Karate Kid: Legends – Film Review

In Karate Kid: Legends, director Jonathan Entwistle steps into the well-worn arena of the Karate Kid franchise with a sequel that ambitiously attempts to bridge generations, cultures, and martial arts philosophies. Featuring the return of Jackie Chan’s Mr. Han and Ralph Macchio’s Daniel LaRusso, and introducing Ben Wang as a new youthful protagonist, the film sets out to be both a spiritual successor and a legacy reboot. Yet despite a few stirring moments and flashes of charm, Legends lacks the emotional resonance and originality to stand tall next to its predecessors.

The movie’s first challenge is narrative sprawl. With one foot planted in Beijing and the other in New York City, Karate Kid: Legends opens promisingly with Mr. Han now operating a prestigious kung fu school. These early scenes are rich with visual texture and spiritual gravitas, allowing Jackie Chan to embody a sensei with deeper history and emotional restraint. However, once the story shifts to the United States, following Li Fong (Ben Wang) and his mother, the film struggles to find a cohesive tone.

Li’s arc—an outsider navigating grief, relocation, and bullying—is meant to parallel Daniel LaRusso’s in the 1984 original. But while Ralph Macchio’s character benefitted from strong character work and a lean script, Li is saddled with undercooked subplots and uneven pacing. His romance with Mia Lipani (Sadie Stanley) lacks chemistry, and their relationship serves more as a narrative device than a developed bond. Meanwhile, Victor Lipani (Joshua Jackson) is an intriguing figure—a fallen boxer with debts and regrets—but even his character becomes another thread in a tangle of storylines that rarely receive satisfying payoffs.

Ben Wang brings a genuine vulnerability to Li Fong, capturing the inner turmoil of a teen who has fled trauma only to encounter fresh conflict. However, the script by Rob Lieber gives him little room to evolve naturally. Li’s growth, especially in terms of martial discipline and emotional maturity, is more told than shown. His transition from a withdrawn outsider to a disciplined fighter feels overly reliant on montage and cliché, undercutting what could have been a compelling journey of self-discovery.

The film leans heavily on tropes we’ve seen before: the school bully who moonlights in underground fights, the wise teacher who returns at just the right time, the climactic tournament where honor and revenge intersect. None of this is inherently bad—The Karate Kid formula has always been about refinement over reinvention—but here, these familiar beats feel perfunctory, rather than earned.

Much of the film’s emotional weight is placed on its legacy characters, but their appearances feel more like fan-service than organic parts of the story. Jackie Chan remains a powerful presence, delivering quiet wisdom and occasional moments of dry humor, but his reappearance in the second half feels almost too late to fully galvanize the plot. Likewise, Ralph Macchio’s Daniel LaRusso arrives with a meaningful connection to Mr. Han and Mr. Miyagi, but his role feels more symbolic than integral.

There’s a charming scene where Daniel and Han exchange philosophies—Miyagi-do defense meeting Han’s internal balance—but it’s fleeting. What could have been an enriching exploration of martial arts pedagogy ends up reduced to a brief team-up and a few training sessions. The decision to tether Daniel’s presence to an extended cameo, rather than letting him become a full mentor figure again, is a missed opportunity.

The film’s primary antagonist, Connor Day, is a one-note character: aggressive, jealous, and conveniently connected to all the worst elements in Li’s life. Played with physical intensity but little nuance, Connor never rises above being a stock bully. His dojo—owned by a shadowy sensei with loan-sharking side hustles—feels like an attempt to merge Karate Kid‘s traditional tournament villains with Cobra Kai‘s grittier sensibilities, but it lands as cartoonish rather than menacing.

This lack of a compelling villain deflates the stakes. Even when Li is faced with moral dilemmas or flashbacks to his brother’s death, the film fails to translate his inner conflict into meaningful tension. Instead, too many plot threads—from Li’s tutor Alan and his pigeons, to Victor’s failed comeback match—muddy the waters rather than raise the emotional stakes.

When the film does turn to martial arts, it shows flashes of brilliance. The fight choreography, especially under the guidance of both kung fu and karate traditions, offers a stylistic blend that sets Legends apart from earlier entries. Training scenes on New York rooftops and late-night sparring sessions glow with aesthetic potential, but they are often rushed or overwritten with unnecessary exposition.

The climactic tournament is energetic but familiar. Set dramatically atop a city rooftop, the setting is more visually daring than the combat itself. The match unfolds exactly as one might expect, with last-minute turnarounds and signature moves. The final maneuver—a revised version of Li’s late brother’s flying kick—offers a satisfying payoff, but one that feels unearned due to the film’s rushed emotional beats and lack of deeper character investment.

There are moments of levity that do land, but they can’t compensate for the film’s emotional hollowness. These attempts at humor, often inserted after heavy moments, create tonal inconsistencies that make it hard to fully engage with the film’s themes of grief, discipline, and redemption.

Karate Kid: Legends wants to be many things: a continuation of two parallel legacies (Chan’s kung fu world and LaRusso’s karate tradition), a coming-of-age tale, a multicultural love story, and a martial arts spectacle. But instead of weaving these elements into a coherent whole, it treats them like checklist items, resulting in a film that’s more ambition than execution.

Despite the best efforts of a talented cast and some strong visual direction, Karate Kid: Legends is a muddled and overstuffed sequel that never quite finds its rhythm. It attempts to juggle too many storylines, offers thin character development, and leans too heavily on franchise nostalgia. For die-hard fans, seeing Chan and Macchio share the screen may offer fleeting moments of joy, but for newcomers or casual viewers, this is a limp return to the dojo.