If you were on the internet in 2014, you probably remember the initial vibe surrounding The 100. It looked like another glossy CW teen drama—Lord of the Flies but with better hair and more pouting. Honestly, the first few episodes didn't do much to dispel that. But then, things got dark. Really dark.
The show, loosely based on Kass Morgan's book series, evolved into a brutal meditation on tribalism and the ethical costs of survival. It wasn't just about kids surviving the woods; it was about whether humanity even deserved to survive in the first place. You've probably heard the tagline "May we meet again," but for most characters in this show, that meeting happened in a shallow grave or a radioactive wasteland.
The 100 and the Burden of Choice
Most sci-fi shows give you a clear hero. The 100 gave us Clarke Griffin, a girl who spent seven seasons making increasingly impossible decisions. It’s rare to see a protagonist so thoroughly broken by their own actions.
Remember Mount Weather?
That was the turning point. When Clarke and Bellamy Blake made the choice to irradiate an entire level of a bunker to save their own people, they didn't just win a war. They committed genocide. The show didn't let them off the hook, either. It sat with that trauma. It let the characters rot in their guilt. This wasn't "safe" television. It was messy, uncomfortable, and frequently depressing.
The complexity of the Grounder culture also added a layer of depth that many viewers didn't expect. Jason Rothenberg, the showrunner, alongside writers like Kim Shumway, built a world where language—specifically Trigedasleng, created by David J. Peterson—felt lived-in. Peterson is the same guy who did the Dothraki language for Game of Thrones, which tells you the level of detail they were aiming for.
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Lexa and the Clexa Phenomenon
We have to talk about Lexa. Heda. The Commander.
When Alycia Debnam-Carey stepped onto the screen as the leader of the 12 Clans, the show shifted. She brought a stoicism that perfectly countered Clarke’s frantic energy. Their relationship, dubbed "Clexa" by the fans, became a cultural touchstone.
But then came "Thirteen."
The Season 3 episode where Lexa was killed by a stray bullet immediately after finally consummating her relationship with Clarke remains one of the most controversial moments in modern television history. It sparked a massive backlash regarding the "Bury Your Gay" trope. It wasn't just about losing a favorite character; it was about the exhaustion of seeing queer characters repeatedly denied a happy ending. This moment changed the way showrunners interacted with fans on social media forever. It was a hard lesson in the power of representation and the responsibility of creators toward their audience.
Survival is a Vicious Cycle
There’s a specific kind of exhaustion that comes with binge-watching The 100. Every time the characters find a sliver of hope, the world ends. Again.
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- First, they survive the dropship and the Grounders.
- Then, they survive Mount Weather.
- Then, an AI named A.L.I.E. tries to "save" humanity by uploading them into a digital purgatory called the City of Light.
- Then, the actual world ends—Praimfaya—turning the Earth into a scorched rock.
By the time the show reached its final seasons, venturing into deep space and different planets (Sanctum and Bardo), the stakes felt almost too high to track. The introduction of the "Anomalies" and wormholes felt like a sharp pivot from the gritty, forest-based survivalism of the early years. Some fans loved the hard sci-fi shift. Others felt it lost the soul of the show, which was always about the dirt, the blood, and the interpersonal tension between Sky People and Grounders.
Honestly, the ending is still a massive point of contention. The idea of "Transcendence"—essentially turning into glowing beings of light—felt a bit too close to the very AI-driven salvation they had rejected seasons earlier.
Why the Character Arcs Mattered More Than the Plot
While the plot got increasingly wild, the characters kept people anchored. Look at Octavia Blake.
She started as the "girl under the floor," a hidden second child who just wanted to dance and see the butterflies. By Season 5, she was "Blodreina," a ruthless gladiator-queen forcing people to eat human meat to survive in a bunker. That is a hell of a journey. Marie Avgeropoulos played that transition with such terrifying intensity that you almost forgot she was the same person from the pilot.
Then there’s John Murphy.
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Richard Harmon took a character who was arguably the most hated villain in Season 1 and turned him into the "cockroach" everyone rooted for. He wasn't a hero. He was a survivor who eventually learned that having someone to live for was more important than just staying alive. His evolution felt earned because it was slow. It was jagged.
Practical Ways to Revisit the Series
If you're looking to dive back into The 100 or watch it for the first time, don't just mindlessly scroll through Netflix. There’s a better way to experience the lore and the impact of the show.
- Listen to the Language: Dig into the Trigedasleng archives online. David J. Peterson’s work is incredibly dense, and learning the roots of phrases like "Ai laik Oktevia" or "Yu gonplei ste odon" (Your fight is over) adds a lot of flavor to the Grounder scenes.
- Track the Moral Compasses: Watch how characters like Kane and Abby swap roles. Early on, Kane is the rigid authoritarian while Abby is the empathetic doctor. By the middle seasons, Kane becomes the diplomat and Abby spirals into addiction and desperation. It’s a fascinating study in how trauma reshapes morality.
- Read the Source Material: If you want a vastly different experience, read the books by Kass Morgan. They are much more "YA" in tone, and the characters are quite different (Bellamy and Clarke are actually a couple much earlier, and characters like Raven and Murphy don't even exist in the same way).
The legacy of The 100 isn't just about the sci-fi tropes or the "end of the world" scenarios. It's about the question Jasper Jordan asked: "Are we the good guys?"
The show never gave a straight answer. It basically told the audience that in a world where everyone is trying to survive, "good" is a luxury no one can afford. That's why people are still talking about it years after the finale aired. It was cynical, it was bold, and it wasn't afraid to make you hate the people you were supposed to love.
For anyone looking to understand the shift in 2010s television toward darker, more serialized storytelling, this show is a mandatory case study. It proved that "teen" shows could tackle heavy philosophy and war crimes just as well as prestige dramas.
Next Steps for Fans:
Check out the "Script to Screen" comparisons often shared by the writers on social media platforms like X (formerly Twitter) or Tumblr archives. Seeing how the actors interpreted the stage directions for those high-intensity death scenes provides a great deal of insight into the production's emotional weight. Additionally, looking into the "The 100 Charity Auctions" that occurred after the series wrapped can show you where many of the iconic props ended up—including Lexa’s armor and Clarke’s sketches.