More than a decade since its debut, “How to Train Your Dragon” remains one of animation’s most enduring and emotionally resonant franchises. Now, fifteen years after it first soared into theaters—and into fans’ hearts—it’s getting the live-action treatment, with Dean DeBlois returning to direct and expand upon a script loosely based on Cressida Cowell’s novel of the same name.
While this new adaptation may look and feel familiar in its emotional and narrative beats, the expanded story aims to deepen character dynamics. In a way, the old feels new again. This approach gives DeBlois creative room to explore the Isle of Berk in ways the animated version couldn’t, with more grounded worldbuilding, tactile production design, and dragons that genuinely feel present within the frame. However, stretching the original’s tight 90-minute runtime into a longer format introduces padding that can at times dilute its emotional impact.
Even so, Universal has enough confidence in a film so rooted in its predecessor that a sequel has already been announced. As such, it sets the expectation even higher. The problem is that now fans expect to see more of the same rather than something new or challenging what has been told.
Set on the windswept island of Berk, the story follows Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III (Mason Thames)—the inventive but underestimated son of Viking Chief Stoick the Vast (Gerard Butler)—who challenges generations of dragon-fighting tradition when he forms a secret bond with Toothless, a rare and feared Night Fury. That unlikely friendship becomes the catalyst for a seismic shift in how Vikings view dragons and, ultimately, coexisting.
Like Disney’s “The Lion King” reimagining (or even its prequel: “Mufasa: The Lion King” remake, this version sometimes feels more like a visual effects showcase than a narrative reinvention. And while the digital wizardry dazzles in moments—especially in high-stakes flight sequences—the emotional intimacy and stylized charm that defined the original occasionally get lost in the translation to photorealism. But unlike “The Lion King,” “How to Train Your Dragon” still has its heart in the right place, especially in the bond it builds between Hiccup and Toothless.
Thames is wonderful as Hiccup, channeling the awkwardness that Jay Baruchel made iconic while bringing a fresh vulnerability to the role. He wants to prove himself not only as a Viking but as a son worthy of his father’s legacy. And just as important, he wants to be seen. Butler reprises his role as Stoick with the same gravelly gravitas, portraying a leader hardened by war and tradition but quietly aching to understand his only son.
The film truly finds its rhythm when Hiccup connects with Toothless. Their early encounters—muted, cautious, but increasingly tender—are the emotional linchpin of the movie. The “fish offering” sequence is particularly effective, showcasing Thames’ nuanced performance opposite a fully digital creature. These scenes lean into silence and trust, beautifully underscored by John Powell’s returning score, which swells with nostalgia but carries new emotional layers.
This tenderness anchors a world otherwise defined by steel, fire, and Viking bravado. Nico Parker brings dimension to Astrid, imbuing her with both grit and growing curiosity. Her arc mirrors Hiccup’s: a journey from skepticism to understanding. Their romantic subplot doesn’t overpower the narrative but adds sweetness to a story already steeped in heart.
The supporting cast rounds out the ensemble with broad strokes. Julian Dennison is a standout as Fishlegs, nailing both his encyclopedic dragon knowledge and unflappable loyalty. Meanwhile, Gabriel Howell’s Snotlout, and the chaos-loving Ruffnut and Tuffnut (Bronwyn James and Harry Trevaldwyn), provide comic relief, though they rarely rise above archetypes.
Still, the story remains grounded in Hiccup’s desire to bridge two worlds—Viking and dragon, father and son, fear and empathy. That emotional throughline hits its peak in the third act, where the stakes escalate and Hiccup is forced to make an impossible choice that redefines his identity. These moments work not just because of scale, but because of character.
Visually, the film excels in moments of restraint. The IMAX-sized sequences are thrilling, but it’s the quieter, close-up interactions that remind us why this franchise matters. The dragons look remarkable, not just in detail but in how they’re animated to reflect personality, vulnerability, and intelligence. They are characters, not just creatures.
Ultimately, while the live-action adaptation doesn’t stray far from the original blueprint, it does enough to justify its existence. It feels less like a soulless retread and more like a reverent remix—one that occasionally stumbles under its own ambitions but still manages to fly.
DeBlois clearly understands what makes How to Train Your Dragon resonate: it’s not the fireballs or aerial battles, but the feeling of being seen for who you are, even when the world wants you to be something else. The sequel offers a chance to take greater creative risks. Let’s hope it chooses to soar rather than circle familiar skies.
8/10
How To Train Your Dragon in theaters June 13, 2025.
