James Cameron’s Avatar is a movie that’s often discussed in the context of its envelope-pushing CGI or screenplay similarities to other features. These criticisms are hardly surprising when you consider the broader history of its director. After all, Cameron is known for pioneering groundbreaking special effects to tell stories, and for delivering several science fiction films noted for their narrative qualities. Therefore, it was natural to question both the film’s visual quality and its narrative strength compared to works like The Terminator or Titanic.

While there certainly isn’t anything inherently wrong with approaching the film from these angles, I do feel such criticisms can run the risk of overlooking some of the more interesting aspects which get drowned out by discussions of mo-cap quality and FernGully plot comparisons. This often comes at the expense of appreciating how effectively Avatar conveys its core themes through visual storytelling, a powerful non-diegetic score and the utilization of its core protagonist.

Upon watching the 2022 remastering of Avatar recently, there was one particular moment which caught me by surprise. Regardless of this being my tenth watch of the movie to date, I found myself moved to tears during one sequence. The scene in question consisted of the montage we see of Jake Sully integrating into the Omaticaya clan at the movie’s one-hour mark. The montage begins with Jake frustrated that he has to record a video log. Science officer Grace Augustine insists he needs to do it while it’s fresh in his memory. The scene continues with Neytiri trying to teach Jake the Na’vi language. He acts as though he finds the learning process annoying, yet likens it to stripping a field weapon—something he’s used to from his time in the marines.

We then see Jake engaging in other practices he’s unfamiliar with, such as learning to handle Na’vi weaponry and figuring out how to better pilot his Avatar body. During these scenes, Jake goes on quite a journey. The montage begins with a seemingly pessimistic Jake, only to end with a soul who has made a profound connection with the natural world. I believe this scene resonates with me so greatly because it somehow manages to summarize both Jake’s overall character and the wider message Cameron is trying to portray with this movie. On the surface, Jake’s characterisation and Cameron’s wider message may seem somewhat detached from one another, yet on closer inspection, it would appear the two are more tethered than meets the eye.

But why is Jake’s character development so crucial to understanding the film’s deeper messaging? How does his presence in this movie thread into Cameron’s wider thematic vision? And for that matter, why is a snapshot of Jake’s journey enough to send me into a fit of tears on my tenth watch of this movie?

Prior to this montage, we, as an audience, are given limited information as to who Jake Sully is, exactly. We know he’s a former marine who sustained life-changing injuries during his time out on the field. We also know that he recently lost his brother, which is why he’s been shipped out to Pandora in the first place. We do get some expository voiceovers from him during the opening of the movie, which gives us some snippets of his mindset at the start of this story:

“When I was lying there in the VA hospital, with a big hole blown through the middle of my life, I started having these dreams of flying. I was free. Sooner or later, though, you always have to wake up.”

Beyond this, we don’t get much else about his life. Did he love his job in the Marine Corps? Does he have a partner waiting for him back at home? What are his ambitions? None of these questions are answered. Instead, we just have the quick cuts to his past (all presented in close-ups) as well as his pessimistic viewpoint about having to wake up sooner or later.

Cameron treats Jake as an empty vessel during the earlier portions of this movie. He deliberately withholds his protagonist’s past because to do so evokes a sense of emptiness. This man is a no one from nowhere. Heck, the only reason he’s ended up as the main character in this particular blockbuster is because he shares the same DNA as his science officer brother who had the audacity to die before the 20th Century Fox logo flashed up on the screen. He’s a shell, an avatar of a man, if you will.

Yet during these earlier scenes, Cameron does feed us enough hints about this man to give us a sense of who he is, or who he might become. Such hints are subtle, but they are in there nonetheless. When Jake first enters the laboratory with Norm Spellman, he zones out from his colleague’s spiel about the logistics of how they are going to patch into their alien avatar bodies. Instead, he veers away from Norm, homing in on the blue alien body which will soon belong to him. Even as Dr. Max Patel tries to introduce himself, Jake barely acknowledges him, more intrigued by the alien bodies floating in the bacta tanks.

Similar hints of curiosity are demonstrated shortly thereafter, as Jake cannot keep himself from looking around and touching everything in the lab as Grace Augustine instructs him to keep still. Moments later, we get the scene in which Jake first enters his avatar body. Despite the medics advising him to sit still to prevent injury, Jake ignores them, pushing past and bursting through the emergency exit, sprinting off into the colonial gardens.

What we gather from these early moments of the movie is that Jake is a nobody with a flaring curiosity when in contact with nature. There’s a childlike awe that awakens as he begins encountering subjects beyond the artificial world he’s been living in. Sure, the avatars are engineered much like the mech suits the marines charge about in, yet they are flesh. Like a kid from a vast metropolis seeing a farm animal for the first time, he homes in. This fascinates Jake enough for him to zone out of Norm’s technobabble. When he encounters the flora beyond the laboratory doors, this curiosity peaks further. He can’t help himself. He’s a man born amongst steel yet dreams of flying above forests.

Jake’s transition from pessimistic sleepwalker to curious adventurer functions in tandem with the film’s themes surrounding artificiality versus nature. Although the theatrical cut of Avatar doesn’t give us any proper glimpses of this story’s Earth, we are given a good idea as to what it’s like through the colonial base the humans have established on Pandora. Their territory is grey, grubby, blocky, and unimaginative. It is a world made up of dirt and steel. All colour and character have been sapped from it. Early portions of the movie are shrouded in a grey and blue palette. Even Jake’s “dream” of flying over a forest is misty and faded.

