If there were a hall of fame for criminals, Colombian drug lord, Pablo Escobar would surely be the main attraction. No other famous lawbreaker, from Al Capone to Bernie Madoff came close to Escobar in sheer reputation, cementing him as arguably, the most famous criminal of all time. No wonder then, that his story is so fascinating. An Amazon search for his name yields over 700 results- and that’s just in books. If his story were fictional, it would seem too absurd to be believable; at his peak, Escobar was worth around $30 billion, making him so rich that he offered to pay off Colombia’s debt and his Medellin drug cartel was responsible for 80% of the global cocaine trade. There have been so many retellings of Escobar’s story since his death in 1993, one would think everything that has to be said about him already has. Netflix found one more story to tell. He may not have a hall of fame, but Escobar is certainly the main attraction on Narcos.
The Telegraph called it “devastatingly addictive” and Slate said it was “exactly the portrayal of the drug war we needed.” Following a slew of more favorable reviews, Narcos quickly became one of Netflix’s most successful original shows. The series was announced in 2014 through a partnership deal between Netflix and Telemundo, confirming the show’s latino production background. While there have been numerous films and movies made about Escobar’s life, Narcos sets itself apart. It tells Escobar’s story in an extravagant fashion as a violent, intense and sexy foreign drama that makes one of Colombia’s most dangerous periods an event worthy of popcorn. Written by Chris Brancato and directed by Brazilian filmmaker José Padilha, the show premiered on Netflix in August 2015. It was filmed on site in Bogota, Colombia and marked the first Netflix series to include Chilean actors in its cast. On the surface, it seemed to have all the makings for a show that championed latinidad and provided a respectful depiction of a notorious piece of latino history. However, upon further analysis, it is evident that Narcos gets many things wrong about the Latino experience and even with a mainly latino cast, still manages to be problematic in its poor representations of latinidad.
Following Escobar’s death in 1993, the real-life DEA agents, Steve Murphy and Javier Peña were approached by countless networks and production companies to take their story to Hollywood but they were never satisfied by the outlandish interpretations. Their only condition was that the show could not, under any circumstances glorify Escobar’s lifestyle. The show follows Escobar from his humble start in racketeering, charting his spectacular rise to becoming the Commander-in-Chief of the cocaine industry. Narcos sets itself apart by having two running narratives- a Colombian one and an American one. While showing Escobar’s ascent to power, the show simultaneously tells the story of the two DEA agents desperately trying to put a stop to him and become heroes themselves. Despite the fact that Narcos spends time trying to authentically tell the story of Colombian narcotraficantes, it does not fix its problematic issues with representation.
Upon a deeper analysis, it becomes clear that the problem lies in that Narcos only tells Colombia’s single story- that of the country plagued by drugs and violence. By doing this, the show perpetuates racist Colombian stereotypes- almost every Colombian is depicted as a criminal, a corrupt police officer, a promiscuous woman trying to get ahead through sex, or a naive victim. Stereotypes that are perpetuated over time, like these, eventually become more powerful and begin to create an incomplete narrative that outsiders start to perceive as truth. By putting a “narco” in the spotlight, as the star of his own show, Netflix subtly suggests that the only interesting or worthwhile story to be told about Colombia is the bloody, violent one. This idea is only further emphasized when taking into account that there is no mainstream television program that depicts Colombia in a positive light. With this portrayal, Netflix and the entertainment industry as a whole profit off of a war that destroyed the lives of millions of Colombians and left a scar on the country that still stings to this day. Despite the showrunner’s claims that it doesn’t, Narcos undeniably glorifies Pablo Escobar, whether intentionally or not. A scroll through their social media accounts that retweet photos of people dressing up as him for Halloween confirms this. Instead of putting forth an authentic and respectful version of Colombian history, what results is an incredibly whitewashed American version that paints Americans as the heroes and Colombians as dysfunctional, violent criminals, creating an “us and them” dynamic where Americans just see latinos as hot-blooded savages. The reality is that Colombia has changed since the days that Escobar terrorized its streets and there are better and uplifting stories to tell about it. The representations of Colombians, women, Escobar and Murphy, coupled with the historical inaccuracies result in a view of latinidad that is twisted and only fits the stereotypical American view rather than the authentic Latino one.
