Burksdowling8173
“You know what this half-baked plan of yours sounds like to me? Child endangerment.”
On July 15, 2016, an unexpected hit came to Netflix. After years of trying to cultivate acclaimed talents (David Fincher’s House of Cards) and proven premises (Orange Is the New Black), Netflix transcended the zeitgeist with The Duffer Brothers’ Stranger Things. Ahead of the first season, it received very little promotion, but word of mouth quickly spread and by the end of the first weekend, it was the summer’s biggest phenomenon. Not Finding Dory or Captain America: Civil War. It was this sci-fi series, blended with horror and a heavy dosage of 1980s nostalgia, that dominated the conversation around the world. Stranger Things remains Netflix’s biggest hit today, with two additional seasons released in October 2017 and July 2019, respectively, and more to come. The series follows the mystical town of Hawkins, Indiana and the kids (and terrified adults) who came of age when the stranger things that have happened, happened to them.
(This isn’t the upside down. Spoilers for Stranger Things (and Game of Thrones and Wet Hot American Summer: First Day of Camp) will be rightside up in this essay. That wasn’t my best, but it still applies. )
Many stories that call for the distraction of a mindless beast that is driven by all senses, sans visual, result in a scene where an object is thrown in another direction from the hunt with the hope that the sound will cause a worthwhile diversion, allowing the protagonists to escape. It’s a classic maneuver and a trope that never seems to get tiresome. It’s common enough to be satisfying and ingenious enough to be admirable and it always makes me proud of the characters for whom I’m rooting.
This is a trope that can certainly be found in Jurassic Park, which is responsible for much of the visual language ascribed to American monster stories on screen. A more horrific type of kaiju (in that the monsters fight the humans), Jurassic Park’s auditory diversion is not its only iconic moment when it comes to running away from the dinosaurs. There is the roar in the rear-view mirror when speeding away from the T-rex in those iconic Jeeps. There is the breath on the glass when Tim and Lex are hiding from the velociraptors. Transcendent as these moments may be, the adjective best ascribed to them is Spielbergian. And that’s how much of Stranger Things feels, too: Spielbergian.
In “The Battle of Starcourt,” part of the gang that is battling the Mind Flayer make a run for it on wheels. The Mind Flayer chases mindlessly behind them, seeming to parallel that famous T-rex twenty-seven years ago. Other members duck into the Starcourt Mall’s Gap store to hide behind shelves and bureaus from the monster before an object is thrown in another direction. These moments speak to Stranger Things’ relationship with the sci-fi/adventure stories that came before it.
Of course, it’s not only limited to Jurassic Park from Steven Spielberg’s oeuvre. The entire third season is rooted around the Fourth of July holiday season, during which the mayor of Hawkins, Larry Kline (Cary Elwes), chooses to ignore the vast warning signs afflicting the townsfolk of his community in favor of pushing ahead with the Independence Day fair. Granted, his motivations are more corrupt than the mayor from Jaws (one of the obvious parallels, though much of the summer swimming pool scenes do seem to evoke the exaggerated style of The Sandlot), but it’s hard not to draw the connection to Spielberg’s first masterpiece.
The reverence for culture that came before it does not stop with Spielberg, though. Billy’s (Dacre Montgomery) Upside Down-provoked possession evokes many elements of the unstoppable machine in The Car when he pumps the pedals of his own vehicle. A van ripped straight from Vacation doubles down on the Griswold references until it is destroyed in a thrilling T-bone moment as Steve (Joe Keery) rescues Nancy (Natalia Dyer) from certain doom. A lost friend and a collection of bicycles evoke Stand by Me. A synthesizer score throughout the show recalls the John Carpenter tunes present in horror films like The Thing. In this glut, Spielberg’s E.T. the Extra Terrestrial and Close Encounters of the Third Kind almost seem like an afterthought when they might actually be the series’ most pertinent influences.
Ultimately, though, for as reverent as Stranger Things is to the culture that came before it, there is also plenty of subversion of those tropes that helped define movies and shows in the 1980s. There are many archetypal characters who, if they had come in a shorter form than a series with multiple seasons, could be dismissed as having as much depth as non-playable characters in video games. Instead, Stranger Things brings them to life and gives them depth, even if their arcs are understandably more abbreviated than those of the kids. For example, Karen Wheeler (Cara Buono) has adventures removed from the fear she has from her own children, unlike the blasé parenting in some of those ’80s classics. Yet, the shimmering example of trope subversion assuredly comes in Steve “The Hair” Harrington, the best character on Stranger Things.
