Analysis
Smith notes that beyond merely being an openly transgressive telenovela, the show "boasted a self-conscious and ironic reference" to the tradition it was leaving behind by taking the veteran actress Verónica Castro as its star. However, he does note that the three main areas of novelty within the show's production had already been shown by indie producers Argos in the 1990s, some preceding even the new wave of Mexican cinema; he particularly looks at the show Mirada de mujer, a successful late-90s "avowedly feminist telenovela" that he considers the predecessor of The House of Flowers based on their renovations to the genre and, in content, many similarities. As Smith's Film Quarterly editor on the subject, B. Ruby Rich commented that The House of Flowers owes "a big debt" to Mirada de mujer. Despite such similarities, Smith concedes that "the tone of Netflix's series is much more playful", that it makes use of color where Argos' telenovelas did not, and is less harsh to the bourgeois family at its heart.
Raciel D. Martínez Gómez also notes one similarity that the show bears with traditional telenovelas, being that it uses Mexico City and its elite neighborhoods to express a lightness within the story; Martínez Gómez suggests that of recent popular Mexican output the only work to use the city in a more social-realist way was Alfonso Cuarón's Roma. In terms of color, Grosso Cortes et al. note that the temperature of the series is between neutral and cold (in the 5000K to 7000K range), which they suggest shows a work as being "hostile" but also "everyday", by not being too cold. They also note that, in The House of Flowers, the cold temperature makes the show more colorful, "due to the combination of colors present in the flowers": the cold tone is "embellished by the different colors of the flowers that appear".
Jacqueline Avila looks at the use of music in the show, comparing it to the inherently musical form of telenovelas, saying that it "plays a significant and meaningful role in the developing narratives, highlighting and magnifying elements that reflect both the local and the global and incorporating past practices into a new format for a new generation of audience members who attempt to transcend borders"; she also examines the relationship of Spanish-language broadcasting with the Netflix digital platform, viewing habits, and their influences on the form of the telenovela. Noting that the use of music in streaming series is necessarily different from films and scheduled television because of unpredictable viewing habits, and interacting with Rick Altman's theory of flow, Avila writes that The House of Flowers uses music to underscore the narrative and to help signify aspects of the Mexican telenovela in the show. She gives the example of the diegetic music used during Roberta's funeral in the second episode, as it provides campy elements of telenovelas while reflecting the grief, pain, and character relationships. Despite having connected the show with the telenovela, and noting that the music selection taps into Mexico's popular culture, Avila ultimately concludes that "the strategic use of music [...] provides a more cinematic approach" than "older traditions", saying that this "encourages a more prolonged and attentive listening strategy rather than relying on shorter episodes and pauses for commercials".
Avila discusses other aspects of the show: non-musical sound and the function of the cabaret. She describes the voice-over narration from Roberta as "a ghostly omnipresent voice [that] is strikingly similar to the narrator in Alfonso Cuarón's [...] Y tu mamá también" and believes it fulfills the purpose of Michel Chion's "textual speech" concept. Teresa Piñeiro Otero further discusses this narration. She writes that, along the same lines as Sunset Boulevard and Desperate Housewives, the series employs a posthumous narrator: Roberta. In the midst of Ernesto's birthday party, a female figure is visually highlighted among the crowd, raising the curiosity of the audience by the gaze directed through the camera. With the audience's curiosity sated at the moment of Roberta's suicide, the character then begins narrating, with her voice seeming to be released from the body, presenting characteristics of the "incorporeal voice" proposed by Linda Kreger Silverman. Piñeiro Otero also compares the similar situations initiating both The House of Flowers and Desperate Housewives to reiterate the former's genre as black comedy, writing that while the dead woman of Desperate Housewives was well-respected and an equal member of their rich neighborhood, Roberta is not and often simply called "the hanged lady" by the de la Mora family.
Corresponding with feminist theory, Piñeiro Otero then asserts that with Roberta's voice free of her body, it is free of patriarchal control. Thus, there is a rupture between Roberta as character and Roberta as narrator: the first is subject to her image and constrained by her role of "Other", the second is free to wander and is subversive in front of the patriarchal discourse. By not being contained in any body this voice is empowered and is omniscient, able to provide information that she lacked while living and even about characters she did not know. Having discussed the classical artistic conventions that have created an entrenched association between women and death, Piñeiro Otero expands on her feminist reading of the series, writing that when faced with the silence and stillness of death, which have objectified female beauty, Roberta rebels through the word. Only as a voice, Roberta dares to challenge Virginia de la Mora, the official wife and her former boss. Piñeiro Otero concludes that the voice-over in The House of Flowers reveals the truth, rather than just appearances. In some cases the narrative underlines Roberta's omniscient character and foreshadows much later events as a nod to the most observant audience. In addition to empowering her as a voice, Roberta's actions give her a continuous and destabilizing presence in the story.
