'One Hundred Years of Solitude': How a Bold Netflix Series Honors a ...

Netflix’s ambitious new adaptation of One Hundred Years of Solitude builds on what the revered 1967 novel has delivered to readers for more than 50 years: a grand opera of the alluring, violent history of Latin America. The region has long been shrouded in myth, which is what inspired author Gabriel García Márquez. Christopher Columbus’s 1493 letter to the Spanish monarchs, alive with descriptions of mysterious islands and men with monstrous tails, had already laid the foundation for magical realism, which blurred fact and fiction, and no one did more than Marquez to popularize it globally. Now, with its virtuosic camerawork, transporting production design, and dreamlike visual effects, the bold, Spanish-language series translates it for the screen.

You could argue that all that is the easy part of adapting the lyrical novel. On top of being rich in imagery, the narrative in One Hundred Years is dense with characters, ideas, and plot. It’s far more than tropical escapism to put it very mildly. The story follows the leaders of the Buendía family, cousins-turned-lovers José Arcadio and Úrsula, as they establish Macondo, a fictional town inspired by the history of post-independence Latin America. Over the generations, Macondo weathers religious conflicts, civil wars, dictatorships, tourism, and American imperialism, all of which are reflected in the day-to-day lives of the Buendía clan.

Netflix’s 16-episode series—it’s split into two halves, with the first eight episodes streaming now—marks the first-ever official adaptation of the book, despite its having sold more than 50 million copies. It took so long largely to get a project to the screen because García Márquez and his sons didn’t believe a single movie could ever capture the story—and because he was almost certainly right. Streaming and its contribution to extended storytelling has made it possible to capture the breadth of his narrative, and even honor his style as a writer.

The characters in Márquez’s fiction rarely speak, except for the occasional outburst, observation, or wisecrack. His world comes alive largely through an omniscient narrator whose prophetic tone sets the story’s rhythm. Neither José Arcadio nor Úrsula nor anyone else in the novel ever tells us what they feel—but on the show, their facial expressions and body language allow them to come alive in García Márquez’s world.

Márquez once revealed that the bones of One Hundred Years of Solitude were originally conceived for the screen. He said he pitched the story’s many components to film producers as separate, standalone ideas. After meeting with unanimous rejection, he wove all of them into a singular novel, demonstrating the unique possibilities and freedoms of literature. The adaptation makes its own case for the power of TV, though it required both contracting or, in some cases, actually expanding on the book.

Streamlining the Story

The novel’s iconic first line is dramatized with real anguish in the opening moments: “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.” The scene teases the future before memory takes us backward, a nod to the novel’s mystical approach to time. It’s brought to the screen without embellishment, depicting nearly beat for beat what’s on the page. It’s both a show of good faith for devout fans and a moving rendering of a treasured literary passage.

From there, the adaptation’s scripts (overseen by Oscar nominee José Rivera) interpret García Márquez’s text by streamlining the book’s many swirling, time-hopping story-lines. This allows for the clear character arcs we expect from episodic TV. The book opens, for example, once Macondo has already been founded—only in the second chapter do we learn why Ursula (Úrsula Iguarán) and José Arcadio (Leonardo Soto) actually left their hometown, as if Macondo’s origins were of secondary importance. As for the show, it untangles that Márquezian jumble by starting from the beginning. That includes the source of the narration itself: Rather than keep it a mystery, the series’ first scene reveals where the narration comes from, a parchment written in Sanskrit that’s gradually decoded into García Márquez’s prose.

Capturing the Intricacies of Colombia

The novel is filled with quick asides that hint at entire other worlds. The adaptation capitalizes on them to avoid a generalized, fantastical portrait of Latin America, and give us an epic firmly rooted in Colombian life.

García Márquez included references to the city of Riohacha and the Treaty of Neerlandia, which ended the Thousand Days’ War in Colombia, but he often avoided specific regional references. In the show, when José Arcadio and Úrsula marry at the story’s outset, the author’s passing mention of a “festival of fireworks” becomes a vibrant reimagining of Colombia’s folklore. Episode one, set roughly 200 years ago, depicts an early version of the troupe known today as El Torito, where dancers wear bull masks and move to the rhythm of drums. (It’s performed at the annual Barranquilla Carnival to this day.) Fireworks shoot from the horns of a giant wooden bull that has been built, per tradition, for the celebration. La cumbia music—think of it as Colombia’s salsa—hits another nostalgic note: The band in the scene plays the caña de millo, a millet flute whose origins in the Caribbean embody the Indigenous and African influences on the country. None of these details are in the book, but they ought to thrill even the most purist readers of García Márquez.