Narcos’ first season spans ten years, documenting Escobar’s rise to power but the second season departed from this style of storytelling and spans the 18 months between his escape from his prison, La Catedral and his death after a cat-and-mouse chase with authorities. Showrunner Paul Newman explained that shortening the timeline in the second season was a strategy in order to dedicate more focus to the characters and their development. In the article, “The Real DEA Agents of ‘Narcos’ Break Down What Season 2 Got Right” in the Hollywood Reporter, Newman says that “It’s very dangerous to draw a picture of someone as inhuman. If you do that, you deny the human side of these guys, which is what allows them to happen,” in reference to the conceptualization of Wagner Moura’s portrayal of Escobar. The creators set out with the goal of making the most authentic show they could create and if one simply scratches the surface, it seems as though they succeeded. The show was filmed in the streets, buildings and rainforests of Colombia. Instead of using a soundstage on an American set for the cocaine lab in season two, the lab was instead built into an unused factory in Bogota’s city center. The dialogue is mostly in Spanish, save for scenes centering on Murphy and the DEA and its style of filming action scenes with wide shots that capture the country’s grandeur further add to the immersive experience. For an American show, it does feel uniquely authentic and international, placing viewers on the very streets where many of the events depicted in the show took place decades prior. Furthermore, the integration of actual media artifacts enhance the reality of the show. Escobar’s actual mugshot is used when he is arrested in season one and President Luis Carlos Galan is represented by an actor and real footage as well. According to the Los Angeles Review of Books’ article, “The New Drug War Cinema: On Netflix’s ‘Narcos’,” the incorporation of these distinctly Latin American aspects in a show as publicized as Narcos could signal the maturity of a new sub genre: the Hollywood drug war story. This is supported by the popularity of shows with this theme such as Breaking Bad and Weeds. Until this past decade, Hollywood was known for superficially depicting the narcotics trade but the recent trend towards authenticity has worked to reverse this, especially with the use of more latino directors. These drug war stories often have significant and relevant political implications and many have been taken as supporting the United States’ war on drugs. Padilha, Narcos’ co-creator states that the show aims to criticize certain U.S. policy objectives that focus more on finding the drugs rather than reducing the demand for them domestically. Watching just one episode of the show confirms that it undeniably speaks the “language of war” with its American protagonists pitted against the foreign drug dealers. The plot itself rests on the premise of anglos being in charge and exerting their superiority over the Colombian people. This approach pushes forth the notion that America is superior and while it does not explicitly say that as fact, it is what audiences will find subtly ingrained in their minds after watching the show.
For an audience that had seen every variation of the drug kingpin story, Netflix needed to create a new narrative. The thing that the series had going for it from the beginning is that there are criminals and then there is Pablo Escobar, whose story is worlds away from that of Walter White or Tony Soprano because his takes place directly in the world of Latin America. This presented a new setting that American audiences had not really visited before. Narcos glamorizes and dramatizes murder, betrayal and warped morals- elements that have been central aspects of other popular, high-intensity shows like Breaking Bad, The Wire and The Sopranos. The trend for television shows in the past decade has been winding crime sagas- from true crime series to original scripted dramas, crime has dominated that charts and viewers’ living rooms. With this in mind, Narcos could have very easily been dismissed as just another one of these crime series, especially on a medium like Netflix that does not rely on weekly advertising for new episodes. The medium coupled with its heavy use of Spanish and its foreign aspect could have made it seem too distant for its targeted American audience. The amount of Spanish used in the show initially concerned showrunners and for this reason, Murphy acts as the narrator. They saw this as a strategy to naturally interject some English into the show as well as a way to push forth an American perspective. However, what seemed like a solution for American viewers to connect to the show more actually presents a problem in itself. With a one-sided voiceover coming from the quintessential “all-American hero,” that all but instructs viewers on what to think of Escobar and Colombia as a whole, it pushes forth the idea that Narcos was only ever really meant for American audiences. It clearly overlooks and ignores bilingual Colombians who can easily detect the jarring language and pronunciation mistakes sprinkled throughout the series. In fact, many Latino viewers frequently complain about the inaccuracy of Moura’s Colombian accent and liken it to hearing someone with a strong southern accent play the part of James Bond. In addition, Latino viewers note that the show’s portrayal of Colombia is inauthentic, an observation that would easily escape its intended American audience. In Colombia where the series takes place, it receives a much cooler reception as natives are exhausted by the constant representation of their people as drug traffickers and cannot take the show seriously with it many language mistakes and historical inaccuracies.