At first, it seems like Steve occupies the role of the douchebag, hairspray-obsessed boyfriend of the female protagonist. He makes fun of Jonathan Byers (Charlie Heaton) (who actually might be the creepy one in this situation), he dismisses Nancy’s concern over Barb’s (Shannon Purser) disappearance, and he hangs out with a group of friends who joke that the equation, 10 + Y, is equal to “Blow me.” By season three, however, Steve is dressed in Donald Duck blue as a sailor at the Scoops Ahoy ice cream shop in the mall. He’s serving up sundaes, smiles, and secret access to the movie theater for the kids in town (namely Finn Wolfhard’s Mike, Gaten Matarazzo’s Dustin, Caleb McLaughlin’s Lucas, and Noah Schnapp’s Will). He’s a full-blown babysitter and he still has great hair! It’s a glorious journey for a character who was supposed to be fodder for the Upside Down and instead became a barbed baseball bat-wielding vigilante hero/lovable dairy-infused caretaker. By season three, he’d become the best part of the show, even when it seemed like Eleven (Millie Bobby Brown) would be the breakout star.
The affinity Steve harbors for the children in Hawkins is emblematic of the larger sense of trust the adults in town have for them all. Granted, adults like Chief Jim Hopper (David Harbour) and Joyce Byers (Winona Ryder) still go to great lengths to ensure that they’re not endangering the kids who are investigating the mysteries alongside them. But they still trust that the kids’ intel is an important part of the puzzle. When they work together, they succeed in fighting the Mind Flayer and the adults aptly toe the balance between protection and implementation. Wouldn’t it have been tiresome if the kids had been ignored and pushed aside when they had already proven themselves up to the fight? (And boy, do they want to fight.)
The why behind their fight cannot be ignored either. When these kids get together to play, whether it’s with sticks or with dice (for Dungeons and Dragons), they play with all sorts of tropes they see in the movies. They play as cops and as life-sucking monsters and as government-mutated antiheroes and as Russian spies. They’re all elements that might not seem out of place in a Wet Hot American Summer-esque satire (there’s even a chemical leak!), but Stranger Things treats them with the utmost sincerity. Yes, Russian spies orchestrating monster invasions in the U.S. seems ripped from a cheesy movie parodied by Mystery Science Theater 3000. But on Stranger Things, it’s just playtime come to life. Sci-fi stories and Russian conspiracies in all, there be monsters in Hawkins, Indiana. And The Duffer Brothers committed to this premise wholeheartedly.
It helps contribute to much of the show’s sense of fun, but the idea of Dungeons and Dragons coming to life is not one that would be met entirely with levity. There are real horrors inside the Upside Down. Ultimately, Billy doesn’t make it out and neither does Barb. Will does, though, so much of the true terror of the Upside Down rests on his shoulders (Schnapp is more than up to the task with a Fort Byers destruction scene carrying more weight than perhaps the entire second season of Stranger Things) because his friends just could never understand what he went through. They get to continue on through puberty, following their interest in girlfriends and hanging out at the mall, whereas Will is keen to play board games and roleplay in Mike’s basement like they used to before he went in the Upside Down. He still feels like he missed out and the horcrux/Spidey Sense-esque tingling on his neck reminds him that the Upside Down will never relinquish its grip over him.
What exactly is the Upside Down? I’m not entirely sure. I’ve seen the series twice now and the entire concept behind the monsters and the portals and the Russian bases is a bit unclear to me. (I mean, how many times are they gonna have to close that damn portal?) Even if the answers are a bit unsatisfying, the mysteries we encounter along the way are still vastly more compelling than many other Netflix series have attempted to be in the wake of Stranger Things’ explosion on the scene.
When the first season of Stranger Things dropped, it was set during November, which allowed for Joyce, in “Holly Jolly,” to readily communicate with Will through Christmas lights strung up through the home and connected to Ouija board-esque letters on the Byers home’s wall. These seasonal elements have helped Stranger Things endure through the years, as we’re allowed to check in on Hawkins during various times of the year. Season one brought Christmas, season two leaned more into the horror with its Halloween release, and season three, of course, celebrated the Fourth of July. (The fourth was rumored to be a Thanksgiving affair before the COVID-19 pandemic pushed things back indefinitely.) This sensation allowed for fan connection, especially since there were very few stars to attach to initially.
