Written by Ellis LaMai
On the 3rd of September 2012, Griselda Blanco was shot and killed at a butcher shop in Columbia, Medellín, right in front of her pregnant daughter in law.
Just a month later, on October 25, rapper Meek Mill released his song Believe It featuring Rick Ross with the bar immortalising the late godmother with the lyric: ‘Don’t want no beef, I might break your taco / I’m screaming rest in peace, Griselda Blanco’, along with a music video referencing the Las Vegas excess of Martin Scorsese’s 1995 maximalist masterpiece Casino; Blanco found herself as the rare female figure idolised by success hungry masculinity along with the likes of Michael/Vito Corleone, Henry Hill, Pablo Escobar, El Chapo, Jordan Belford and Tony Montana.
After a bevy of more hip hop references from the New York boom-bap label/collective ‘Griselda’ and a viral Toronto street rap song named after her, we finally have our first mainstream Hollywood interpretation of Griselda Blanco’s story, simply titled Griselda with the backing of Netflix, the writing team behind Narcos and starring Modern Family’s Sofia Vergara for what promises to be a serious, transformative role as the ruthless female crime lord.
Griselda opens with Blanco (Vergara) in panic, bleeding out from a gunshot wound and preparing to go on the run after a dispute with her husband, taking her three sons along with her to Miami in search of a new life and the American dream. What she also takes with her is a brick of cocaine and an insatiable need to succeed. Blanco is on the run and desperate to make something of herself. Fleeing sexual abuse, physical violence and a crime filled life only makes her more determined to beat the odds and become a self-made woman.
The 6 episode limited series details Griselda’s rise to the top and her fall to the bottom in classic crime drama fashion. As we watch the drama unfold, we are immediately aware of the figure’s reputation and genre. Indeed, Griselda is steeped in crime drama heritage: the bright 80s Miami excess from Scarface, the moral grey areas, tracking shots and montages from a classic Martin Scorsese drama; we know how this story ends before it even begins.
A great performance from Sofia Vergara bolsters it, seeding all her likability and almost all her Hollywood star qualities, it’s the type of performance you don’t realise is good until certain moments due to how seamless it feels. She and her fellow actors often engage in dialogue entirely in Spanish which adds a touch of authenticity. Being immersed in Vergara’s native tongue also ensures that the show doesn’t completely appease its western audience. There is also a standout crack-induced paranoia scene leading to unhinged anger at a party in episode 5 which wowed me and took the character to interesting places. However, on the surface it appears that those moments are few and far between.
There’s nothing offensive about Griselda, I got through the 6 hour long episodes with ease, but some may say that it is remarkably safe when it comes to narrative and character. As the landscape for dramas on both the small and big screen pivots towards biopic re-tellings of recent and historical figures with star actors in the leading roles, Griselda doesn’t do much to differentiate itself from the pack. Although it is advertised as a fictionalised drama, giving it some licence to dig into themes and ideas that a traditional biopic wouldn’t, Griselda doesn’t budge and rather delivers her story in a straightforward, plot-focused manner for 6 hours.
The stand -out star is undoubtedly Sofia Vergara, who transforms herself into a cold-hearted, maniacal drug lord intent on gaining power at all costs. As good as Sofia Vergara is, the script does not always have moments to define Griselda’s character. Criticism of the drama has been that Griselda is lauded as a ‘girl-boss’ and therefore her truly horrific acts are glossed over in the name of feminism. There are hints of abuse and poor parenthood, but this is undermined by the fact that there is a focus on her being a woman in a male dominated field. By ending the film with Blanco staring out into the sea, imagining herself being reunited with her deceased sons, the audience is invited to empathise with her. She is reduced to her womanhood and is depicted as a mother above all else. In doing so, the scene absolves her from her crimes. She is not held up as the kingpin responsible for the death of multiple men, women and children. There are no elements of interiority and deep self-reflection, and it seems that Netflix missed an opportunity of telling a story of a woman who was oppressed throughout her life and continued to repeat that cycle with money, success and power.
A more interesting angle in the show is that Blanco’s story is paralleled with the story of the policewoman June Hawkins, who is hellbent on seeing her pay for her crimes. As the Vincent Hanna to Blanco’s Neil McCauley, June navigates a Miami police department which often doubts her and pushes her to the side as she tries to tie the facts of the drug related murders in Miami to Blanco. Obviously, we as the audience know that she’s right and therefore as with most cop related media, we frustratingly watch her struggle to gain the respect of her peers until she does and ends up leading the investigation.
Griselda may be enough for people who have heard her constantly referenced and want to learn something about her in an easy and entertaining television show that doesn’t demand much in terms of attention but beyond the flashy performance and high production value, Griselda doesn’t attempt to drum up something unique in execution or lasting in resonance. I’m sure it’ll be enough for her to be referenced by our next great young male rapper, but one could hope for more with the specificity of her story and situation.
