural network; all creatures are connected to her through neural links and form part of her. Think of the planet as a body and Eywa as its brain—the brain governs the body. Eywa maintains the planet’s ecological balance and rarely intervenes unless in severe or extreme crises, such as summoning swarms of beasts to counter threats. The collective prayers of the indigenous people serve as a way to guide this “immune system” to pinpoint attacks, enabling precise and efficient countermeasures.

The Na’vi do not merely believe in Eywa through stories passed down—they can physically connect to her, feel her presence, and understand her rules. They can pray, upload and download memories, and sense the relationships between all living things. This is a genuine physiological interaction, not just blind faith. Eywa is real, tangible, and constantly interacts with the Na’vi, manifesting “miracles.” As Na’vi, the Ash People are also capable of connecting to Eywa and sensing her existence.

True, Eywa did not intervene—but her nature was never to answer every prayer during every crisis. This does not mean she does not exist. For an uncivilized tribe that clearly perceives Eywa as an omnipotent deity and understands her rules, openly renouncing her faith seems unfounded, lacking motivation, and highly implausible.

I disagree with interpreting her as an Antichrist figure. Rejecting faith—whether in Christ or any deity—requires specific causes. Public apostasy typically demands at least two of the following three conditions:

The faith itself is vague, uncertain, and leaves believers in doubt;

The believer’s own faith is weak (often a byproduct of condition 1, but worth listing separately);

Something tangibly more powerful than the faith emerges—a new god, a new power, or obvious material benefits.

But Eywa is not vague on Pandora; she is a concrete, living entity that sustains and connects all life, perceptible to every creature. Thus, conditions 1 and 2 do not apply on Pandora. Fire—along with water, wind, earthquakes, and other natural forces—is part of Eywa, not something stronger than her. More importantly, the Ash People gain no benefits or advantages by betraying Eywa.

In summary: the Ash People’s decision to openly renounce Eywa is perplexing, unmotivated, and utterly unconvincing.

Even if I could overlook Varang’s earlier apostasy, following her established logic, after Kiri’s mental attack, she should have immediately realized, “Eywa is still the most powerful! I was wrong—she is undoubtedly the planet’s supreme ruler. I must submit to her and join the protagonists’ side.” This would have been a consistent, logical character arc.

Of course, if Varang is simply written off as a deranged fanatic, her erratic behavior needs no logical explanation. But that would reduce a potentially brilliant new villain to a hollow, illogical madwoman—and that leaves me somewhat disappointed.

That said, I absolutely adore the actress who plays Varang. I never imagined she was Jeanette, John Watson’s fleeting girlfriend in Sherlock Season 2, Episode 1. I even thought she was a British actress back then.

Female villains are quite annoying in reality. They are surrounded by a group of licking dogs, feel good about themselves, ignore licking dogs, and are arrogant. However, when they encounter real strong men who are gentle and like little cats, they have no limits

Here’s a detail no one online has mentioned: the Avatar story unfolds on the planet Pandora—but what is the indigenous Na’vi’s attitude toward fire?

In Avatar (2009), the male protagonist gets lost in the jungle. As night falls and the growls of beasts surround him, he relies on humanity’s age-old wisdom: he starts a fire, using a torch to protect himself.

The torch initially keeps the beasts at bay, but they wear him down with relentless attacks. Just as he is about to meet his end, the female protagonist—a skilled hunter—appears and drives the beasts away effortlessly.

Crucially, when she sees the torch in his hand, she reacts with open hostility, tossing it straight into the water.

Some viewers might conclude the Na’vi hate fire—but that’s not the case. Cut to the Na’vi clan, where a brazier burns to light their home.

This reveals the Na’vi’s nuanced relationship with fire: they use it for illumination, but reject it as a weapon.

This makes sense, as Avatar 3 explicitly states that bows and arrows are the “righteous weapons,” infused with the spirits of their ancestors. Human firearms, despite their destructive power, corrupt the soul—and in the Na’vi worldview, fire as a weapon is equally corrupting, an abomination.

The female villain’s clan in Avatar 3 weaponizes fire outright—and Eywa, Pandora’s divine entity, clearly disapproves. Consider Spider, the human orphan: his unique connection to Pandora’s neural network manifests through the planet’s earth-bound mycelium, not fire.

Chinese philosophy centers on the Five Elements, while Western traditions focus on the Four Elements (air, fire, water, earth)—divided into active (fire, air) and passive (water, earth) forces. Fire embodies aggression; earth symbolizes protection. From a Western cultural lens, Eywa’s disdain for fire as a weapon aligns with this elemental framework.

For the female villain, however, Eywa’s disapproval only fuels her defiance: she embraces exactly what the goddess rejects. Her line—“We abandoned Eywa, not the other way around”—underscores her clan’s rebellion: by weaponizing fire, they break Eywa’s taboos to redefine their identity. It is akin to defying a religious doctrine (e.g., a ban on eating beef) by flouting it openly, severing all ties with the faith.

Western audiences tend to condemn her: the volcanic destruction of her home and her people’s suffering are seen as Eywa’s tests—and her choice to weaponize fire, use guns, ally with Colonel Quaritch, and defile the goddess makes her deserving of censure.

But Chinese audiences relate to her. In Chinese culture, people pray for rain by offering sacrifices to the Dragon King; if no rain comes, they threaten to destroy his statue or even bombard his temple with cannons. A famous couplet captures this: “The Jade Emperor shares our surname Zhang—why torment us, Zhang Zongchang? If no rain falls in three days, we’ll raze the Dragon King’s temple and blast your mother with cannons!”

Cultural differences explain the divide: Western viewers disdain the villain, while Chinese audiences understand her defiance.

Bad, crazy, smart, but also sexy and sassy, the key is that there is still a sense of cuteness

Reminds me of the blackened Shibasaki Kaizo

No wonder many people say that what I want is Avatar

The Asheman was carefully crafted by Ava to do dirty work.

Ava has assimilated spiders and clearly does not reject humans. She may just hope to use the spider's surface attitude to encourage humans to join Ava's family.

Ava and human industrialization seem very promising.

The main group kept causing trouble, and Ava was too embarrassed to take action, so she had to work hard to help the Ashes laborers.

Later, when both sides were evenly matched, Ava showed off her power, allowing humans to see her might and avoid thinking that she was easy to bully in the future.