Now, Wolfhard, Brown, Keery, and more are stars in their own rights. At the beginning, though, Ryder was the biggest name (always off giving Joyce her own solo stories in a much-needed Winona-saince) and even Harbour was scarcely known. (Buono and Matthew Modine as Dr. Brenner probably had a larger fame claim than Harbour.) Though, his glorious, above-my-pay-grade attitude manifested in a fan favorite character who drinks, eats, and sings along to “You Don’t Mess Around with Jim.” He’s no superhero (sorry, Bob Newby (Sean Astin)), but he does his best, even if what he’s called upon to do is far more than should be asked of a small town chief.
Stranger Things, with all its popularity, created stars from all of them, though. Harbour has hosted Saturday Night Live in the interim. Anytime a young superhero receives a fan casting on the Internet, you can bet that a Stranger kid will show up in the photoshop (they really want McLaughlin as a live-action Miles Morales). Even Purser’s Barb (who was never as big a deal for me as the Internet made her out to be) became a phenomenon, as fans demanded justice for her character, which brought about a vast over-correction in season two. (Purser herself would later go on to star in Riverdale, another show for the youths.)
The aforementioned biggest star initially was Brown, though. The character of Eleven was a driving force of mystery, even more than Will was. (Where is the justice for Eleven’s first protector, Benny (Chris Sullivan), if we’re getting justice for Barb?) In “Holly Jolly,” she learned about the world around her (after much of her youth was stripped from her due to scientific experimentation) through flipping through the television channels, examining Nancy’s photographs, and listening to the melody from a music box. She almost seems like a newborn before the show eventually turned Eleven into a get out of jail free card.
All Eleven needed to do was put a hand up to danger and she could ship it off with her mind. The action sequences tipped over into hand-wavy territory before Eleven damaged her powers ahead of “The Battle of Starcourt.” Finally, Stranger Things took their breakout hero and showed how consequential it would be if she overdid her abilities. By the end of the episode (and a three-month time skip), Eleven’s powers still haven’t come back. Season four might promise a bigger mystery yet and it worked on the heels of risking the reverence many devoted fans have for the character.
At first, in the second season, it seemed like superstardom was a curse for Stranger Things. There was so much screen time to be juggled that the characters were sacrificed in favor of plotting and plotting is never as much fun as character-based interactions. Fortunately, the ship was righted for season three, which remains the show’s best arc to date. It was perfectly executed and soundly paced to allow the various stories (Nancy and Jonathan work for a newspaper, Will senses the Mind Flayer, the Scoops Ahoy gang investigates the Russians, Hopper and Joyce link up with Murray (Brett Gelman), and the rest of the kids go through puberty) to converge in a genuinely rousing climax.
“The Battle of Starcourt” ships out Joyce, Hopper, and Murray to impersonate Russians and infiltrate their base to close the portal to the Upside Down. The kids rescue Eleven with a fireworks show (even if the standard Independence Day celebration didn’t feature one) inside the mall. Hawkins’ power goes out and it is witnessed by the Scoops Troop from a nearby hill as they make the best use of their industrial-strength walkie-talkies. All of it would have been enough for an epic conclusion to the series’ third season, but Stranger Things continued to top itself with one chills-inducing moment that was a perfect blend of nostalgia, excitement, fun, and world-saving actions, all in a Wet Hot-esque build-up to a major musical moment.
Except these children, Dustin and his girlfriend, Suzie (Gabriella Pizzolo), do not sing “Higher and Higher,” like Chris Pine does. Instead, they belt out the theme song to The NeverEnding Story. It’s a moment brought about by the need from “Dusty Bun” to receive Planck’s Constant from “Suzie Poo” and it’s truly glorious. The theme song is rousing enough to be thrilling and silly enough (it just begs you to remember the concept of Falcor) to keep Stranger Things as fun as it can be while barreling towards a darker twist along the lines of Harry Potter, which grew in seriousness as the child magicians aged through Hogwarts. A split-screen moment reveals that, even when the world is at stake, Dustin is grinning with delight at being able to sing the song with his girlfriend remotely (the other characters with access to the communication devices look on, at best, in confusion). We can’t help but grin along with him. After three seasons, we’re invested in these characters in a way that felt different from some other Netflix series.
On the one hand, the streamer’s model of binge-watching keeps viewers hooked on the shows they choose to watch (even if Stranger Things never captured weekly global discussions like Game of Thrones managed in its heyday). On the other, it’s clear that Stranger is Netflix’s biggest franchise that they prop up to be on par with the Marvel Cinematic Universe and the Middle-earth stories when it comes to devoted fandoms. It’s why F.Y.E. stores are filled with Stranger Things merchandise and not Master of None merchandise. It’s why the third season was technically called Stranger Things 3. They treat the installments like they’re movie sequels because that’s the kind of franchise monetization that Netflix has been so desperate to capture. For as much money as they throw at proven talent, their biggest success came from Stranger Things, which was comprised of unknowns, small-scale IMDb character actors, and Winona Ryder.
