No, as it turns out, I had not, up until now anyway. I never got around to watching Netflix’s flagship series Stranger Things, to the astonishment of almost everyone I speak to. The devoted fandom and friends constantly insisting I watch it, solidified my desire to never watch it. The snobbish side of me fed me the throughline that the show wasn’t even that good. An overhyped fad, that’ll pass, like much of life does. But, in contrast, the series’ popularity continued to grow, making me reconsider my decision to “Never watch it”. Having just watched the first season, I can safely say that I have now become what I thought I’d never be: A Stranger Things fan. 

The show, as many know, is about a group of children who investigate the mysterious disappearance of their friend Will Byers among an autumn-soaked eighties backdrop. The series oozes admiration for the works of Spielberg, John Carpenter, and Stephen King, perfectly balancing humour, emotion, and tension. The series broadened my admittedly cynical perspective on streaming shows and what they’re capable of, demonstrating their ability to form complex relationships amidst a tangled plot. 

Every character feels like they have their own journey throughout the season, making the ultimate climax at the end feel earned and genuine. You understand them more as a viewer, and there’s a genuine thrill in watching people become more fully formed as the show’s mystery extends its reach. The extent of the government’s cover-ups and the danger the characters are in feels more palpable as the humans behind it are genuinely earnest and sympathetic. 

The longer running time allocated to shows allows a greater balance of emotion and thrills. The conspiratorial plotline doesn’t clash with intimate character moments that keep the viewer invested dramatically. The pacing feels pitch perfect as a result, getting the best of both worlds. This balance is best represented by the season finale which ratchets up the giddy thrills, ushered along by a thrumming synthesized soundtrack akin to John Carpenter, to create something that’s truly fun. The emotional crescendo at the end is the perfect payoff. It substitutes tension with a warm melancholy that deftly glides through the ensemble cast as they all celebrate Christmas in their own way. It contrasts the cold wintery streets of Hawking with the warm, pleasant glow of the interior lights. It offsets the bleak emptiness of unfulfillment. The characters still feel like they have growing to do and know it themselves. 

A series can end like this, because it keeps the viewers watching. Viewers are drawn to partial conclusions. It offers security that the show will return. We’ve grown attached to these characters and want them to fulfil their growth in a way we hope we’re right about, we hope their relationships build up gradually. A series allows the characters to build stronger connections with viewers than previously thought possible, and themselves. There’s a lot of show for me to get through and so little time. 

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