One of the things you learn very quickly as a new parent is that the time you can dedicate to binging programming via Netflix is extremely limited. I've missed a lot over the last year—the latest seasons of Bojack Horseman and Orange Is the New Black, just for starters—and probably won't make up the lost ground. (Somewhere, the world's smallest violin plays.)
I was able to carve out a weekend's worth of viewing time to catch Stranger Things, however, and I have to say: I loved every minute of the show. It's as good as everyone has said, something along the lines of a Steven Spielberg adaptation of a Stephen King novel that John Carpenter did second unit work on. Funny, scary, emotionally sweet and sad, and filled to the rafters with good performances by a crop of talented young actors, Stranger Things is the best new TV show I've seen since ... Silicon Valley debuted, I guess. Four stars. No complaints.
Well. One complaint. (Spoilers after the image.)
I have to say, I'm a bit disappointed by the show's closing moments, which tease a second season. The idea of revisiting "the upside down" and searching for the seemingly departed Elle fills me with a sense of unease: it'd be like commissioning a sequel to E.T. or The Thing. I'm just not sure what more there is to explore there, and the idea of Will Byers serving as some sort of walking, talking portal to the alternate dimension—becoming the flea, rather than the acrobat—strikes me as a risky proposition.
In truth, as things wound down I was kind of hoping that the season would be entirely self-contained: That there was a story here to tell and that was that. That doesn't mean I thought Stranger Things would be a one-and-done. (Or that I wanted it to!) But I wonder if the Duffer Brothers' eighties-appropriation aesthetic wouldn't work nicely within an anthology setting, examining a new mystery via a new style each year.
Ah well. Here's hoping Stranger Things proves me wrong in its second season!