This glut of characters and stars resulted in a ton of great moments that came about from fun ensemble play (Alexei’s (Alec Utgoff) love of cherry slushies, Max’s (Sadie Sink) attachment to Billy. Even the quote up top is attributed to Lucas’s sister, Erica (Priah Ferguson)). It all showed how vast the universe of Stranger Things was and how many characters could come to town and occupy a vital position in it. The best of these is undoubtedly Robin (Maya Hawke), who joins the Scoops Troop when she decides to start decoding Russian with Steve and Dustin, rather than serve ice cream to newfound mall-goers. How great was Hawke in that role? Her scene on laffy drugs in the bathroom with Steve in “The Bite,” when she comes out as a lesbian, is one of the show’s standout bridges to larger emotion.
Moments like these were important to show the human sides of the characters so the story could be more than just an action-y plot where the characters act in service of the monsters. Billy rises above the sacrificial lamb status (both in terms of saving Max and reducing the size of the cast) when Eleven flashes back into a memory menagerie of his past to reach the emotional trauma he endured from a young age. In turn, Eleven’s humanization throughout the series is critical for understanding that she’s more than just a deus ex machina; she wants to be a normal teenager, too.
My favorite of these instances comes in Eleven’s entire arc in “The Mall Rats.” It’s entirely removed from monsters and Mind Flayers as she and Max head to the Starcourt for “girl time” after it becomes clear that Mike is lying to her. They interact a bit with Steve, the de facto hub for the characters when the mall fad comes to Hawkins, but they mostly spend their time trying on clothes and causing mischief (it’s not just a shopping montage. It’s still a sci-fi series and Eleven still feels compelled to explode the drinks of unsuspecting Burger King patrons. (Why do period series always feel the need to use Burger King in the malls? Do they just love showing off that retro logo?)) to the tune of Madonna’s “Material Girl.” At the end of the episode, she still speaks to Mike with slightly broken English, telling him, “You lie. Why do you lie? I dump your ass.” It’s not quite how teenagers talk, but Eleven is growing and her development can flourish when she goes to malls instead of death-defying laboratories.
That doesn’t mean it’s not a lot of fun to see Eleven be a bad-ass who flips cars and snaps necks (the violence was shockingly adult at times). It just means that moments like that are needed for Hopper’s eventual death to hit harder for Eleven than it does for us.
Communicated wordlessly by Joyce to Eleven (who later takes on the custody of Eleven), Hopper’s death seems primed to bring the show into darker, more adult territory like he’s a regular Cedric Diggory. It’s all in the name of consolation without expectation. We see it in “Holly Jolly” when Peter Gabriel’s cover of David Bowie’s “Heroes” plays as Will’s “body” is fished from the nearby lake. The kids thought they could be heroes, but instead it seems like the simplest explanation for Will’s death was also the truest one. Jonathan hugs Joyce when he finds her in the middle of the road. Karen clutches Mike without even asking why he’s crying. They provide comfort without needing a reason and we see that paid forward when Joyce takes on the responsibility of raising Eleven without a second thought, again with “Heroes” playing.
Granted, Hopper’s death has been about as accepted as Jon Snow’s at the end of season five or Spider-Man’s at the end of Avengers: Infinity War. His heartfelt message (“The hurt is good” still sticks with me over a year later) to Eleven contains a plea for the door to be left open a few inches, which many fans clung to as foreshadowing that Hopper slipped inside the portal, rather than got blown up with it. Coupling that with the post-credits scene and any Stranger Things fan would tell you that Hopper is not actually dead.
No matter how his demise is handled, it’s clear that genuine change is coming to Hawkins and to Stranger Things (even though I’m sure I’ll love them both all the same). When characters move away (as the Byers do at the end of season three) in the 1980s, before the Internet, texting, and social media, it might actually be the end of friendships and relationships. Even if Mike and Eleven weather the distance, it’s hard to ignore the change they’ll be facing. It’s why “Heroes” plays when Will’s body is found and when Will, Eleven, Jonathan, and Joyce depart Hawkins. Change is coming, childhood is bookended, and the world is going to look a lot different without the ones we love in it. The answer’s in the lyrics, after all. We can be heroes. But just for one day. Just for one day.
