‘Moana’ Review: A Girl, a Boat, and a Demi-God With an Ego
When Moana arrived in theaters in 2016, it quietly redefined what a modern Disney animated film could be. Yes, it followed the studio’s familiar musical-adventure formula, but it did so with a level of cultural care, emotional clarity, and visual ambition that immediately set it apart. Nearly a decade later, Moana hasn’t just aged well- it’s become foundational. This is one of those films that feels less like a moment and more like a pillar in Disney’s contemporary canon.
At its core, Moana is a story about identity, not romantic fulfillment, not external validation, but the deeply internal pull of knowing who you are and where you come from. Moana, voiced with remarkable warmth and strength by Auliʻi Cravalho, is introduced not as a misunderstood outcast, but as someone already loved and valued by her community. That distinction matters. Her journey isn’t about proving her worth to others; it’s about reconciling her responsibility to her people with an undeniable call toward the ocean.
[Warning: spoilers from Disney’s live-action Moana are below!]
A Disney princess without apology
What makes Moana (Auli’i Cravalho) such a compelling protagonist is that her arc is never about shrinking or softening herself. She is curious, stubborn, compassionate, and brave—sometimes all at once. The film resists the urge to manufacture artificial self-doubt or romantic tension. Instead, it allows Moana to grow into leadership by listening to her ancestors, the ocean, and eventually herself.
This makes Moana feel unusually mature for a family film. The conflict isn’t driven by a villain in the traditional sense, but by imbalance- between nature and humanity, tradition and fear, memory and loss. It’s a quieter kind of threat, but one that gives the film emotional weight.
Opposite Moana is Maui, voiced by Dwayne Johnson in what remains one of his most effective performances. Maui is loud, insecure, hilarious, and deeply flawed. His bravado masks a fear of abandonment, and the film smartly lets his humor coexist with genuine emotional vulnerability. Their dynamic avoids romantic coding entirely, instead functioning as a clash of philosophies: self-made legend versus inherited responsibility.
Importantly, Moana never allows Maui to overshadow her. He is a companion, not a savior. When Moana succeeds, it is because she chooses to stand, to return, to try again—not because someone else hands her confidence.
Moana is storytelling at its peak
Visually, Moana remains breathtaking. The ocean itself is a character- playful, protective, and expressive in ways that still feel magical on repeat viewings. The water animation was groundbreaking at the time and continues to hold up, with movement and light that feel tactile and alive. Island landscapes glow with saturated color, while moments at sea capture both wonder and isolation. But what truly elevates the animation is how it supports the story. When Moana feels small, the frame widens. When she claims her purpose, the film closes in on her, grounding her in power rather than spectacle.
The soundtrack, created by Lin-Manuel Miranda, Opetaia Foaʻi, and Mark Mancina, has become iconic for a reason. Songs like “How Far I’ll Go” and “You’re Welcome” are catchy, yes—but they also function as emotional anchors. “How Far I’ll Go” isn’t just an “I want” song; it’s a thesis statement about longing without knowing the destination. Even quieter musical moments, like the reprise during Moana’s darkest hour, are placed with surgical precision. Unlike some Disney scores that feel engineered for chart success, Moana’s music feels inseparable from its narrative. Remove the songs, and the emotional architecture collapses.
One of Moana’s most important achievements is its approach to cultural representation. While no Hollywood film can claim complete authenticity, Moana made a visible effort to collaborate with Polynesian cultural advisors and storytellers. The result is a film that treats its source cultures with respect rather than exoticism. Mythology is woven into character and theme, not used as window dressing. This intention is most powerfully evident in the film’s final act, which reframes conflict not as destruction but as restoration. The choice to heal rather than conquer is both narratively satisfying and thematically resonant.
Final verdict of this Disney animated film
Moana endures because it trusts its audience. It doesn’t rush emotional growth, it doesn’t undermine its heroine, and it doesn’t confuse noise with meaning. Instead, it offers a story about listening to history, to nature, and to the quiet inner voice that insists you’re meant for something more.
In a landscape crowded with animated features chasing trends or franchise longevity, Moana stands out as something rarer: a film that feels complete. Not just successful, not just beloved—but whole.
Currently, Disney+ is the primary streaming home for Moana, available to subscribers at no additional cost. The film’s runtime is 1 hour and 47 minutes and is also available for digital rental or purchase through platforms such as Amazon Prime Video, Apple TV, and Vudu, making it accessible whether you’re committed to the Disney ecosystem or not.
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