Based on the strategy video game series Dota, Netflix’s Dota: Dragon’s Blood begins with a confusing illustrated voiceover recalling ancient events. After a timeless entity or force called the Primordial Mind constructed the universe, it split into two factions, which waged a civil war for control over the power of creation, leading to a cataclysm, or something, reverentially referred to as the Chaos of the Infinite. The accompanying visuals—storm-crackling cosmos, flaming meteors barreling through space, shards of glass swirling—are alluring, if not clarifying. The sequence is microcosmic of the show as a whole: a muddled jumble of plot conveyed in often splendid imagery and animation.
The show’s initial premise, an origin story for two of the game’s characters, is straightforward enough. Davion (Yuri Lowenthal), who hunts dragons and is suddenly cursed to uncontrollably transform into one, investigates the nature of his affliction, while an exiled princess, Mirana (Lara Pulver), searches for invaluable heirlooms stolen from her people. They cross paths almost immediately and aid each other in their quests (their fortuitous companionship recreates the dynamics of the game, in which players are grouped with random allies for matches). Davion and Mirana journey against the backdrop of war, as the worshippers of moon goddess Selemene (Alix Wilton Regan) brutally quell an insurrection by the elves she aims to indoctrinate. Simultaneously, a demon named Terrorblade (JB Blanc) intermittently figures into the proceedings, plotting a path to remake the world in his image.
As Dragon’s Blood proceeds, however, it gets increasingly mired down in the game’s arcane and diffuse lore, yielding a befuddling and scattered narrative. Dialogue tends to further complicate rather than elucidate matters, with characters routinely mentioning unexplained names and speaking in riddles. The dialogue’s opacity is rivaled by the characters’ penchant for melodrama, on full display when Davion admits his guilt after unintentionally hurting his friends while in dragon form. “The dragon that did it,” he says, pausing for effect, “is me.”
The embarrassingly earnest Davion seems to suffer from delusions of profundity—a frustratingly familiar macho protagonist who’s treated like a tortured martyr for demonstrating the faintest modicum of self-reflection. With her quiet confidence and the mystery of her exile, Mirana generates more interest, but the greatest source of our sympathy lies not in her character or personality, but in the show’s decision to force her into a romance with Davion. Their relationship triggers an irritating shift in her portrayal, deemphasizing her pluck and prowess in favor of her jealousy and capriciousness.
It’s probably no coincidence that the most endearing principal character is Marcy, Mirana’s kindhearted and mighty attendant, who’s mute and therefore spared cringe-inducing dialogue. Would that we could trade our time with Davion, that charisma-consuming black hole, for additional scenes with more intriguing characters like Luna (Kari Wahlgren), Selemene’s champion at arms, whose faithful service explores the sadism that can bleed into religious zeal, and the Invoker (Troy Baker), a genius hermit who aids Davion and Mirana while struggling poignantly with the mammoth weight of familial death.
Kinetic and creatively designed clashes occasionally offer lizard-brain thrills that push the show’s murky plot to the back of the mind. In the second episode, Davion is beset by a group of bandits, who outnumber him and force him to his knees. As the camera focuses on the face of a smug brute looking down at him, there’s a glint in the far distance. The flicker becomes an arrow, shot by Mirana, streaking toward the camera; it pierces through the bandit’s neck, its impact summoning pulsating synths on the musical score. But even the striking combat of Dragon’s Blood tends to suffer from a lack of lucidity, with over-the-top screen shakes and an excess of close-ups that lose track of the action’s specifics.
The standout visual of Dragon’s Blood occurs in the show’s disorienting but captivating opening sequence. A picturesque still image depicts a brawl between an assortment of the game’s 120 playable characters; their arrangement, and the potential energy coursing through their battle poses, recalls the iconic artwork of Kendrick “Kunkka” Lim that graced Dota’s loading screens in the aughts. At its best, Dragon’s Blood lives up to that shot, concocting vibrant visuals that evoke the game’s rich history, but, for the most part, the show loses itself in inaccessible esoterica. Like war, exile, and scaly metamorphosis, it’s all quite messy.
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