While Narcos has been wildly successful and has been lauded by many critics for its “authentic” and “real” portrayal of Escobar’s life, in the context of representation of latinidad, it has fallen short. Yes, it must be acknowledged that the show is well-made and succeeds in many areas but when taking latinos into account, it still pushes forth an idea of a country and of a people that is simply inaccurate and unfair. Its representation of Colombia as a whole leaves many spaces blank. Colombia’s drug war has always had profound racial dimensions but the only black character in the entirety of the series is the hitman, Blackie, and the screentime he is given compared to other minor characters is minimal. Narcos does do a better job than many other narco dramas in portraying the intricacies and seediness of the drug business and the bravery of many of Colombia’s law enforcement while acknowledging the rampant corruption. With this in mind, many Colombians are tired of their country’s undying association with drugs and crime and are upset that this issue is being unearthed yet another time instead of portraying a more positive aspect of Colombia. Despite how much Colombia has moved away from the cocaine and Escobar era, it remains a stain on the country’s perception in that Colombians continue to be strictly associated with it and the show only reinforces this idea to its American audience. The plotlines dedicate more time to Escobar’s illegal dealings than to the tragedies experienced by the Colombian people. In shows like this, when latinos are shown, it is usually as a villain, whose actions cause problems for the upstanding anglo characters that have to swoop in and save them from themselves. The country is basically portrayed as a small, underdeveloped town that is helpless and unable to defend itself. Almost all of the latino background characters are portrayed as criminals, corrupt cops or prostitutes. There is no visible attempt to try to formulate and deliver a deeper understanding of Colombia to its audience and instead, simplifies complex issues for the sake of squeezing in more drama and excitement. There is also the interesting dichotomy between the new arrivals to Colombia and those who have been there for a longer period of time. Viewers witness Murphy’s transformation from the naive, idealistic DEA agent to a man who will do whatever it takes and bend any rule to catch Escobar but do not see the transformation of the other American officials who have been in Colombia for a longer amount of time. This carries a subtle suggestion that they have been desensitized and seasoned to understand that Colombians are driven by violence and that there is a fundamental difference between the uncivilized latino south and the peaceful anglo north and it is only bridged when the anglos decide to lend a helping hand and intervene to instill order in the south. Ultimately, when it comes to the representation of latinos, Narcos is a product that is filled with ideology. It begins as an narrated attempt to portray Escobar’s rise to power and subsequent collapse but actually becomes another show that effectively robs Colombians of their own history, rewriting it for the sake of the show’s success and entertainment. The country’s history becomes a mere plot device, boiled down so that American audiences can easily consume it without having to focus on the more real details. This is, in other words, a subtle form of a cultural takeover.
The show’s glaring historical inaccuracies also work alongside other factors to create an effect of misrepresentation. Narcos is so invested in the allure of Escobar that it inadvertently gets sucked into the idea that the decision to take control of the situation in Colombia was a natural response to a unique, pressing danger. The supposed realism the show puts forth opposes its departure from facts. Perhaps most concerning is its depiction of the torture and other crimes performed by Colombian law enforcement that the show suggests was done with the knowledge of the DEA. The fact remains that even with its errors, Narcos has a powerful platform and can decide which version of Escobar’s story will become fact in the minds of many viewers. While there has been some speculation over how exactly Escobar’s death played out, the method that the show settled on depicting is the one people will remember. With this power, the series is able to make its American audience question the effectiveness of the war against narcos and change their viewpoints on anything the showrunners decide.
Although Narcos originally follows the story of Pablo Escobar and Moura’s portrayal of him is the one that graces any promotional material for the show, it is difficult to ignore or push aside the presence of the show’s narrator, American DEA agent, Steve Murphy. Murphy’s narration and role as the viewer’s guide is established from the first episode and stands out as one of the more glaring examples of poor depictions of latinidad. Murphy’s voice over was initially intended to serve as a buffer for the amount of Spanish spoken in heavy scenes between the cartels and the Colombian people. The showrunners reasoned that without the voiceover, the action scenes would have been overly dense with Spanish commentary but at some point, Murphy’s voice over goes too far in glossing over certain emotional states that would have been better shown to be understood. Still, his role as the omniscient narrator serves as the audience’s entry point into the morally complicated world of Colombian drug trafficking and the government’s hunt for Escobar. He is essentially the viewer’s eyes and ears but with his condescending attitude, their senses are misled to a view of Colombia that is not entirely accurate and tainted by Murphy’s own view. The problem is that Murphy is a white, blonde, American DEA agent who thinks he always knows best, letting his ego get the best of him at times. In his mind, he had a patriotic duty to play the hero and put his life on the line to save the Colombian people from themselves. No matter what lengths he goes to, he is always depicted as the hero. The first two seasons serve as a character analysis and blatantly reveal the flaw in the American war on drugs through Murphy: the thought that the United States can simply enter a country and take charge and eliminate the criminals as if this alone will end the flow of cocaine into America. In the first season, Murphy says that Colombia is a “country where dreams and reality are conflated.” A generous viewer would probably write this description off as product of Murphy’s irredeemable whiteness but the show goes above and beyond it advocating for his naive foreign sensibilities and taking them on as its own. With a very one-sided voice over coming from the show’s all-American hero that acts as a viewer’s guide in what to believe and how to perceive the show, it seems as though Narcos was really only ever made for the viewing pleasure of an American audience.
