Disney’s recent trend of revisiting their animated classics has been met with both excitement and skepticism. Following the successes of The Jungle Book and Cinderella, there was a question: could they continue this streak of impressive remakes? With Pete’s Dragon, the answer is a resounding yes. Far from simply recreating the original, Disney has crafted a film that not only honors its predecessor but surpasses it in emotional depth and storytelling.
Where previous Disney remakes like Alice in Wonderland and Maleficent opted for darker, revisionist takes, Pete’s Dragon follows the path paved by Kenneth Branagh’s Cinderella and Jon Favreau’s The Jungle Book by playing it straight, yet with a fresh perspective. Just as Favreau delivered a Jungle Book that felt richer and more resonant than the beloved 1967 cartoon, director David Lowery reimagines Pete’s Dragon as a soulful and touching tale for a new generation.
For those who grew up with the original 1977 Pete’s Dragon, nostalgia might be strong. Many, like myself, have fond childhood memories of the film. However, revisiting it with adult eyes, or through the critical gaze of today’s children accustomed to the sophisticated storytelling of Pixar and Studio Ghibli, reveals its shortcomings.
The original film, with its jarring mix of slapstick comedy and surprisingly dark elements – a terrifying, abusive family, casual alcoholism, and a villainous song about dragon butchery – can feel tonally inconsistent and even unsettling. Even the songs, while perhaps catchy, often lack substance (“Brazzle Dazzle Day,” anyone?).
Thankfully, the 2016 Pete’s Dragon smartly jettisons most of the source material’s flaws, creating something entirely new and emotionally resonant. This remake, unlike some of its predecessors, isn’t based on a classic literary work, allowing for greater creative freedom.
The new Pete’s Dragon establishes its unique identity from the outset. While Cinderella was a classic fairytale brought to life with opulent visuals, and The Jungle Book was a vibrant adventure in the spirit of Kipling and Raiders of the Lost Ark, Pete’s Dragon carves its own path as a poignant story centered on loss, friendship, and wonder. It echoes the emotional depth of films like E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial and The Iron Giant, prioritizing mood and character development over elaborate plot mechanics and action sequences.
Notably, the traditional villain is absent in this reimagining. The Gogans are gone, replaced by a more nuanced, less overtly evil antagonist. While remnants of the medicine-show quack, played by Jim Dale in the original, appear in the form of a character driven by greed and opportunism, he is more venal than truly villainous.
Beyond these fundamental changes, the core elements that unite both films are simple yet powerful: an orphaned boy, a remarkable dragon capable of invisibility, and a compassionate woman who becomes invested in the boy’s well-being. However, even these familiar elements are reimagined with fresh perspectives.
The setting shifts from a New England fishing village to the lush forests of the Pacific Northwest in the 1980s. Grace Meacham, portrayed by Bryce Dallas Howard, is no longer the lighthouse keeper’s daughter but a forest ranger, a change that grounds the story in a contemporary environmental consciousness.
Bryce Dallas Howard’s presence in a forest setting with a hidden, reptilian creature subtly recalls her roles in Jurassic World, The Village, and even Lady in the Water, films that explore themes of unseen creatures lurking in familiar landscapes. This connection is playfully highlighted through Grace’s father, played by Robert Redford, who embodies the whimsical spirit of local legend.
Redford’s character, Grace’s father, becomes a conduit for the film’s central theme of belief and wonder. He recounts tales of encountering the mythical “Millhaven dragon,” sharing stories that are dismissed as tall tales but hint at a deeper, more magical reality. “Just because you don’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there,” he wisely tells Grace.
Grace, grounded in her scientific understanding of the natural world, counters with skepticism: “And just because you say it’s true doesn’t mean it is.” This dialogue establishes a central tension between rationalism and the acceptance of the extraordinary, a theme that resonates throughout the film.
Her father gently challenges her limited perspective: “If you go through life only looking at what’s right in front of you, you miss out on a whole lot.” This simple yet profound statement encapsulates the film’s message about opening oneself to the possibility of wonder and magic in the everyday world.
Director David Lowery, known for Ain’t Them Bodies Saints, and co-writer Toby Halbrook, infuse Pete’s Dragon with a palpable sense of enchantment. Grace’s father’s “magic,” as he calls it, isn’t about fantastical spells but about a shift in perception, a way of seeing the world anew.