The bursts of colour don’t bleed into this picture until Jake begins interacting with the world of Pandora. At first, it’s subtle, showing hints of sun and glory in the marine gardens. This palette builds in intensity as we delve further out into the world of Pandora. Out there, even the nightfall is rich with dazzling purples and bright blues.

The world of the humans’ base is one that is lifeless, pessimistic, and isolated, much like Jake is when we first meet him. Both the world and the character are dreary and drained. In contrast, the world of Pandora is lively, dazzling, and playful—much like Jake as he is given an opportunity to interact with something beyond the synthetic surroundings he’s become accustomed to. This is a world that’s exciting and childlike.

During interviews made both during the run-up to and following the film’s release, Cameron made clear his intentions when it came to the film’s environmental messaging. Avatar is very much a movie that celebrates the beauty of the natural world. The film does not outright say that technology is bad or evil. The film even dishes up some rather beautiful technological breakthroughs to help drive its story. The very concept of the avatar bodies is a perfect example of utopian science—a creation that literally helps Jake discover the natural world in the first place. Be that as it may, the film warns that technology can isolate and sap from the natural wonders of the world. This is a cautionary tale about the risks of a world where we get blinded by the very tools we’ve designed to help us.

The film never really explicitly says any of this aloud, but instead utilises the imagery and character of Jake Sully to convey this idea. This is a transformative tale of a lost soul falling in love with a natural world he’s discovering for the first time. Jake enters this story a tired man who speaks as though his life is already over. By the time Pandora presents itself to him, he’s like a playful child discovering the universe for the first time.

Jake, Pandora, and the colonial base are the message of the film. We aren’t simply told that excessive technology is bad and nature is good; we’re shown it through people and visuals.

James Horner also does a remarkable job in conveying this through his score. The opening track, “You Don’t Dream in Cryo,” makes heavy use of heavy drum beats and deep tones. The choir vocals and tribal percussion hint at the primal, earthly undertones of the Na’vi world, yet they are drowned out by thudding bass and slow tempos. It feels oppressed, contorted, and manipulated. As Jake’s world is opened up throughout the course of the movie, however, the score begins to sound lighter. The choir chants become high-pitched and playful. The drumbeats thud methodically. Flutes whistle and the melodies brighten. It goes from stern and serious to light and playful, only ever reverting as and when the humans invade and attack.

Horner is a master at utilizing music to accompany the visuals on screen. We saw something similar in Titanic, as he shifted the score from mechanical thuds of engines to Celtic instruments and ethereal voices as the human factor of the narrative usurped the technological marveling of the earlier sequences. This ability is very much on show here, as his Avatar score is able to match Cameron’s messaging and storytelling as though the audio and visuals originated from the same mind.

Jake’s montage during the tail end of the film’s first hour functions as a snapshot of the entire movie, summarizing Jake’s character, as well as the film’s visual language in a five-minute segment. It opens with a negative Jake, waving away any hope of achieving anything. Yet despite such pessimism, he’s curious and committed. He tries shrugging off his curiosity by comparing his lessons to stripping down a military weapon, yet his body language suggests something more. He is committed, focused, and fixated on his teacher. He’s falling in love with Pandora, the Na’vi, and Neytiri. He just doesn’t quite know it yet. The montage opens with the usual dark greys and pale blues associated with the movie’s opening, but quickly ascends into deep greens, bright blues, and bioluminescent purples. Even Horner’s score opens on a slightly warped, electronic note, before bursting into a choir of joyous hums and melodic flutes.

It’s been almost 16 years since Avatar was first released. In that time, the world has become more secluded and warped by technological advancements. We have grown ever more isolated by social media and artificial intelligence that have gradually decentralised us. There is also the ongoing global warming and climate atrocities that are burning and boiling our home world. While modern technologies have brought many wondrous advancements, with those benefits have also come many poisons. The world feels lonelier than it ever has; something which we are all feeling on some level.

Perhaps this is why this montage sequence hits me so hard when viewing it today. It is a perfect encapsulation of Cameron’s themes surrounding the wonders of the natural world. A tale about a man born on a dying and lonely Earth, only to be reborn on a planet that hasn’t yet been devoured by technological miracles that went too far. There is a real sense of wonder in this scene; a childlike glee of stepping outside the sheets of steel and concrete, to be greeted instead by a world that’s alive and thriving. Jake doesn’t simply fall in love with Neytiri and Pandora during these scenes, he falls in love with an authenticity and connection that cannot be found at the center of an empire that has cannibalised its own homeland in the name of technological progress.

Ultimately, Avatar transcends its surface-level critiques of CGI spectacle or narrative familiarity to offer a profound and deeply resonant message. Through Jake Sully’s transformative journey, mirrored by the feature’s vibrant palette and James Horner’s evolving score, Cameron crafts an effective allegory for re-engagement with the natural world. This isn’t simply a story of a soldier finding his place on an alien planet; it’s a universal call to shed the isolating grip of artificiality and rediscover something more authentic in an increasingly technology-saturated world. Avatar doesn’t merely show us a fantastical world; it invites us to remember the wonder that lies within our own, urging us to step beyond the steel and concrete and embrace the living, breathing planet beneath our feet.