With Pablo Escobar being the central focus of Narcos, one would likely believe that his character’s portrayal could not possibly have issues with representation but the show manages to commit more errors with the retelling of his story. Narcos’ version of Pablo Escobar is every bit the anti-hero that Walter White is and finding a way to make viewers so invested in him is probably one of the show’s most impressive feats. The writers carefully craft Escobar’s image as noble man with some flaws. He may kill and torture innocent people but the series goes to great lengths to portray him as a caring and loving father that many viewers can relate to. In reality, people did not see this side of him. There was no sympathy and to call him an anti-hero was incredibly insulting. To the families of the thousands of people he killed, he was no anti-hero and was seen as a straight-up villain. Moura effectively captures Escobar’s spirit in his portrayal of him, despite his terrible recreation of his accent which is one of the top complaints native-Spanish speakers have upon watching the show. He does this through the physical portrayal. Moura is every bit the brooding, on-edge, concerned Escobar. He does everything he can to avoid portraying Escobar as the hyper-focused and always dangerous man he could be if the series had decided to take the one-dimensional route. The showrunners considered it important that Escobar not be seen as simply either good or bad because it was not realistic as everyone can identify with having a bit of both inside them. The larger problem with the depiction of Escobar hearkens back to the fact that the story of his rise and subsequent fall is told through the eyes of two Americans.
Narcos is undeniably a patriarchal show, echoing latin america’s tendency toward machismo. Throughout the course of this essay, women have only been mentioned sparingly yet the series does such an effective job in degrading them. The second season does formulate some attempt at rectifying the rampant misogyny in the first season by introducing female characters that are present for more than sex and being killed, yet gender roles are still enforced, both subtly and blatantly. For example, the DEA boss, Claudia Messina, is left to teach and scold Murphy and Pena while both men spend their time reminding her how inexperienced she is and how little she knows about being on the ground in Colombia. Judy Moncada learned the drug business from her late husband yet could not recognize that she was being outmaneuvered. One of the only female characters with a strong purpose, it Tata Escobar, Pablo’s wife. The mere fact that she only takes issue with her husband’s tactics and not his methods is subtly menacing in its own right. Tata’s character still falls into the trap of machismo though as the show sacrifices the power she holds in her relationship as their empire begins to crumble in order to speed up the pace of the plot. As she watches Pablo’s ego grow so large to the point where he is more concerned about himself and his business than his family, she just argues with her mother-in-law about how best to comfort him rather than initiating a confrontation with him in which she demands he turn himself in.
The notion of machismo has a special relevance to male sexual culture within Latin America. Men are automatically assumed to have robust sexual appetites that cannot be controlled and for them, it is acceptable to satisfy this appetite in any way. Narcos reflects this in the overt sexualization of most of the prominent women in the show. Pablo uses journalist, Valeria Velez as an object for sex and as a publicity tool but does not see her as a person. Escobar’s henchmen are also frequently seen at brothels with prostitutes. They treat women terribly and the women are supposed to just accept it and take it. Women were only supposed to be seen as pure and virtuous. The double standard is revealed when it is seen that extramarital affairs are no big deal for men but are utterly destructive for women. There is a paradox with Escobar in that he purports himself to be a patriarch with family values yet frequently cheats on his ‘beloved’ wife. While Tata Escobar is shown to have more power than other women in the show, she still cannot seem to escape the traditional gender roles that are enforced in latino societies. In the first scene she is introduced in, Tata is seen with Escobar’s mother, Hermilda, as they iron shirts and fetches him a glass of water when he asks for it. Once the they are married, Escobar immediately launches into an affair with reporter, Valeria Velez. Unlike Tata who is presented as a dutiful wife and homemaker, Velez is portrayed as a racy career-driven woman who is in charge of herself and her sexuality. Tata knows about the affair and while she hates, it she still tolerates it and carries on with her traditional domestic duties because the culture of machismo in Latin America has engrained in her that this is normal and she should simply accept it as a fact of life. Escobar’s affair is not the only example of blatant misogyny put forth in the show. Almost all of Escobar’s sicarios have a penchant for disrespecting women and whistle and grab at women as if they were animals. In a more explicit example, one of Escobar’s men, Gacha, has a son who blatantly sexually harrasses their housemaid by grabbing and licking her without her consent and telling his father that he wants to have sex with her. This behavior reflects his sense of entitlement and his view that women are objects to be had and used, a perspective that his society only reinforces and encourages for men like him. Ultimately, Narcos uses sexual violence to give a raw and unfiltered picture of machismo in Latin America.
With all of the stereotypical narco-dramas both in United States and in Latin America, Narcos had all the makings to be the show that broke the mold. And in a way, it did. The series does portray latinidad in a more authentic way than any other U.S.-produced show ever had in the past, with its cast full of Latino actors, its heavy use of Spanish and its filming in Colombia. However, even with all of these efforts to portray the Colombian drug crisis that Pablo Escobar directed, Narcos still fails in its representation of Colombia and its stereotyping of Latinos for its American audience.