SPOILER WARNING!!
This article contains major plot spoilers for the third season of “Stranger Things’.
Now that Game of Thrones has drifted into the ether shrouded in acrimony, there’s something of a chasm left in this so-called new golden age of television. It’s fairly amazing that a rag-tag group of nerds from Hawkins are probably the natural successors to television supremacy. Netflix’s Stranger Things is a lovingly nostalgic paean to history’s great misunderstood cousin: the 80’s. Reaganite America was a potent period for baby boomer angst, with the realisation of the American dream leading to a corresponding disenchantment with what that dream entailed. The cinema of John Hughes perfectly encapsulated that frisson, while supermarkets became monuments to consumerist ennui. Another staple of the period was a healthy dose of cold-war paranoia. Capitalism was beginning its victory lap and was bracing itself for the ‘commie’ retaliation. Arnie’s Terminator could be interpreted as an embodiment of cold-war unease, the great unfeeling automaton that threatened the West’s existence. The 3rd season of Stranger Things attempts to address these concerns with middling results, with characters stuck in narrative loops working to satisfy the broadest fandom.
Considering the delicate context of current American-Russian relations, I was quite disappointed with the lack of nuance deployed by the show in its ‘Red Menace’ subplot. I understand that they were trying to play off familiar 80’s tropes, but it could have been done in a far more thoughtful manner. The ‘Ruskies’ are portrayed as inept bureaucrats, thwarted in their efforts by a cohort of ideologically superior capitalist spawn. Erica is a fan favourite who constantly decries the folly of the communist experiment. It all comes off rather self-satisfied and crass, with political complexity sacrificed at the altar of narrative expedience. The ‘humanization’ of Alexei occurs as he becomes gradually enthralled by American consumerism: his death in a fairground is all the more tragic because he had finally reached the Promised Land. The Terminator facsimile is cartoonish and just further underlines the demonization of the Russian other.
The Invasion of the Body Snatchers riff is perhaps the most successful referential branch of this sprawling, overcooked narrative. Clearly, the Body Snatchers are ideal metaphors for soviet sleeper cells. But it also works in a more layered manner by slyly critiquing the mind-numbing machinery of the capitalist system. The ‘flayed’ become ravenous consumers, hopelessly gorging themselves, sacrificing their identities and ultimately their lives. It was a necessary counterpoint to the dangerously jingoistic ‘Russian Lab’ arc. But what really makes it work is the magnificent performance of Dacre Montgomery as Billy. Able to switch effortlessly between malevolence and charm (or cannily recognizing the overlap between the two), he is a revelation in a demanding role that threatens to overshadow the more established figures in the show. Perhaps what’s most intriguing is the manner in which his pin-up model looks render him commodified by the same disinterested housewives who haunt the vast shopping monoliths.
The kids are uniformly excellent, though an over-abundance of characters sees a few of them sorely short-changed. For a show broadly embraced for its inclusivity, Lucas is the only child whose parents do not feature at all in this season. And it wasn’t the only instance of Lucas’s marginalization. Ample screen-time is given to Hawkins’ power-couple: Mike and Eleven – let’s call them Mileven. But the relationship between Max and Lucas (Mucas?) is conveyed to us in conversational asides. One would have thought that a budding interracial couple in 80’s small-town America would have presented some rich thematic opportunities. Maya Hawke is the show’s latest acolyte, channelling all of the nervous energy that made her mother – Uma Thurman – such a compelling young actress. Her coming-out moment to Steve is handled deftly, sensitively subverting audience expectation. The fact that she reveals her sexuality to Steve (who defied the sadistic jock stereotype in seasons past) adds an extra layer of poignancy to the scene.
Given Winona Ryder’s past predilection for kleptomania, it’s perhaps unsurprising to see her stealing many of the scenes she is in. She effortlessly harnesses nervous maternal energy, demonstrating a commanding comic timing that helps to offset the heavy drag that accompanies her cross-country meander with Hopper. David Harbour’s unsparingly macho portrayal of ‘Hopper’ (even his name denotes action) is really the emotional cornerstone of Season 3. But am I the only who has become jaded by these celluloid mea culpas for rural, white-American masculinity? Can you imagine the crossover potential for a buddy comedy road-movie featuring Hopper and John C. Reilly from Stan vs Evil? At least Stan keeps his daughter on a longer leash. Hopper’s attempts to interfere in his daughter’s relationship with Mike is yet another manifestation of his latent need to control. Scary Hellboy’s tonal range during the season runs the gamut from sinister whisper – usually used to threaten small children – to guttural growl – generally reserved for middle-aged love interests.
And let’s just take a step back and really examine that romance, shall we. Joyce – still recovering from the premature death of Samwise Gamgee – is constantly being pestered by our overbearing Chief of Police into a clearly not-platonic rendezvous at a fittingly generic Italian restaurant: Enzo’s. He exudes pathological jealously over every man who shares oxygen with Joyce Byers: one almost wonders how Hopper can tolerate Will being so close to Joyce at night. Beyond his romantic peccadillos, perhaps Hopper’s most egregious offences come in his capacity as a cop. His whole ‘I’m the Chief of Police’ mantra is slightly sickening considering America’s current epidemic of law enforcement zealotry. Oh, and did I mention morally justifiable torture? More broadly speaking, the number of torture-pain instances in this season underscores a slyly sadistic streak lurking beneath all the bangs and power ballads.
It would be disingenuous for me to say that I hated this season. Stranger Things is like that turbulent ex who you love despite their massive flaws. There’s an emotional resonance at the heart of these characters that conquers petty plot misgivings. I just wish that the writers could respect the characters that they so clearly love and allow them to grow in the way that Hopper’s letter suggests they should. Hopper’s ‘death’ should painfully underscore the children’s perilous maturational journey, but an ominous post-credits scene seems to infer that all that emotional catharsis will be for naught. I can’t convey the feeling of betrayal I felt at that moment of unfettered fan-service. The major characters have become totemic figures that are inseparable from the fetishistically rendered period detail, props for a narrative that is more interested in cinematic allusions than emotional sincerity.
