The Upside Down
They ran up that hill and made a deal with Netflix
SPOILERS FOR STRANGER THINGS BELOW
There's a scene in Pushkin's Eugene Onegin we find the titular character's library and discover that he is a patchwork amalgamation of all the characters he's read about. As an audience, we soon realize that the supercilious Eugene of the past hundred pages has no identity to call his own: he is merely a stock archetype of other, greater literary heroes.
For many years, this was how I viewed Stranger Things, Netflix's highly allusive project about a small town's battle with monsters from an alternate dimension. Relying on an intertextual visual grammar borrowed from past intellectual property, the show was catapulted to earth-shattering heights by an 80s-fueled nostalgia engine. However, Stranger Things was almost overly deferential to the decade's zeitgeist that it risked being derivative. A band of bicycling boys discovers a seemingly otherworldly being, and we are reminded of ET. A popular jock bullies a sensitive, artistic kid in the parking lot as if straight out of a John Hughes film. Eleven (Millie Bobby Brown), who lifts her sensory deprivation tank in S4E08 after completing her training, has powers that look like the Force, and we instantly recall the similar flight of Luke Skywalker's X-wing in The Empire Strikes Back. Skeptics would say that the show is unoriginal, regurgitating often harmful tropes from its cinematic heroes (watch this).
Yet, Stranger Things is absolutely delightful. The show has sparked in me a kind of childlike devotion that I haven't felt since Game of Thrones before its disaster nonsense era. In the past month, I've undergone the physically taxing endeavor of watching and rewatching a total of six seasons of the show, only stopping to argue with twelve-year-olds on Twitter about the merits of Stancy. It's this miserable, can't-put-this-down, stay-up-till-dawn hunger, this deep, passionate investment for the well-being of these characters as if they were real people. In particular, my interest in the show is purely character-driven: the plot, which can get contrived and formulaic, overstuffed yet still missing logical coherence, is almost beside the point. I could care less about the Upside Down, the right side up, the lore. But are Steve (Joe Keery) and Nancy (Natalia Dyer) going to get together? Is Will (Noah Schnapp) in love with Mike (Finn Wolfhard)? Will Dustin (Gaten Matarazzo) and Suzie (Gabriella Pizzolo) reunite for another song? These, my friends, are the pressing questions of the drama as we head into season five. I watch Stranger Things like reality television.
So, while the script dictates a myriad of archetypal containers, the actors breathe life into their performances with such earnest, lived-in authenticity. When we see Steve and Robin (Maya Hawke) banter over ice cream or the kids playing Dungeons and Dragons in the Wheeler basement, we feel a sense of unparalleled naturalness in these performances. Even more stylized characters like Murray (Brett Gelman) and Dimitri (Tom Wlaschiha) are so endearingly written and performed that their unbelievability is forgiven. Likewise, the script soars the highest when it features naturalistic dialogue. The exchanges between the characters are so charming, witty, and real, the kids talk as kids would, joking with each other and yelling to their doting parents on the other side of the basement door. Conversely, the most obnoxious parts of this past season were the long, confessional monologues in which characters revealed their underlying feelings or their plans for world domination–I still cannot get over Mike's insufferably long "I love you" confession to Eleven or Vecna's "seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades" line. The writing at these points falters, becoming disingenuous with its "speechiness" and artificiality. In contrast, recall the beautiful reunion between Hopper (David Harbour) and Eleven at the end of the season, where the actors are allowed to bounce off of one another. (The "I kept the door open three inches because I never stopped believing" line is so evocative.) Eddie's final scene with Dustin is equally effective, and Joseph Quinn's improvised "I love you" feels so much more genuine than Mike's long and anticlimactic speech. The emotional moments that work the best in the show are when characters talk to, and not at, each other, with dialogue that has a more improvisational edge. The best moments in the show are not often the climaxes but the slice-of-life moments in between.
To fuel the void left by Stranger Things, I've been watching cast interviews on Youtube, and it's reminded me of the stellar chemistry amongst the actors. I could watch these children riff off of each other all day and still want to see more. That, to me, is the secret sauce of the show–the joy of seeing a group of people who genuinely care for one another say some of the punchiest dialogue on television as the world around them goes to pieces. In the past year or so, I've been watching many "prestige" shows, many of which are Stranger Things' primary competitors at this year's Emmys. Shows like Succession may be philosophical and dark, but they lack the ability for identification, and, as a result, do not stir the same sort of passionate devotion. After all, I can only watch so many hours of terrible wealthy people insulting each other in suits and fancy rooms before I become disillusioned with their stylized artifice. I can love Kendall or Greg, but it's an emotion that's sterilized by their genuine rottenness and un-relatability. In the current era of the anti-hero, it is truly refreshing to see endearing characters on-screen again, especially those who portray childhood so naturally and charmingly. The show has struck a nerve of authenticity that has been missing from my media for a while now. As we enter its final season, I hope it can retain its playfulness and sharp characterizations. In the meantime, I'll be on r/strangerthings, listening to Running Up That Hill, and daydreaming of Nancy Wheeler’s glorious perm.



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