As a sequel to Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Legend of Korra justified its existence by telling stories that went beyond even the original show's ambition. Narratively, it was less tightly focused due to Nickelodeon stretching an initial standalone miniseries into four seasons. Yet the show boldly explored a variety of mature subjects like political discourse, spirituality and PTSD, all of which were aimed at children. Like its predecessor, The Legend of Korra never talked down to its Nickelodeon viewership; instead, confidently portraying its story and themes in a manner that audiences found both compelling and accessible.

Avatar's story, while beloved, still adhered to a traditional good vs. evil conflict with a "chosen one" protagonist. Aang, for all his flaws, was the kind-hearted hero and the Fire Nation, outside of Prince Zuko and his Uncle Iroh, were an occupying force that devastated the world for a century. But the show stood out for its willingness to embrace mature themes and spiritual motifs uncommon in American children's animation, including the genocide of Aang's people and the mental scars Zuko bore from his banishment. The Legend of Korra, which took place 70 years after Avatar and followed Aang's Water Tribe reincarnation, took this a step further. How? By psychoanalyzing something seemingly crucial to Avatar's mythology: the necessity of having an Avatar at all.

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Personality-wise, Korra began as Aang's antithesis: brash, headstrong, very self-confident and overly eager to jump into battle. Unlike Aang, she loved the idea of being the Avatar, having grown up on the title's importance not unlike how Avatar's original child fans, then teenagers in 2012, idolized the cartoon. However, Korra's Avatar tenure in Republic City revealed a world that no longer saw the Avatar as an all-important savior, but rather, a mix of a celebrity and political tool. She still found allies in Bolin, Mako and Asami, as well as Aang's son Tenzin and Toph's daughter/police chief Lin Bei Fong, but the post-Aang world had become more industrialized and bureaucratic, opening wider social divisions amongst benders and non-benders while becoming more detached from the Spirit World than ever before. Thus, Korra's major obstacles weren't just enemies who threatened to overthrow Republic City, but also the system's various flaws that perpetuated these new causes of imbalance.

Similarly, each of Korra's four Big Bads held far more nuanced motivations compared to Fire Lord Ozai's one-dimensional despotism. Amon, Unalaq, Zaheer and Kuvira borrowed inspiration from Marxist, Theologist, Anarchist and Totalitarian philosophies respectively; each taking things too far but raising complex questions about the Avatar's role as a liaison between bender, non-bender and spirit communities.

Amon and the Equalists launched a civil war based on legitimate bending inequities while Unalaq's alliance with the dark spirit Vaatu came from a genuine desire to reunite humanity with the Spirit World. Zaheer and his Red Lotus allies fully believed in their mission to empower the masses by overthrowing corrupt power structures (ironically using airbending teachings) and Kuvira, however obvious her fascist iconography, was trying to repair the Earth Kingdom's damage in light of the Avatar's absence. These actions were far more sophisticated than your standard children's program, not only detailing the villains' case but also how Korra's battles with them influenced her ability to solve the problems they railed against.

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Even more daring was the depiction of Korra's PTSD. Though a handful of Avatar episodes saw Team Avatar lose (i.e. "Day of the Black Sun"), Korra's protagonist often suffered numerous defeats per season, and even her major victories came at a great cost. Beating Amon temporarily cost Korra three of her four bending abilities. She lost her connection to previous Avatar cycles before defeating Vaatu and became emotionally and physically traumatized after being poisoned by Zaheer in Season 3. The last trauma specifically dominated Korra's Season 4 arc, with the episode "Korra Alone" detailing her three-year physical and spiritual recovery that highlighted how deep these psychological wounds went. For 2014, this subject matter was incredibly bold and paved the way for similar animated shows like Steven Universe and its sequel series, Future, to follow. Yet even then, the writers still entrusted its young audience to comprehend Korra's fears and insecurities without the need for any hand-holding.

The Legend of Korra not only gave fans a completely new Avatar, but also a world whose geopolitical and philosophical discourses expanded upon Avatar's aftermath. Alongside Korra's arc of overcoming trauma and the complexities of her adversaries, the show depicted more explicit deaths, deconstructed Aang's legacy both politically and parentally, and broke revolutionary ground in its final moments as one of the first American children's cartoons to openly portray a queer relationship beyond subtext. It did all this while being marketed to kids under the shocking pretense that, despite their age, these viewers could handle the subject matter.

Had The Legend of Korra sacrificed its maturity for the sake of appealing more to a lower demographic, it might have been a lesser Avatar successor.

Created by Bryan Joseph Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino, The Legend of Korra is currently available to stream on Netflix.

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