The Prince and the Pretender: How "Leviathan" Delivers the Queer Subtext "Mulan" Fans Always Saw

When Disney released its animated Mulan in 1998, audiences fell in love with more than just the titular warrior. Captain Li Shang, the army leader with steely discipline and a quiet vulnerability, became a surprise icon—especially for queer viewers. For much of the film, Shang forms a deep bond with Ping, Mulan’s male disguise. While the character’s affection grows even before the truth is revealed, it wasn’t until years later that voice actor BD Wong reflected on Shang’s sexuality in an interview, ultimately affirming what many fans had long believed: “Of course he was [attracted to Ping]."

Netflix’s new anime adaptation of Leviathan, based on the steampunk-infused YA trilogy by Scott Westerfeld, picks up that legacy and runs with it—airborne aboard a genetically-engineered whale airship, no less. In the series, the emotional subtext that made Li Shang a bisexual icon is not only present, it’s central to the show’s beating heart. And this time, it’s overt.

Set in an alternate version of World War I, Leviathan follows two teens on opposite sides of a looming global conflict: Aleksandar “Alek" of Hohenberg, a fugitive Austro-Hungarian prince, and Deryn Sharp, a working-class British girl posing as a boy to serve aboard a Darwinist airship. Their meet-cute arrives after Sharp, going by the name Dylan, is injured and rescued by Alek, setting off a complex and emotionally fraught friendship filled with half-truths, hidden identities, and deepening trust.

Much like Mulan and Shang, Alek and Sharp must navigate a growing bond that defies the surface of who they appear to be. What sets Leviathan apart is the way it leans into the confusion and vulnerability that emerge when affection starts to cross boundaries that the characters themselves haven’t fully named.

Alek, raised in royal isolation, admits to never having had a real friend before Sharp. Their closeness, built on secrets and shared brushes with death, blurs the line between camaraderie and romantic tension. For viewers who once read queer longing into Ping and Shang’s sparring matches and battlefield bonds, Leviathan offers a version where the undertones become, eventually, text.

Both Alek and Sharp are, in different ways, closeted. Alek hides his royal identity; Sharp hides her gender. These dual secrets give their dynamic a narrative weight that echoes queer coming-out stories. The reveal scenes are not played for shock or drama, but with emotional clarity. Alek doesn’t reject Sharp upon discovering her truth; instead, he mourns the time they spent building trust under false pretenses, then works to rebuild that connection. Their emotional reunion, scored by a Joe Hisaishi-composed motif first introduced in the series’ opening credits, is gentle, aching, and beautifully romantic.

It’s an evolution of what BD Wong described when revisiting Mulan: that in 1998, “fluidity was not a word." In 2025, it’s central. Leviathan treats gender disguise not as a gimmick but as a pathway to authentic connection, built on empathy, understanding, and mutual choice.

What makes the Leviathan anime so refreshing isn’t just its sweeping visuals (the series is animated by Studio Orange, best known for BEASTARS and Land of the Lustrous; produced by Qubic Pictures, the studio behind the first and third seasons of Star Wars: Visions) or the Ghibli-esque elegance of its creature design. It’s that the story never tries to define its characters by rigid categories of sexuality or gender. Sharp isn’t “punished" for her deception. Alek doesn’t spiral into crisis about his feelings. Their connection simply continues - complicated, evolving, and rooted in who they are, not what they are.

Where Mulan’s Li Shang was dissected and debated in the margins, Leviathan places its queerness in the center. For a generation raised on stories of mistaken identity and repressed desire, watching Alek and Sharp navigate their truth is a welcome, and long overdue, gift.

Leviathan is not Mulan, but it knows the story it’s echoing. The image of a guarded, noble boy falling for someone he believes to be a fellow male comrade carries emotional resonance because we’ve seen it before - except now, we’re allowed to sit with that attraction, unpack it, and see where it leads. In the end, Alek renounces his crown, confesses his love, and joins Sharp in a future of their choosing. It’s everything Li Shang might have done in a more fluid world.

Leviathan is now streaming on Netflix.