Even before we became conscious that our actions might be rapidly ruining Earth, we have wondered what might happen after some cataclysm wipes away the world as we know it. But it feels like a much more recent phenomenon to wonder what might happen on Earth itself after this event. The Book of Revelations doesn’t imagine a small group of survivors; the whole point of a Biblical apocalypse is there are no survivors. Earth is just a way station on the way to one’s ultimate reward or punishment, not a place to repopulate or govern. A significant exception is the Noah story, but far more emphasis is placed on the disaster than on the painful process of rebuilding.
Post-apocalyptic fiction is extremely rare before the 20th century; Richard Jeffries’ 1885 novel After London is perhaps the first novel to depict not merely a destroyed Earth with few survivors, but the attempt to rebuild a society in the wake of that destruction. In the early 19th century, novels such as Mary Shelley’s The Last Man examined what it would be like to be the last surviving human on earth, but few writers chose to examine a wholesale wiping clean of the terrestrial slate. With the coming of plague and war in the first two decades of the 20th century, the end of life as we know it became a more urgent concern. By mid-century, post-apocalyptic fiction was everywhere; film and television followed close behind.
In the last 20 years, literature and film in this genre has gravitated towards a young adult audience. Our survivors are inevitably young and their oppressors inevitably old, often representatives of the generation that destroyed the world as it was. The message of these stories is often an unsubtle sermon against all the systems of control the gerontocracy won’t relinquish. With the release of 2008’s The Hunger Games, the genre exploded in popularity, inspiring many imitators in every medium. The best of them recognized that the business of building a new world is a dirty one; humans have never met an Eden they didn’t destroy.
Perhaps the best example of all this is The 100, which premiered on the CW in 2014. Loosely based on young adult series of the same name, the show ran for seven seasons, ending its run in 2020. It ran during the golden era of teen supernatural/sci-fi/fantasy television. Originally a fairly popular addition to CW’s teen-centric lineup, the show experienced a consistent decline in viewership over its seven seasons, making its ability to end its run on its own terms a virtual miracle. Had it attempted to run even one additional season, it is unlikely it would have been allowed to end naturally, as the CW cancelled a vast number of shows in 2022 in anticipation of their acquisition by Nexstar; the CW is now a shell of its former self, known primarily as the new U.S. home of failing Saudi sports-washing attempt LIV Golf.
Like all good YA content, The 100 isn’t really a show for young adults. It’s a brutal show that only gets more brutal throughout its run. Although critically acclaimed and beloved by long-time fans, the show remained under the radar. I think the teen-centric marketing is largely the reason why. Only in recent years have we seen ostensibly teen-focused shows marketed at much wider age groups; everyone seems to have watched Wednesday, a show that would have likely found its way to the CW and its more limited audience had it premiered 15 years ago. Another reason is the brutality mentioned above; this is not an easy show to watch. But it is, in my opinion, one of the best sci-fi shows ever made.
On its face, it seems similar to much of what came before. In Vulture’s review of the premiere, they note
A spaceship of survivors of course conjures Battlestar Galactica. The violent teens wandering through a dangerous wooded setting brings to mind The Hunger Games. The ratty sweatshirts recall The Matrix. The band of outcasts in an unfriendly environment has Lost written all over it.
But from the beginning, the series always seemed to be trying harder than it had to.
The 100 opens on a space station (known as the Ark) 97 years after a nuclear apocalypse has made Earth uninhabitable. All of Earth’s survivors are attempting to keep the human race going long enough for the Earth to be inhabitable again. Three generations have been born in space and the Ark’s life-support systems have been failing for some time. Martial law is the norm, hard decisions must be made, and 100 juvenile prisoners are about to be sent down to Earth to see if humans can survive there. All the calculations point to no; radiation takes longer than that to dissipate, and even if the air is breathable, there are no systems or resources in place. Once the kids land it quickly becomes clear that some humans have survived the nuclear apocalypse and been living out their own post-apocalyptic stories. It is a tribute to the quality of this show’s writing that any one of those stories would make an equally rich series. All the characters we encounter throughout the series have rich histories, complex societies, and believable motivations. As the 100 try to survive, leaders emerge; Clarke (Eliza Taylor), Bellamy (Bob Morley), and Octavia (Marie Avgeropoulos) chief among them.
It doesn’t take very long for these teens to start asking themselves the big questions this genre was created to explore: what do we owe the human race as a whole vs. our individual families? How do we establish a just legal system under conditions of dire need? How are petty crimes punished? How do we keep the weak safe? How do we create conditions under which women can begin having babies? Each season asks these and many more essential questions, moving our dwindling group of 100 through many dangers, toils, and snares. And dwindle they do. Despite meeting new groups of people throughout the show, the number of central characters remains fairly small. No character is safe, even the most beloved. By keeping the stakes high, the writers make the world feel believable. There is no fan service here, no resurrections, no last-minute reprieves.
It is that commitment to realistic stakes that elevates this show above the rest. Especially when compared against the shows it appeared with on the CW, The 100’s dedication to just constantly upsetting its fans in earned ways is hard to believe. Both Supernatural and The Vampire Diaries overlapped with The 100, but became infamous for resurrecting beloved characters again and again, undermining the stakes of the show and destroying the very concept of death. The 100 remained dedicated to portraying the vulnerabilities of its characters in a realistic way, even when doing so meant characters met their ends before the fans were ready to let them go. It’s just a different experience watching a show when you know anything can happen. There’s no illusion of safety, no “that person is too famous/beloved/contractually committed” to die. The writing was strong in other ways; for one, it was much deeper than one would expect from its branding. Like Wild West shows such as Deadwood, The 100 wants to explore the cost of creating a society that cannot protect its weak members. Whether that society is an authoritarian one or an anarchic one, the weak suffer. It wants to understand the costs and burdens of power, focusing on two women, Clarke and Octavia, who must lead their people under extraordinary conditions.
I suppose I remain fascinated by shows that are better than they have to be. Throughout my review, I’ve tried to explain exactly what it is about the show that is so extraordinary, and I’ve touched upon several attributes in my attempt: great writing, realistic stakes, a willingness to kill beloved characters for the sake of story fidelity, an interest in philosophically difficult questions, no fear of going full dark no stars. But what impresses me about this show is how unexpected all of that is. The quality of teen shows, and CW shows in particular varies widely, but even its best shows don’t get near The 100 in ambition or scope or execution. It seems like some younger cousin of Battlestar Galactica or The Expanse rather than a sister show to The Flash or Reign. It took itself and its viewers seriously in a time when much YA-centric fiction was attempting to capture the lucrative lightning-in-a-bottle of The Hunger Games, a movie series filled with deaths I never quite believed in.
I also remain fascinated by shows that refuse to tap dance for their audience. I don’t recommend this show to many people because I know how difficult a watching experience it can be. It’s sad and bloody and asks a high level of engagement from its viewer. It can be funny, but it doesn’t have the lighthearted Whedon dialogue of Firefly to break up the existential bleakness, nor does it have the generosity of Battlestar, which could afford to dedicate whole episodes to peacetime. The 100 never seemed to care if you liked it, just that you understood the story it was trying to tell.
After saying all that, I am not sure what to say to convince you this show is worth your time. Do you have it in you to watch 100 episodes (yes, they managed to do 100 of the 100, another miracle) of complex political infighting among teenagers fighting for the survival of the human race? Well, if you do, then this is the show for you.