Writing on another voice, a section of Avila's article is given to describing the cultural impact of Paulina's diction and comparing it against the similar speech of Cuca, la telefonista in The Disobedient Son. Avila suggests that Paulina has reclaimed the voice from the lazy Cuca character's portrayal to instead give it to Paulina, "a funny woman who is more capable and present". Avila finds that "[Paulina's] voice and delivery [...] creates a fascinating sound synthesis". Avila also writes that the use of the cabaret as a focus in the show provides a history of Mexican popular culture, a space to examine queer narratives, and a symbol for further identity politics that present discourses on politics and economics; she notes that the name 'La Casa de las Flores' when applied to the cabaret is a reference to the Caló terms for gay men (florecita and floripondio).
Referring to a moment later to be noted by Avila, Ernesto Diezmartínez discusses the show as breaking conventions of the telenovela when the drag queen performing as Gloria Trevi at Roberta's funeral is framed between Ernesto and Paulina de la Mora having a conversation. Diezmartínez writes that while the pair are talking in "typical redundant telenovela dialogue" but are "supposed to be saying something really important, [Paulina] interrupts the dialogue" to acknowledge, in a comment directed at Ernesto, how good the performance is; Diezmartínez argues that Caro does this to force the audience to notice the subversive aspect of the show over the expectation. He also looks at the show as an auteur product of Manolo Caro – he compares Paco León's transsexual character to that of Mariana Treviño in Amor de mis amores and the show's soundtrack to those of Amor de mis amores and No sé si cortarme las venas o dejármelas largas, which he also notes are Almodóvar-style – and comments on the writing of the series as compared to classic telenovelas – he says that with a thirteen-episode first season the writers "compress sub-plots that could last weeks in a traditional telenovela to solve them in a couple of episodes", but also that it still sticks closely enough to the telenovela that it "cannot avoid falling into a certain plot overload" and suggests that to continue the series for too long would over-extend it in a negative way.
In his article, Adrián Arjona Bueno looks at transgender representation on Netflix. Choosing María José as a subject of analysis, and noting comparisons between this character and the character of the same name(s) in the 1970s Spanish film Change of Sex, Arjona Bueno writes that despite coming from a typically privileged position – María José is ethnically Spanish (and therefore white), and wealthy and educated, which enabled her to access her job as a lawyer, giving a higher social standing – the character has lived within a conservative family that is concerned with appearances, in Mexico, and so presents as "an oppressed identity, withstanding the tensions, pressures and impudence of [this] society". Arjona Bueno's determination on the representation provided by the character is mixed: he writes that, though she has a good job and social position, María José is mistreated by her family (the de la Moras), including being deadnamed at times, and has had surgery to justify her female identity. Also noting that María José is shown to be a good parent and loyal partner, Arjona Bueno concludes that transgender representation is improving to show "less stereotyped [and] more inclusive" characters. Cagri Yalkin names the series as exemplifying the increasing presence of LGBT+ characters, among a selection of shows that she writes are "reflecting both the changes in society and simultaneously acting as change forerunners".
Ortiz González, in his thesis, also looks at transgender representation; discussing the casting of a cisgender male actor, he notes that while other series sometimes show the character transitioning, María José in The House of Flowers is long since past this, with the coming out flashback scene "lasting only seconds". He also examines moments of misgendering in the series through the gendered language of Spanish, particularly the use of the generic "los" ("the", plural, neuter or masculine) when referring to Paulina and María José together, when "las" would be more appropriate. In a similar moment mentioned, María José cannot settle on a name to give to people looking for Bruno and reverts to just saying that she is his father, which Ortiz González says is "a thing that, however much she is a woman, does not cease to be true". In another instance, Bruno uses the masculine form of a curse word when insulting her. Ortiz González also mentions how María José is occasionally deadnamed, but writes that this is usually immediately corrected (particularly by Paulina and Virginia) and seems accidental out of habit.
On the more technical front, Claudia Benassini Félix has analyzed the success of the series in line with Netflix's machine learning and user recommendation algorithms, and the company's use of these to develop more profitable original series. From literature reviews, Benassini Félix determined that the past success of Spanish-language Netflix originals was a primary reason for the popularity of the show, based on Netflix's production plans, its targeted recommendations and suggested percentage of enjoyment, and the ability of users to create a 'watchlist'.
