Disclaimer: This website is a personal platform dedicated to reviewing books and movies. Images from How to Train Your Dragon (2025) are used solely for commentary and critique purposes under the fair use provisions of copyright law. I do not claim ownership of these images; all rights remain with DreamWorks Animation and its affiliates.
Sabotage in F Minor
I have a confession. One that might’ve sealed the film’s fate before the opening credits even rolled: I binged clips from the original How to Train Your Dragon a mere hour before heading into the theater.
In hindsight, perhaps that was sabotage.
Because if you’ve been following my blog, you’ll know that I’ve made many comments calling life-action remakes the cinematic equivalent of reheated rice, and frankly, this movie was no exception.
The story remains essentially unchanged: a scrawny, publicly ridiculed Viking teen named Hiccup lives on the island of Berk, where dragons are loathed to a near-religious degree, yet citizens choose to live there anyway. After wounding a rare Night Fury, Hiccup’s empathy overrides his duty to kill it. He secretly nurses it back to health, to the begrudging gratitude of the dragon, and the unlikely pair slowly become best friends.
With the power of empathy, stubbornness, and dramatic aerial stunts, Hiccup challenges generations of anti-dragon ideology. Fatherly tensions explode and reconcile, legacies are questioned, and the entire plot pulses with heart.
So why didn’t I cry this time?
A Cast of Shadows
While the live-action adaptation follows the original to a fault, something was just off. The film hits every narrative beat . . . but like a checklist.
Nowhere is the emotional flatness more evident than in the characters’ dialogue. The side cast– once vibrant and idiosyncratic– now speaks mostly in one-liners and empty banter, what my Gen Alpha brethren might dub “NPC” behavior.
Astrid, in particular, was a significant letdown. The film positions her as an ambitious fighter with dreams of becoming Berk’s chief– an angle rich with potential for real conflict with Hiccup. Instead, she is reduced to a curt three-line monologue culminating in (and I quote) “I came from nothing” and “stay out of my way.”
The film hints at complexity but never dares explore it, relying instead on cliché phrases that masquerade as depth– part of a growing repertoire of pithy, hollow one-liners clearly engineered to appeal to children.
Somewhere between a father-son reconciliation, Stoick the Vast– dragon slayer and emotionally distant father– even dabs. Yes. Dabs. Was it meant to be funny? Heartwarming? Appealing to the Gen Z audience? I’m not sure. All I know is that a part of my soul shriveled and died at that moment.
Again and again, the film reaches for emotional resonance within their young target demographic. There are moments clearly designed to move us– Snotlout receiving long-withheld validation from his father, Hiccup finally earning the pride of his tribe. But these scenes arrive like postcards from a journey the film never takes us on. Emotional edges are sanded down to pander to children. And when marketability is prioritized over meaning, these themes land with all the force of a whisper through glass.
Moments That Give the Film Wings, if not Wind
However, to its credit, the film does have several redeeming qualities, especially the iconic flying sequences. Seeing Toothless, Hiccup, and Astrid spiraling together through a sky laced with mist was nothing short of breathtaking. At one point, Toothless arcs over the ocean, his wings slicing through the waters like a plane piercing through still clouds. Paired with a stirring soundtrack (Test Drive will forever have my heart), it’s a shot that makes us remember why we fell in love with rider and dragon in the first place.
Even so, a few highs don’t rewrite the body of the film. Throughout this movie, I had the recurring sensation that it was just meant for a much younger audience. And while that’s no sin, it’s no excuse either. Just take The Wild Robot– it certainly proved that films aimed at children are capable of profound emotional impact.
Thus, I wouldn’t exactly call this movie hollow. But I would say it’s mostly an echo of an original that hit harder, loved deeper, and flew higher. This is a retelling that remembers every word of the story– but forgets how it made us feel. After all, a mirror can’t generate its own warmth. It can only reflect.
Final Notes
Overall, How to Train Your Dragon (2025) is still leagues better than most remakes (a depressing standard, I know). The source material is strong, and this adaptation– while glossier and less emotionally raw– doesn’t fumble it completely. It’s watchable. It’s sometimes even awe-inducing in its visuals and audio.
It’s just missing the fire that made the original breathe. And for a story about dragons, that absence feels like the most tragic loss of all.
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