We’ve seen plenty of sequels to movies, TV shows, and other works that come out years later, introducing new characters while maintaining the core elements and narrative threads of their predecessors.
This approach has been used, with variations, in several franchises: Star Wars, Jurassic Park, Blade Runner, Mad Max, Ghostbusters, and more.
Cobra Kai is one such sequel—it builds on The Karate Kid films but takes place decades later, with the original characters now grown up and leading completely different lives, while also integrating a new generation of protagonists.
The first season stayed close in tone to the original movie: grounded, realistic, with a focus on character relationships rather than flashy fights. Nostalgia was present in every detail—in every bar where Daniel and Johnny reluctantly shared a drink, in every moment of tension between them, in every lesson they tried to pass on to the new generation.
For those of us who grew up watching The Karate Kid movies, Cobra Kai’s first season hit right in the sweet spot, triggering pure nostalgia.
The choice to shift the perspective and put Johnny Lawrence in the lead role was a brilliant one. William Zabka proved to be more than up to the task—carrying much of the show’s humor while also delivering emotional depth.
Johnny, like many of the main characters, needed significant development to reach the much-desired redemption—to correct past mistakes and evolve.
A smart move by the series was its approach to character development: figures who were one-dimensional in the films were given deeper backstories, providing context for their past actions. More often than not, this worked—at least to some extent.
After the first season, the show leaned into its more exaggerated elements, embracing a comic-book-like tone reminiscent of the later Karate Kid films, which were less successful.
Gradually, Cobra Kai moved away from the grounded style of Season 1. This was especially evident in the fight scenes.
The Karate Kid movies featured relatively simple, choreographed fights. In fact, whenever they tried to impress with things like storms, fire, or death matches, the results weren’t well received. Simple fights, driven by character philosophy and personal conflicts, were enough. Cobra Kai initially followed this approach—with fights in school hallways where “one vs. four” was unrealistic but still entertaining. Johnny taking on a group of teenagers in a parking lot, in a fight where he also took some hits, felt true to the spirit of the original.
Fast forward a few seasons, and suddenly we had nunchaku, staffs, swords, blood—Johnny beating up martial arts masters as if they were training dummies.
The tone shifted significantly. The fights became undeniably impressive—avoiding the pitfalls of the later Karate Kid films. Choreography grew more intricate, battles more intense, and the number of fighters involved increased dramatically.
Meanwhile, the younger generation took center stage for large parts of the story. Some additions were excellent—Johnny’s first student, his son, Daniel’s daughter. Others fit in well, like Hawk, one of Johnny’s early success stories. But then there were characters like Demetri, Payne, and Devon, who never quite felt essential and whose arcs sometimes repeated familiar patterns.
Still, the cast was likable, the actors delivered solid performances, and even the weaker new characters weren’t a burden—though some of us preferred the smaller-scale style of Season 1.
Then came the parade of returning characters. If someone had appeared in the Karate Kid movies—even for just one scene—they likely made an appearance in Cobra Kai. At times, this felt excessive, but it was also part of the nostalgia factor. Combined with the over-the-top storylines and flashy fights, it built a world where karate dictated everything—friendships, rivalries, life decisions.
Despite its exaggerations and occasional cringeworthy moments, Cobra Kai had something many legacy sequels lack: heart.
It had an earnestness and charm, built from the same ingredients that made the Karate Kid films special. It was sincere, funny, full of underdog spirit—offering second chances, triumphant victories after tense battles, life lessons, and 80s nostalgia.
The original Karate Kid still holds up—it’s a timeless film that may even seem better today. Its simple yet emotionally resonant storytelling, well-paced structure, and iconic characters remain effortlessly compelling.
The show aimed to follow that path—and against all odds, it succeeded. It captured that same nostalgia and sincerity. Lighthearted yet dramatic, funny yet emotional, Cobra Kai sometimes lost its way, focusing too much on exaggerated fights and cartoonish villains with “I will take over the world, muahaha” plans. But in its final season, it recalibrated.
Johnny was brought back to the forefront, given more screen time and deeper character development. The series balanced his arc perfectly—honoring the past while looking toward the future. Zabka delivered some of his best performances in the final episodes. The fights were scaled back in length and over-the-top spectacle, but paradoxically, they became even more impressive—emotionally charged, beautifully choreographed, full of tension and catharsis.
Johnny stole the show in some key scenes—his emotional outbursts, moments of growth, and dialogue-driven confrontations were essential in shaping a satisfying conclusion.
Overall, the characters received fitting, well-earned finales—true to their essence, entertaining, and emotionally resonant.
One downside? Some secondary characters, who had been in the spotlight for multiple episodes (like Payne, Anthony, Devon, even Hawk), were gradually sidelined. Some faded out naturally, while others just stopped mattering, disappearing from the story abruptly. Fewer seasons and a smaller character roster might have improved this, but the overall execution was still solid.
I wonder what’s next for the franchise. A new film, Karate Kid: Legends, is on the way, bridging the Miyagi universe with that of Han (played by Jackie Chan, whose name was even referenced in Cobra Kai as an actor). The show’s ending is structured in a way that could support future spinoffs—though none have been announced. Thankfully, the finale feels like a genuine conclusion, not a setup for endless continuations.
One missed opportunity? The absence of Julie, the protagonist of The Next Karate Kid (which featured Miyagi’s last appearance, played by Hilary Swank). I suspect she’ll appear in future projects, but it still feels like a wasted opportunity—especially since Cobra Kai managed to bring back even the most random minor characters.
Overall, I don’t have major complaints about the ending. The decision to focus on the older characters was spot-on, while still giving the younger ones meaningful moments. The final episodes were much stronger than the earlier ones in Season 6 (especially the first five), packed with emotion, suspense, great performances, thrilling fights, and well-placed callbacks—especially to the original movie.