Plot Overview

Mufasa: The Lion King weaves a narrative that bridges past and present, using a framing device set after the events of the 2019 film. Rafiki (voiced by John Kani) recounts the story of Mufasa to young Kiara (Blue Ivy Carter), the daughter of Simba (Donald Glover) and Nala (Beyoncé Knowles-Carter), with Timon (Billy Eichner) and Pumbaa (Seth Rogen) providing comic interludes. The core of the film unfolds in flashbacks, detailing Mufasa’s unlikely rise from orphaned cub to revered king of the Pride Lands.

The flashback narrative begins with young Mufasa (voiced as a cub by Braelyn Rankins) living happily with his parents, Afia (Anika Noni Rose) and Masego (Keith David), on a quest to find Milele, a mythical paradise. Tragedy strikes early—a devastating flood sweeps Mufasa away, separating him from his family and presumed dead by his pride. Alone and vulnerable, Mufasa drifts into unfamiliar territory, where he encounters Taka (voiced as a cub by Theo Somolu), a royal cub and heir to a pride led by his parents, Obasi (Lennie James) and Eshe (Thandiwe Newton). Taka saves Mufasa from crocodiles, sparking an instant bond between the two, cemented by the song “I Always Wanted a Brother.” Despite their friendship, Obasi distrusts the outsider, banishing Mufasa to live among the lionesses—a decision that sows early seeds of tension.

As Mufasa (now voiced as a young adult by Aaron Pierre) and Taka (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) grow, their brotherhood is tested by external threats and internal struggles. A ruthless pride of white lions, led by the menacing Kiros (Mads Mikkelsen), invades Taka’s homeland, slaughtering much of the pride, including Obasi. The survivors—Mufasa, Taka, and a few others like the young Sarabi (Tiffany Boone)—are forced to flee, embarking on a perilous journey across Africa to find a new home. Along the way, they encounter familiar faces like Rafiki, Zazu (Preston Nyman), and other creatures who shape their path. The journey isn’t just physical; it’s a crucible for Mufasa’s growth into a leader, as he learns the value of unity and sacrifice, while Taka’s resentment festers, fueled by jealousy over Mufasa’s natural charisma and Sarabi’s affection, hinting at his eventual transformation into Scar.

The screenplay by Jeff Nathanson balances fan-service elements—like explaining the origins of Pride Rock and Rafiki’s staff—with a fresh coming-of-age tale. However, the story doesn’t always justify its existence; much of Mufasa’s arc feels like a retcon of established lore, particularly in portraying him as an outsider rather than a born royal, which clashes with the original’s implication of a long-standing dynasty. The framing device, while a nostalgic nod to the 2019 film, often interrupts the main narrative’s momentum, padding the runtime unnecessarily. Still, the flashback sequences carry emotional weight, especially in Mufasa’s moments of doubt and Taka’s slow unraveling, culminating in a climactic showdown with Kiros that sets the stage for the brothers’ inevitable rift.

Character Dynamics and Performances

The heart of Mufasa: The Lion King lies in the evolving relationship between Mufasa and Taka, a dynamic that resonates despite the film’s broader shortcomings. Aaron Pierre’s portrayal of young adult Mufasa is a standout, blending strength with vulnerability. His deep, resonant voice captures Mufasa’s burgeoning nobility while allowing glimpses of the orphaned cub still haunted by loss. Pierre’s performance shines in quieter moments—like when Mufasa grapples with guilt over surviving the flood that took his family—offering a layered take on a character previously defined by James Earl Jones’ regal gravitas. (The film opens with a dedication to Jones, who passed away in September 2024.)

Kelvin Harrison Jr.’s Taka is equally compelling, tracing the lion’s descent from playful prince to embittered outcast with nuance. Harrison infuses Taka with charm and insecurity, making his transformation into Scar feel tragic rather than inevitable. Their brotherly bond—forged in shared hardship but frayed by jealousy and circumstance—forms the emotional core, with scenes like their duet “I Always Wanted a Brother” carrying genuine warmth before darker undertones emerge. The addition of Sarabi as a love interest complicates their dynamic, though Tiffany Boone’s performance, while solid, feels underutilized, her role more plot device than fully realized character.

The supporting cast delivers mixed results. Anika Noni Rose and Keith David bring depth to Afia and Masego, even in their brief screen time, their love for Mufasa grounding the story’s early tragedy. Mads Mikkelsen’s Kiros is a menacing villain, his icy delivery amplifying the white lion’s threat, though he lacks the complexity to rival Scar’s legacy. Returning characters like Rafiki, Timon, and Pumbaa fare less well—their framing-device banter often feels forced, with Eichner and Rogen’s sarcastic humor jarring against the main story’s tone. Blue Ivy Carter’s Kiara is a charming addition but limited to a reactive role, her presence more symbolic than substantial.