“It changes the way I see the world,” he explains, “The trees, the sunshine. You.” This sentiment echoes J.R.R. Tolkien’s essay “On Fairy Stories,” where he describes how mythic narratives can re-enchant our perception of the mundane, revealing the inherent wonder in the world around us.
The film bravely opens with the heartbreaking loss of young Pete’s parents in a car accident, a scene handled with surprising sensitivity. A haunting slow-motion sequence focuses not on the graphic details of the crash but on the fragmented, dreamlike way such trauma imprints itself on a child’s memory.
Breaking from cinematic convention and even its own source material, the remake reveals Elliot, the dragon, almost immediately. Unlike Jaws or even the original Pete’s Dragon, which built suspense through delayed reveals, this film presents Elliot early on, allowing the audience to connect with him as a character from the start.
Elliot is a departure from the traditional Western dragon archetype. He’s an unexpectedly furry, green creature, blending feline and canine traits, making him instantly endearing and cuddly. Even in the 1977 film, Elliot had a touch of fluff with his pink hair, hinting at a more mammalian, nurturing nature, which is amplified in this remake. This design choice makes Elliot far more huggable and emotionally accessible than a realistically rendered, reptilian dragon might have been. While the film doesn’t delve into Elliot’s dietary habits, hinting at the forest’s natural food chain with deer and rabbits, predation isn’t a central theme.
The film fast-forwards six years after the prologue, emphasizing the profound impact of Pete’s (Oakes Fegley) years of isolation in the forest. He’s not quite a feral child, but he’s undeniably wild, a creature of the woods.
Despite his years away from human society, Pete remarkably still speaks English, and Elliot demonstrates a dog-like understanding of human communication. Elliot’s vocalizations remain limited, similar to the original, and thankfully, the remake avoids the somewhat absurd notion that Pete can decipher complex thoughts from dragon grunts, unlike a certain space-faring loner with a non-human companion from a 1977 film.
Pete’s reintroduction to civilization is portrayed as genuinely disorienting and challenging. Natalie (Oona Laurence), the daughter of Grace’s fiancé Jack (Wes Bentley), who owns a lumber mill, plays a crucial role in Pete’s transition. It’s Natalie who first draws Pete out of hiding, initiating his journey back into human society, a narrative arc that feels more satisfying than a similar element arguably missing from the ending of Favreau’s The Jungle Book.
“Is Elliot your imaginary friend?” Natalie asks Pete. Pete, unfamiliar with the concept of “imaginary,” is understandably confused. Natalie’s attempts to explain the term only deepen his bewilderment.
“Are imaginary friends funny? Can they fly?” she inquires. Perhaps, she muses, Elliot is imaginary. Then Pete, turning the question back on her, asks, “Are you my imaginary friend too?” When Natalie insists on her reality, Pete pauses, considers, and simply nods, “So’s Elliot.” This poignant exchange highlights the film’s central theme: the power of belief and the reality of emotional connections, regardless of external validation. It implicitly critiques a culture that might prioritize fleeting entertainment like The Secret Life of Pets over films that encourage empathy and wonder.
While a subtle environmental message about deforestation is present, it’s not heavy-handed. The antagonist isn’t the lumber mill owner Jack, but his less principled brother Gavin (Karl Urban), a hunter whose motivations are driven by the thrill of the chase and the potential for notoriety, rather than outright malice.
Ultimately, Pete’s Dragon is a film driven by emotions and relationships, particularly Pete’s bonds with Elliot, Grace, and Natalie. It’s a rare family film that allows its characters space to breathe, to explore the beauty of the natural world, and to forge deep, meaningful connections.
It evokes a sense of classic filmmaking, reminiscent of family films from the 1970s, yet with a contemporary sensibility and emotional maturity that the original sometimes lacked. This Pete’s Dragon is the film many wish they had grown up with, a heartwarming and visually stunning tale that will resonate with audiences of all ages.
Steven D. Greydanus is the Register’s film critic and creator of Decent Films. He is a permanent deacon in the Archdiocese of Newark, New Jersey. Follow him on Twitter.
Caveat Spectator: A discreetly handled but fatal car crash (we really only see the wrecked car afterwards); some action violence and menace. Could possibly be a bit much for very sensitive youngsters.
