MUFASA: THE LION KING – Brothers Are (Not) Lost [REVIEW]

One of the most intriguing photos from my childhood was taken in a shopping mall. In the picture, I’m about 5 or 6 years old, standing next to a promotional display for the original The Lion King. Why was this display set up in the middle of a mall in Poznań? I have no idea—the Disney animation had premiered in theaters at least ten years earlier. What strikes me now about this photo is that I didn’t position myself next to Mufasa, Simba, or even Timon and Pumbaa, who are adored by every child. Oh no, I chose to stand next to Scar, whom I considered—and still consider—the most fascinating and charismatic character in Disney’s version of Hamlet. I don’t know what Barry Jenkins thinks about this, but Scar’s (or Taka’s) storyline is, without a doubt, the most interesting aspect of his new project. And let’s face it: that’s not a great omen for a movie titled Mufasa.

We learn Simba’s father’s backstory in Jenkins’ film through the eyes of Kiara—the daughter of the main character from The Lion King. The young lioness spends a solitary day on Pride Rock. Her parents have gone off to a secluded location to ensure the safe birth of their next child. Before leaving, Simba entrusts Kiara’s care to Timon and Pumbaa, who regale her with absurd tales about how they single-handedly ended Scar’s despotic reign. Suddenly, Rafiki emerges from a cave and offers an alternative story: one that is older and less well-known than Simba’s rise to power. Its protagonist is a young lion, an orphan separated from his parents by a flood.

Just as The Lion King drew heavily from Hamlet, Mufasa finds its narrative roots primarily in the story of Moses. Jeff Nathanson’s screenplay is essentially a paraphrase of the Old Testament tale. All the key plot points are preserved: being rescued from the water, adoption by a royal couple, conflict with an adopted brother, and, finally, a journey to the Promised Land (here called “Milele”). In the finale, we even see an animated equivalent of Mount Sinai take shape—namely, Pride Rock. The trouble is that, while Moses has existed in literature for thousands of years and remains a deeply nuanced character, Mufasa in 2024 is far less complex. The leader of the Hebrews experienced moments of doubt, uncontrollable anger, and human frailty—like when he killed an Egyptian overseer in a fit of rage or smashed the stone tablets of the Ten Commandments upon seeing his people worship the Golden Calf. Mufasa, on the other hand, is more akin to that Golden Calf in terms of psychological depth than to his biblical counterpart. The titular character of Jenkins’ film is as smooth as a statue. He’s a born leader who, unlike Simba in the original The Lion King, undergoes no internal transformation throughout the narrative. He is always fair to everyone around him, even when they are not fair to him. He is noble, immaculate, and destined for greatness. There’s nothing less engaging than watching the adventures of such a character.

The viewer’s attention naturally begins to seek other points of interest. The first and most obvious one is Scar. Here, the ruthless murderer and manipulator is introduced as an innocent lion cub named Taka. He rescues Mufasa from the river and persuades their mother, Eshe, to take the orphan under her wing. The complex relationship between the brothers could, and arguably should, become the narrative core of Mufasa. For a moment, it seems like it will—this budding bond is inaugurated by a wonderful, incredibly catchy song, I Always Wanted a Brother (if any musical number leaves a mark on audiences’ collective memory, it will be this one). Over time, however, Taka and Mufasa’s relationship fades into the background. New characters are introduced: Rafiki gets his own subplot, and Sarabi becomes a significant figure. The action is no longer driven by the brothers’ dynamic but by a sensationalist element centered around an escape from a pride of albino lions led by the bloodthirsty Kiros. Taka’s transformation into Scar—a pivotal moment that should be narratively highlighted—is relegated to the film’s periphery. It is almost literally sidelined, given only half a song, tacked onto a love duet that celebrates Mufasa and Sarabi’s romance.

And where, in all this chaos (forgive me, the holidays are approaching), is the space for Barry Jenkins, a director known for creating so-called auteur cinema? Precisely: nowhere. To be honest, I find it amusing to read reviews in which American critics twist themselves into intellectual knots, searching for traces of Jenkins’ visual style in Mufasa. Here, an animated lion pauses thoughtfully and gazes directly into the (nonexistent) camera; there, another lion floats on the water’s surface, almost like in Moonlight. Please. Mufasa is first and foremost—and I write this with genuine sadness—a factory-made Disney product, only secondarily a work by Barry Jenkins. This dynamic is evident in the clumsy but consistent fan service. Nearly every plot event must correspond to the original film. For example, the shot of Scar sinking his claws into Mufasa’s paws appears twice, ensuring we don’t miss the “subtle” reference. I find it hard to believe Jenkins is truly proud of this film. One need only listen to—or read—his interviews during the promotional tour. Somewhere between a charming anecdote about watching The Lion King on VHS with his nephews are phrases like “this isn’t my story” or “I want to work with physical actors on a film set again.” As Zack Sharif noted in a brief piece for Variety, Jenkins “doesn’t sound eager to repeat this experience anytime soon.”

A fellow critic wrote in an enthusiastic review that Disney remains unrivaled in feature-length animation. Their films are still the best on the market, and Mufasa supposedly confirms this trend: “An epic production that doesn’t feel like milking the franchise but is instead a thoughtful project, a tribute to Disney’s iconic tales.” I couldn’t disagree more. The iconic studio has long since run out of steam. Aside from Pixar-branded animations, everything Disney has released recently has been an artistic failure. Strange World, Wish, Moana 2. Marvel productions, not to mention Star Wars. Mufasa continues this dismal trend, consisting of films made not from the heart but for the wallet. Yet it’s possible to do better, combining quality with profitability, as rival studio DreamWorks proved with The Wild Robot and Puss in Boots: The Last Wish. There was a time when Walt Disney Company—America’s cinematic Midas—turned everything it touched into gold. And today? What does Disney transform its projects into these days? Let everyone answer that question for themselves.