The voice performances elevate a script that sometimes leans too heavily on exposition. Pierre and Harrison’s chemistry carries the film through its weaker moments, though the ensemble as a whole struggles with inconsistent focus—characters like Zazu and the lionesses feel like afterthoughts, included more for continuity than narrative necessity. Ultimately, the film’s emotional depth hinges on Mufasa and Taka, whose fraught bond provides a bittersweet anchor amidst the spectacle.

Direction and Visual Style

Barry Jenkins, known for intimate dramas like Moonlight and If Beale Street Could Talk, brings a surprising sensitivity to Mufasa: The Lion King, though his indie sensibilities occasionally clash with the demands of a Disney blockbuster. Jenkins approaches the story with a painterly eye, working alongside cinematographer James Laxton to create a visually arresting experience. The photorealistic CGI, an evolution from the 2019 remake, is breathtaking—every blade of grass, ripple of water, and strand of fur feels tangible, with the African landscapes rendered in vivid detail. Scenes of Mufasa racing across savannas or battling Kiros amidst a thunderstorm carry a visceral intensity, the animation capturing the play of muscle and sinew beneath the lions’ pelts.

Jenkins’ direction shines in the film’s quieter moments, where he employs his signature close-ups and slow, deliberate camera movements to convey emotion. A standout sequence shows Mufasa staring into a reflective pool after losing his parents, the blurred background isolating his grief—a quintessential Jenkins touch. However, the action sequences, while technically dazzling, lack the raw energy of Jon Favreau’s 2019 film. Battles against Kiros’ pride or natural disasters like the opening flood are thrilling but often feel staged, with choreography that prioritizes visual flair over narrative stakes.

The film’s pacing struggles under Jenkins’ contemplative style—what works in a drama like Moonlight can feel sluggish in a family-oriented adventure. The framing device interrupts the main story’s flow, and some musical numbers, composed by Lin-Manuel Miranda, feel awkwardly integrated, their modern Broadway flair clashing with the film’s tone. The score by Dave Metzger and Nicholas Britell, paired with choral pieces by Lebo M., fares better, evoking the original’s iconic soundtrack while adding fresh emotional beats.

Visually, Jenkins pushes the boundaries of photorealistic animation, allowing the animals to emote more expressively than in the 2019 remake, a choice that mitigates the “uncanny valley” effect of its predecessor. Yet this realism comes at a cost—the film lacks the stylized poetry of the 1994 hand-drawn classic, occasionally feeling more like a nature documentary than a mythic tale. Jenkins’ artistry elevates the material, but the constraints of the Disney machine are evident, tempering his boldest impulses.

Overall Impact and Reception

Mufasa: The Lion King arrives as a curious addition to Disney’s live-action (or rather, photorealistic CGI) slate, a film that both honors and complicates the legacy of its predecessors. It’s a technical marvel, pushing the boundaries of animation with its stunning visuals and nuanced performances, particularly from Aaron Pierre and Kelvin Harrison Jr. Jenkins’ direction brings a soulful depth to Mufasa’s origin, exploring themes of brotherhood, loss, and destiny with a sincerity that resonates, even if the story doesn’t always feel essential.

The film’s strengths lie in its quieter, character-driven moments—Mufasa’s grief, Taka’s resentment, and their fractured bond carry real emotional weight. However, it stumbles in its broader execution. The framing device feels unnecessary, diluting the main narrative’s impact, and the songs, while catchy, lack the timelessness of Elton John and Tim Rice’s originals from 1994. The retconning of Mufasa’s backstory—positioning him as an outsider rather than a born royal—feels like a forced attempt to modernize the lore, clashing with the dynastic themes of the original.

Reception-wise, the film has been a commercial success, grossing over $700 million worldwide as of early 2025, making it the seventh-highest-grossing film of 2024. Critically, it’s more divisive—holding a 57% on Rotten Tomatoes with a 5.7/10 average rating, reflecting mixed sentiments. Some praise Jenkins’ artistry and the voice performances, while others call it an unnecessary cash-in, hampered by its photorealistic style’s emotional limitations. Audiences have been kinder, with an 89% approval rating and an A- CinemaScore, suggesting it resonates with families and fans despite its flaws.

Ultimately, Mufasa: The Lion King isn’t a game-changer like the 1994 classic but a thoughtful, if flawed, expansion of the franchise. It offers enough heart and spectacle to justify a watch, particularly for diehard fans, but it’s a film that struggles to escape the shadow of its predecessors. Jenkins’ involvement ensures it’s more than a soulless retread, yet it never fully roars with the vitality of the original, settling instead for a respectful, if muted, echo of Pride Rock’s legacy.