The Social Dilemma of Live Actions: How to Train Your Dragon's Case

A few days ago, I received an email invitation to watch the—erroneously called—live-action remake of the acclaimed animation How to Train Your Dragon. This is DreamWorks Animation's first attempt to imitate what Disney has been doing for the last 15 years. The same amount of time has passed since the premiere of the first installment of a trilogy that, to this day, keeps captivating people from all ages and ideologies.

I personally had never seen any of these movies, but today was the perfect day to do so. On my way to the press screening, I listened to most of The Northman's soundtrack on Spotify. I don't know why I did it, but I think I wanted to get in the Viking mood. That was the first—but luckily only—mistake I made.

After being emotionally pierced by a glorious 125 minutes full of Spielberg-style adventure, a great character development and a story with a big heart, I got home mildly struck by what I had watched. Why? Unfortunately, it seems impossible not to analyze what are the rights and wrongs of a work when we are talking about something moderately recycled from a pre-existing cinematic source material. Remakes and adaptations have—almost—always been there in our beloved seventh art, but this idea that the number of unoriginal projects is ridiculous has been floating around lately. The audience is constantly renewed, right? Or is it the ideas that aren't? Minutes pass by and I start to question things, things I shouldn't even be thinking of. Dean DeBlois, the director and scriptwriter behind the animated trilogy, returned to the director's chair—but now in a real set—after Universal's tempting call. What's the real motivation behind this recurring, creative act? Money? A possible, ephemeral fame revival? I'm confused…

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This trend for undoing and redoing is quite interesting. But what if my concerns are misplaced? I'm going to reformulate the question since, obviously, in the art of making cinema, there are two sides separated by an invisible line. What do the big production companies' executives see in the audience when they decide to produce these projects? How did Disney know that releases like The Lion King, Aladdin, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast and The Jungle Book would be extreme box-office successes? Where was the insurance policy? And last but not least… Why do we create this ridiculous, exaggerated hype for these imminent releases? "One never forgets their first love," people always say. Are we so unready for new stuff that we long to rekindle with our ex at all costs? Where are the new IPs?

Ultimately, opinions are always the same: almost all movies that take the original story and replace the animation's flexibility with the realism of modern special effects—I can't keep calling them "live actions," do you even know what it means? Action in real time—end up being… okay. For many, shock doesn't seem to exist as such, nor the sense of spiritual renewal or genuine emotion beyond reliving what the original work made them feel at the time. Yes, call it nostalgia, sugarcoated melancholy or both, I don't care. But the only truth is that we never leave this vicious cycle major companies put us through. Are we trapped in a loop?

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While I laugh at myself, I choose to remember what Hiccup and Toothless' wonderful story of friendship and bravery left me. To remember the metaphor over historical accuracy—I would rather leave that to Robert Eggers. To remember the enjoyment of my inner child over the seriousness of my logical adult self, bitter about watching how these stories are being retold. How to Train your Dragon has a classic structure that reminds us—yes, once again—why we love cinema and the experience of sharing a screen with others. As a rookie in the matter, I can only sit and relax, as The Dude would. What would be the point of discussing that Astrid was blonde in the animated movies and now has braided hair like the one you can get on a Maldive Islands vacation? Ultimately, what matters is the intent, something that, for example, the Russo brothers couldn't adapt from Simon Stålenhag's fantastic illustrated novel in the whimsical childish The Electric State.

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At the end of the day, the only thing I'm interested in is my interpretation of the work. I can't be responsible for others' opinions and experiences. If so, I would invite myself to this social dilemma regarding live-action movies we discuss year after year, premiere after premiere.

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Published on JUNE 16, 2025, 12:59 PM | UTC-GMT -3


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