The 1982 Nobel laureate, Gabriel García Márquez thought it was impossible to bring his 1967 novel, One Hundred Years of Solitude, to life on screen. Years later, streaming giant Netflix has achieved this feat. But this is no Stanley Kubrick—Stephen King situation, for Gabo is no more. This is not like the writer’s other novel’s atrocious long-form cinematic version (read: Love in the Time of Cholera). ‘Cien años de soleded’ is for those of you who have been waiting a hundred years in solitude for a near-perfect adaptation.
“Hoc est simplicissimus”, José Arcadio Buendía says to Father Nicanor. This also reflects Gabo’s prose — absolute genius that exists with a tinge of madness. The incessant clamour around the unadaptability of his works probably flows from this beautiful insanity of his worlds that resist a monolithic imagination. However, the first part of Netflix’s sixteen-episode mini-series is faithful to the text and does a commendable job of creating an exceptional and immersive visual parallel that both adheres to and circumvents Márquez’s poetic prose. Talking about being faithful to the novel, the series goes all out even soaking up the problematic elements from the text with fidelity.
The story, in what seems like a gross oversimplification, is that of seven generations of Buendías set against the fictional town of Macondo. Over time Macondo grows, its secular and peaceful fabric fissures with the influx of volatile Columbian politics, the heat between Liberals and Conservatives and Christianity. Gabriel García Márquez creates an echo chamber of mistakes and temperaments that Buendías, with more number of recycled names than you can imagine, unwittingly go through. In Macondo, everything is cyclical, from time to fates and disillusionments.
The adaptation untangles the narrative and linearises it, making it work for those who found the novel too complicated, also robbing the sinuous quality of Macondo’s history as presented in words. It starts from a crucial revelation, that only appears at the very end of Márquez’s work and cuts to the first line of the novel, “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.”
Certain parts of the narrative become more detailed on screen like the sequence of the plague of insomnia, captured with so much beauty as the yellow flowers raining down when José Arcadio Buendía dies. It feels like it adds an extra layer to how one imagines words, which again is not incomplete yet different from what is delivered in images.
The cinematography seems to flow like a river; it lingers and stalls through the first half of the series, through the homes and people of the town. In the second half, the shots have a sense of urgency and are more graphic and effective with the representations of war. In the sequence preceding Arcadio’s death, you feel like you are trapped in his stifling clothes, captured to perfection by Paulo Pérez and Mario Sarasvati. At no point is the narrative hurried and the pacing becomes symbolic of the Buendías’ painful downward spiral, sprawling over a hundred years.
The production design is impeccable and the size of Netflix’s budget shows as it creates Macondo in such depth and detail. The growth of Macondo is reflected in every slight detail, in the homes of Macondo and even in the clothing of its men and women. The beauty of the world is such that you cannot help but revisit and rewatch some of the images and sequences. The makers also employ percussive music and gaitas with the Columbian folk undertone in the most brilliant manner. Music is minimal and does not shadow the narrative, supported by the ambient sounds of Macondo.
Meliquíades remarks in one of the alchemy scenes, “The ultimate proof of his total mastery is the transformation of common base metals into gold.” The text is no base metal, yet Alex García López and Laura Mora are successful in retaining the shine and value of Márquez’s golden words. The directors, along with two of Gabo’s sons as executive producers, have also ensured that the portrayal of Latin America is not exoticized, neither is the gaze colonized by perceptions and preconceived notions.
While the adaptation remains as faithful as it can, it does make alterations to provide context or to substantiate why characters behave the way they do. Pilar’s friendship with Rebecca, which reopened to her the door of the Buendía household, is absent. The series alters Aureliano’s interaction with the girl at Catarino’s — also what could have been his first sexual encounter — making Remedios his first and only love. However, Márquez writes, “He felt an irresistible need to love her and protect her,” about the girl. The dynamic between the Buendía brothers is also supplemented by additional sequences absent in print.
The images tread the dangers of creating a singular imagination against the many versions possible for a complex book like this. But you cannot help but think of the depth it adds to moments that might have been passive in the text, which is also remarkably scanty with its dialogues. The Spanish show plants an omniscient narrator and augments the depth at which we engage with the characters. Úrsula dreads of having pigs for children in the book. In the series, the fear becomes a palpable presence with all three Buendías born on screen and a troubled Úrsula looking for tails.
What seems concerning is that the “relationship” (for I honestly don’t know how to name whatever happens between Aureliano and the “girl”) might take the ‘Lolita’ route of being misinterpreted as “romantic”, owing to how it is presented on screen. Márquez writes (though his writing was not sanitized of murky sexual and gender politics), “Remedios, the magistrate’s younger daughter, who, because of her age, could have been his daughter.” The series omits that particular line and any mention of the girl’s age—nine, according to the novel. Pilar’s exoticized “relationship” with José Arcadio Jr., incites the very same fear of misinterpretation, for every viewer has to remember that the tale of Buendías is one of decadence and not aspirational in the slightest.
‘Cien años de soledad’ tackles the magical with stunning visuals and utmost beauty that it seems all too real to you. The performances are flawless so it’s unfair to pick one. Yet Marleyda Soto demands special mention as the matriarch with her stand-out performance. There is this scene where she informs Arcadio about Aureliano’s death and walks out, saving Apolinar Moscote from the liberals. The viewer is not saved though, from the bullet of grief that strikes you in this scene that is not dramatic yet so intense and layered.
One Hundred Years of Solitude creates an experience that is so immersive that you feel like the ghost of Prudencio Aguilar walking around Macondo with a bleeding neck; might as well make you feel claustrophobic, caught in a hundred years. José Arcadio returns home and tells his father, “World has always been more beautiful in your mind, Papa.” One should probably switch to their Netflix account for you might find another Macondo in your devices. Different? Yes. But definitely worth your time.
Series: One Hundred Years of Solitude (Part 1)
Directors: Alex García López, Laura Mora
Cast: Diego Vásquez, Marleyda Soto, Claudio Cataño, Loren Sofía
