‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ Review: Netflix’s Gorgeous, Ambitious Adaptation Captures Some of the Novel’s Magic

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As a lover of magical realism, I must say that diving into “One Hundred Years of Solitude” was like stepping into a dreamy river of Colombian folklore and history. Having previously read the book, I was eager to see how this beloved classic would translate to the screen, and I have to admit, I wasn’t disappointed.

Approximately three years ago, Max introduced a limited television series adaptation of Emily St. John Mandel’s highly-acclaimed novel, Station Eleven, seamlessly blending magic realism with a chilling portrayal of a worldwide pandemic. Both dreamy and disconcertingly familiar, the series was bleak yet brimming with hope. Patrick Somerville translated Mandel’s work for the screen, and it has since earned a place as a modern classic – THR ranked it at number 42 on their list of the top 50 TV shows of the 21st century so far. However, due to its release timing, the show initially struggled to gain recognition. It failed to meet deadlines for many critics’ Top 10 lists and didn’t receive the awards attention one might anticipate given its subsequent acclaim. Instead, it had a prolonged journey towards admiration.

It remains uncertain whether Netflix’s adaptation of Gabriel García Márquez’s “One Hundred Years of Solitude” will meet the same destiny, given its challenging reputation for both brilliance and unsuitability for filming. The series premieres on December 11, with numerous top-rated lists already published (our list excluded), and I’ve even noticed an awards organization announcing nominations that seem to indicate a shortage of time among members to watch it.

As a devoted reader, I can’t help but draw a striking connection between “Station Eleven” and “One Hundred Years of Solitude.” It’s not just about the plot, but the immersive experience they both offer. Like “Station Eleven,” “One Hundred Years of Solitude” takes me on a journey, pulling me deep into its world. This journey is made even more captivating by the dialogue in Spanish and diverse native dialects, the unfamiliar faces of Colombian actors, and the filming locations that breathe life into this story. The characters, though numerous, are intricately connected by blood and shared names, and the narrative weaves a tale that’s vast yet intimate, touching on universal themes while remaining deeply personal.

Unlike “Station Eleven,” which made its screen debut just seven years after its novel, “One Hundred Years of Solitude” has been carrying decades of heightened anticipation with it. It is a given that it will be impossible for it to meet the expectations of its most ardent admirers, as their imaginings are deeply passionate.

In essence, the show produced by José Rivera and Natalia Santa, with Rivera being Puerto Rican and Santa Colombian, presents a daring and noble effort. Over eight episodes, they’ve adapted half of Marquez’s book, with another eight episodes planned. The series aims to capture the rhythm and atmosphere of Marquez’s poetic writing, using as many of his actual words as feasible. In fact, much of what you remember from the show is likely to be directly taken from the book itself.

The piece doesn’t always hold up well. As it leans more towards “realism,” the more it appears unconvincing. (I may have just flipped my stance about HBO’s impressive recent adaptation of Like Water For Chocolate? Correct!) And there are elements that clearly transform when translated from words to on-screen action, as opposed to being imagined in one’s mind, and these aspects might have been best left as written descriptions.

Without a doubt, One Hundred Years of Solitude is stunningly beautiful with moments that leave you breathless. It’s lyrical, vibrant, and teeming with visual and intellectual concepts. Directors Alex García López and Laura Mora, who hail from Argentina and Colombia respectively, manage to accomplish certain feats that made me rewind specific shots and scenes. For at least five out of the eight episodes, I was completely engrossed in this series’ captivating allure.

In the same vein, the show starts off captivatingly, much like the book did for me. It brings back memories of Colonel Aureliano Buendía as he recalls that far-off afternoon when his father led him on an adventure to witness the enchantment of ice for the first time.

It’s challenging to find a fitting summary for the “storyline” of “One Hundred Years of Solitude” that truly captures its essence.

In essence, the narrative revolves around two cousins, José Arcadio Buendía (from Marco Antonio González) and Úrsula (of Susana Morales), who seek freedom from a haunting past – the ghost of a cockfighter that José killed. To escape this torment, they embark on a journey with their companions, traversing mountains and swamps. Upon José experiencing a dream of a reflective city, he interprets it as a divine signal to halt their travels, establish a settlement, and chronicle the evolution of civilization over a century, starting from this newfound village.

