Among the dark visions of the future offered by the sci-fi genre, one of the bleakest would undoubtedly be the scenario in which the surface of a Earth ravaged by nuclear apocalypse represents the promised land, or at least a temporary refuge for the last remnants of humanity. It is precisely in such a situation that the protagonists of the TV series The 100 found themselves at the start of the second season, after the collapse of life-support systems forced them to abandon the safety of orbital stations and attempt to survive on the planet of their ancestors. This became possible thanks to the prior arrival of an expedition—or more precisely, a suicidal reconnaissance mission comprising 100 juvenile delinquents. This mission discovered that Earth was, in fact, in far better condition than anticipated and habitable, albeit with certain “minor” inconveniences such as residual radiation, specimens of monstrously mutated fauna of enormous proportions, and, of course, the descendants of the surviving population who had devolved into barbaric tribes viewing outsiders as intruders who must be eradicated at all costs. For the “Sky People,” an additional complication arose with the discovery of the so-called Mountain Men, a term used by local tribes to refer to the inhabitants of a vast underground bunker beneath Mount Weather. The bunker’s residents, who had strived over decades to preserve civilisation and possessed the necessary technological knowledge, initially appeared amicable and even extended what might be interpreted as hospitality to these strange newcomers. Clarke (Eliza James), one of the “guests,” however, suspected that her hosts did not have the best intentions, and when their secrets were revealed, they proved so diabolical that she would be forced, in her efforts to protect her friends, to seek help from mortal enemies.
That the second season of The 100 is notably better than the first may not be such a surprise. Even within it, after the introduction of the basic—albeit not particularly convincing—initial setup tested the patience of more demanding viewers, the quality of the concluding episodes was noticeably superior to the earlier ones. The second season does not overly burden viewers with explanations of the harsh new world, which, after all, had become significantly smaller following the collapse of the orbital stations (and from the producers’ perspective, relying on Vancouver locations, considerably cheaper). Instead, it focuses far more on the plot, or rather the characters, who are far more complex and intriguing than before. What were once typically unlikable rascals obsessed with romantic and other trivial teenage problems are now, having experienced constant exposure to death, disease, mutilation, and physical and psychological wounds, adults capable of making not only difficult but unimaginably unpleasant decisions. This is perhaps best seen in the character of Clarke, who nominally serves as the series’ protagonist, but whose morally ambiguous yet contextually understandable actions place her in a realm typically reserved for antagonists in other series. On the other hand, it is quite interesting to observe the evolution of Octavia’s character, who began as one of the more irritating rascals but in the second season became a brave, self-sacrificing warrior representing one of the team’s most valuable members.
The second season, of course, had to introduce new characters, and for this purpose came Lexa, a vivid tribal leader portrayed by Alycia Debnam-Carey, a young actress who, like much of the cast, hails from Australia. She simultaneously represents one of the season’s greatest strengths and weaknesses. The strength lies in her excellent portrayal, impeccable costuming, and makeup that deliberately obscures her ethnic background, as well as in her role as a counterpart to Clarke—someone forced to make difficult and unpleasant decisions, constantly dancing on the edge and occasionally leaping over the line that separates good from evil. What presents a somewhat irritating cliché is her portrayal as a powerful warrior capable of asserting authority over thousands of men. Such a scenario, regardless of male fantasies about Amazons and radical feminist fantasies of a pre-civilisational matriarchal utopia, is, however, difficult to achieve in a world where, much like post-civilisation Earth, authority is primarily enforced through physical strength. Then there is, of course, her obligatory same-sex orientation, though in our noble new world of “politically correct” Twitter and other social networks, this likely did no harm to the series’ promotion.
The series’ writers, of course, draw upon a rich repertoire of clichés from the dystopian and post-apocalyptic genres in the second season, but they do so in a remarkably relaxed and often effective manner. This is perhaps best exemplified in the depiction of Mount Weather, whose miniature civilisation serves as a reminder of the vanished pre-apocalyptic world while skilfully referencing similar motifs from Fallout, sparing the writers the need to reinvent the wheel. What works best about Mount Weather is that it employs more post-apocalyptic than dystopian clichés. Rather than portraying the “Mountain Men” as driven mad by decades of isolation and their society as a totalitarian dystopia, they in many ways represent a counterpart to, or at worst an alternative version of, the protagonists from the orbital “Ark.” Their actions, however repulsive and monstrous, have a logical and thoroughly rational basis—that is, they are no more or less morally justified than those undertaken by Clarke.
Precisely because of this, The 100 achieved in its second season what often eludes many far more acclaimed series—an impactful conclusion. In the two-part finale “Blood Must Have Blood,” it becomes clear how the writers employed clichés without being enslaved by them. The 100 may have begun as a variation on the theme of youth-oriented sci-fi dystopia, but its fictional world is depicted with utmost consistency—a place where life is short, hard, and brutal, and where there are no sudden deus ex machina twists to save the protagonists from catastrophic misfortunes. This applies both to key characters brutally eliminated mid-season and to the horrific bloodshed and destruction the protagonists could not (or, to be precise, chose not to) prevent. Clarke’s character stands out most in this regard; as the season nears its end, she does things the innocent, well-meaning teenager from the first season could never have imagined—including a final apocalyptic act that, however rationally justified, is no different from what her enemies did, or what would earn her the label of “monster” in our civilised world. Through Clarke’s character, The 100 has achieved what is the gold standard of modern television—the moral transformation of a protagonist worthy of Walter White in Breaking Bad. The series’ writers will have to work hard to maintain, or at least come close to, what that dark yet exceptionally compelling finale offered viewers in subsequent seasons.
RATING: 7/10 (+++)
(Note: The text in the original Croatian version was posted here.)
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