It started as another CW teen drama. Pretty faces, a survivalist hook, and the inevitable love triangles. Then, they floated a child. That was the moment everyone realized The 100 wasn't interested in being Dawson's Creek in space. It was something much darker.
Honestly, looking back at the pilot feels like watching a different show entirely. You've got Clarke Griffin trying to lead, Bellamy Blake being a complete jerk, and a bunch of kids thinking radioactive Earth is a summer camp. By the time the credits rolled on the series finale seven seasons later, those same characters were broken, battle-scarred, and arguably the villains of their own stories. It’s a wild ride.
The 100 and the Burden of "There Are No Good Guys"
Most TV shows have a moral compass. The 100 threw its compass into a nuclear fire somewhere around season two. The central theme—"Doing what's best for my people"—became a justification for some of the most horrific acts ever put on network television.
Remember Mount Weather?
Clarke and Bellamy didn’t just win a war; they committed genocide to save a few dozen of their own. It’s the kind of writing that makes you feel dirty for rooting for the protagonists. This wasn't a mistake or a plot hole. Showrunner Jason Rothenberg leaned into the "trolley problem" philosophy. If you have to pull a lever to kill hundreds to save five, do you do it? In The 100, they pulled the lever every single time.
Then they had to live with it.
That’s where the show actually found its legs. It wasn't about the sci-fi gadgets or the Grounder lore, though the world-building was top-tier. It was about the psychological weight of survival. Octavia Blake’s transformation from the "girl under the floor" to Blodreina, the cannibalistic gladiator queen of an underground bunker, is one of the most radical character arcs in modern TV history. Marie Avgeropoulos played that descent into madness with a terrifying commitment. You couldn't look away, even when she was forcing people to eat human crackers.
Why the Grounder Culture Actually Worked
The Grounders could have been a disaster. A bunch of people living like Vikings 97 years after a nuclear apocalypse? It sounds goofy on paper. But the show treated the "Trikru" and the other clans with a level of respect and complexity that saved it from being a trope.
They had a language, Trigedasleng, created by David J. Peterson. He’s the same guy who did the Dothraki for Game of Thrones. It wasn't just gibberish; it was a linguistic evolution of English, distorted by a century of isolation. When Lexa—the Commander—showed up, the stakes shifted.
Lexa changed everything.
Alycia Debnam-Carey brought a stillness to the role that made the political maneuvering of the clans feel as weighty as the Roman Senate. The "Clexa" relationship (Clarke and Lexa) became a massive cultural touchstone, though it eventually led to one of the most controversial moments in the show's history.
The Lexa Controversy and the "Bury Your Gays" Trope
We have to talk about season three.
The death of Lexa immediately after she and Clarke finally consummated their relationship sparked a massive backlash. It wasn't just fan whining; it was a legitimate cultural moment that highlighted the "Bury Your Gays" trope in media. Fans felt betrayed. The show’s ratings took a hit, and the writers had to navigate a minefield for years afterward.
Whether you think the death was narratively earned or a cheap shock tactic, it changed how writers rooms across Hollywood approach LGBTQ+ characters. It’s a permanent part of The 100 legacy. It showed that while the "no one is safe" mantra works for tension, it has real-world consequences when it hits marginalized communities.
Sci-Fi Evolution: From Woods to Wormholes
One thing The 100 never did was stay stagnant. It reinvented itself every two seasons.
- The Survival Phase (Seasons 1-2): Kids vs. Earth and the Mount Weather mystery.
- The AI Phase (Season 3): ALIE, the City of Light, and the realization that a computer program ended the world.
- The End of the World (Season 4-5): Praimfaya. A literal wall of fire reclaiming the planet.
- The Space/Planet-Hopping Phase (Season 6-7): Sanctum, the Anomaly, and transcendence.
Some fans think the show jumped the shark when they left Earth. Honestly? It was a bold move. Moving to a new planet with two suns and mind-uploading "Primes" was a massive swing. It turned the show from a gritty survival drama into a full-blown hard sci-fi epic.
The introduction of the "Mind Drives" was particularly clever. It echoed the Flame of the Grounders, showing that whether through primitive ritual or high-tech surgery, humans are obsessed with immortality and legacy.
The Ending: Did They Stick the Landing?
The series finale is polarizing. "Transcendence" felt like a weird pivot for a show that spent years arguing that "life is about more than just surviving."
Having the human race turn into glowing balls of light because an alien race judged them worthy? It’s a bit much. But the final scene—Clarke remaining on Earth because her sins were too great, only to find her friends chose to stay behind with her—was a perfect, quiet ending for a show that was usually screaming at 100 miles per hour.
It returned to the core idea: family isn't about blood; it's about the people you've bled with.
How to Re-watch (or Watch for the First Time)
If you're diving back into The 100, or if you're a newcomer who just finished The Last of Us and wants more post-apocalyptic misery, here’s how to handle it.
Ignore the first four episodes. Seriously. They are rough. There’s a scene in the pilot where someone shouts "We're back, bitches!" while jumping into a lake. It’s cringey. It’s bad. Power through it. Once the stakes ramp up and the political tension between the Ark and the Ground begins, the show transforms.
Pay attention to Murphy. Richard Harmon’s John Murphy starts as a cockroach. You will hate him. You will want him dead. By season five, he will probably be your favorite character. His survival instinct is the most honest thing in the entire series.
Look for the callbacks. The show is surprisingly good at referencing small details from season one in the final episodes. The concept of "The Shepherd" and the Second Dawn cult, introduced briefly in season four, becomes the entire backbone of the series finale. It’s a rare example of long-term plotting that actually pays off.
Moving Forward with The 100
If you've finished the series, there isn't much "new" content on the horizon. The prequel series, The 100: Second Dawn, was famously scrapped after a backdoor pilot aired during season seven. It’s a shame, because seeing the immediate aftermath of the first nuclear apocalypse through the eyes of Callie Cadogan would have been fascinating.
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For now, the best way to engage with the series is through the expanded lore.
- Read the books by Kass Morgan. They are very different from the show. In the books, Wells Jaha lives, and the stakes are much lower. It’s almost like an alternate universe.
- Study the language. Trigedasleng is a fully functional con-lang. Learning the basics gives you a much deeper appreciation for the Grounder scenes.
- Analyze the philosophy. If you’re a student of ethics, use the Mount Weather or the "Dark Year" scenarios as case studies for utilitarianism.
The show isn't perfect. It's messy, frequently devastating, and sometimes frustratingly cynical. But in an era of "safe" television, The 100 stands out because it wasn't afraid to make its heroes unlikable. It asked if humanity even deserved to survive in the first place. That question remains just as uncomfortable today as it was when the dropship first hit the ground.
To truly understand the impact of the show, watch the transition of Clarke Griffin's eyes from the first season to the last. You'll see a decade of impossible choices reflected there. That is the legacy of the series: the cost of leadership is losing your soul, one "necessary" evil at a time.
May we meet again.