Essentially, “One Hundred Years of Solitude” narrates a six-generational saga centered around the Buendía family, pioneers of the town Macondo, characterized by kinship ties, entrepreneurial spirit, benevolent secularism, and dreams. The initial phase delves into roughly half of these generations, encompassing life events such as births, deaths, the introduction of the Catholic Church and Colombian administration, as well as various external influences, some beneficial and others detrimental. This story is not specifically about one thing, yet it encapsulates everything – literal and figurative spirits, recurring past events, the perils of institutionalized faith (either religious or political), the advantages and disadvantages of incestuous relationships. In summary, it covers a myriad of themes.

In “One Hundred Years of Solitude” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, dialogue is scarcely used. This poses a challenge for Santa, Rivera, and other writers as they must find ways to incorporate omniscient narration, text-based dialogue, and new dialogue that advances the plot – which often feels disconnected from the original text due to its straightforwardness and occasional distractions. I ponder if there could have been a method to let the visuals and voiceovers guide the series primarily, as the show seems more effective when it leans towards symbolism rather than literal interpretation.

In the final three episodes, a simmering dispute between liberal and conservative factions escalates into a conflict reminiscent of Colombia’s Thousand Days’ War. While there are dramatic and violent action scenes intended to contrast with earlier serene and idyllic depictions, I found these sequences disruptive instead of satisfying. The series, originally intended as a dreamy escape, is disrupted by something quite conventional (and not particularly accurate in historical detail, if that was the intention).

Typically, the drama excels by embracing a raw, magical realism – finding enchantment in the ordinary and blending the ordinary into the extraordinary. I found it delightful how effortlessly López and Mora handle magical elements inspired by Marquez, such as the orphan girl who arrives in Macondo with her father’s bones in a bag, or the character bound to a chestnut tree for years. These magical moments are subtly woven into the narrative without drawing attention, making them feel like natural occurrences within this world. There are no grand announcements or dramatic musical cues to signal their presence – they simply exist as part of this universe’s reality.

Indeed, many instances of incest, pedophilia, and sexual abuse are depicted with a surprising lack of severity in the series, just like various other events. The show’s perspective often appears non-condemning. However, it would be naive to suggest that the series advocates or even glamorizes deviant behavior. By presenting such actions within an atmosphere where so much is romanticized, viewers are compelled to confront these uncomfortable topics in a way they might not while reading about them.

What I didn’t particularly enjoy was the storyline, but I was captivated by how skillfully the directors manipulated time and space with their camera techniques. This often resulted in extended tracking shots. The stunning portrayal of Macondo’s landscape through a continuous shot lasting three minutes as a small, bare boy dashes from one house to another is truly impressive. An even more remarkable scene is one that spans over three minutes, taking us from day to night and back again, all while suggesting the passage of years as a single character and some computer-generated ants traverse a single dwelling.

Márquez’s writing style is rich in vivid imagery and dramatic scenes, and I found the most complex among these, such as the Insomnia Plague that ravages Macondo, causing residents to forget memories and language, to be skillfully portrayed. However, it’s important to note that what one envisions while reading a book may differ significantly from what is presented on Netflix, especially if one has a deeper emotional connection with the book than I do.

Modern television has shown an inclination to incorporate magic realism into its narratives, yet it’s proven to be quite challenging, as cinema learned years ago with productions like Bille August’s “The House of Spirits” and Mike Newell’s “Love in the Time of Cholera”. For every successful adaptation such as “The Underground Railroad”, there are others like “The Luminaries” or “All the Light We Cannot See” that struggle to capture the essence of this unique storytelling approach.

A Year’s Worth of Excellence in Adaptations might not surpass ‘The Underground Railroad’ or ‘Station Eleven,’ but ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ certainly stands as a remarkable and commendable conclusion to this impressive lineup.

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2024-12-10 17:55