Laying in bed with a fever and a sniffly nose, I perused the plethora of titles on Netflix for something to distract me from my agony, which led me to click on “Stranger Things.” I honestly do not think I would have ever watched the last season if it were not for my need for distraction.
I went into it not expecting much. Although I should love everything about “Stranger Things,” these past few seasons were not exactly mind-blowing. I loved the idea of “Stranger Things,” a science fiction show with elements of other genres like mystery and horror. As an avid science-fiction lover, this show was right up my alley.
When I was younger, I thought the first season was pretty good. The show was easy to watch with likeable characters and a mystery worth sticking around for. I also loved watching or discussing it with older family members, who pleasantly recounted their childhood memories, providing fun insights into the 80s.
As the cast got older and the time between seasons stretched on, I completely lost hope in the idea that the show would ever live up to its potential. And it had so much potential. It had the potential to be a show that was both compelling and unique while being worthy of praise for years to come. They had the budget, time and means — even a talented audience with great ideas — to take risks, to be different.
To avoid spoiling the show for those curious or sick enough to watch it, the continued usage of an obviously aging cast (who are my age) playing young teens; inability to fill gaping plot holes; lackluster delivery of poorly-written lines; and stringent disregard of an ending — one worthy of the almost year and a half wait — lends to my particular frustration with the show.
The only consistency “Stranger Things” ever seemed to have was my consistent disappointment. In addition to a cast you could not convince me were still teens, even with my eyes closed, the writing was terrible this final season. I am no Hollywood professional, but even I could tell the thought, passion or care the show deserved from the writers was noticeably absent.
In a world that is so quickly moving forward, I cannot be mad at “Stranger Things;” but I can be sincerely disappointed. Good, unique stories are becoming rarer and rarer because money and profit continue to get in the way of what could be amazing. No one in those big studios seems to know what we, the audience, actually want anymore. Not just that, they have proven time and time again that they do not care. They know that as long as an actor or aspect of a previously successful story is present, people will watch. And that, sadly, is good enough for them.
I want effort and passion to return to the creation of shows and movies. I want a new story that is allowed to develop to its fullest potential, even if it means more time spent or even losing money. I want to feel profoundly changed by a story and leave looking at the world differently. I want writers who love the story just as much as — if not more than — their audiences do.
I am no longer content with shitty depictions of movies with sterile lighting and an even more sterile plot. I do not want rushed endings either. I want effort and passion. I want Hollywood productions and those in the writer’s room to be proud of what they are producing.
We do not want another live-action depiction of a film. We do not want to see the same actors, who are also often problematic, over and over again. I want media that takes more risks.
After realizing that I typically re-watch the same stuff, and since nothing new is good anyway, investing in physical media is looking more and more reasonable.
The ending of “Stranger Things” is, in essence, what its creators and Netflix think we deserve. I am not just disappointed in the show itself, but the lack of pride in it. The lack of risk. The lack of effort. I wanted “Stranger Things” to surprise me, and it did not. Unfortunately, for me, “Stranger Things” will always just be a subpar distraction from a wicked bug.