With the final episode of the fifth and last season airing on New Year’s Eve, Stranger Things has now officially come to an end. After spending several seasons with this world and its characters, it feels like the right moment to step back and look at what made the series work so well in the beginning, and why it slowly drifted away from that strength over time.
Stranger Things is, at its core, a very strong idea. And in its first two seasons, it knows exactly what it wants to be. That clarity is what makes those early episodes so effective and so memorable. What drew me in was never primarily the science fiction or horror aspect. It was the feeling. The series captures the early 1980s not as a backdrop, but as its emotional center. Kids on bicycles, walkie talkies instead of smartphones, landline phones, a world where you could disappear for hours without anyone panicking. That sense of freedom feels authentic, not nostalgic in a forced way.
This atmosphere is carried beautifully through visuals, music, and pacing. The 80s soundtrack works as an emotional anchor rather than decoration, while the recurring synth themes give the series a subtle, almost hypnotic tension. In the first two seasons, all of this comes together effortlessly.
Mystery works best when it is not explained
The real strength of the early seasons lies in restraint. There is something foreign and unknown. Another dimension. Creatures that cannot be understood. You do not know where they come from, what they want, or how they work.
That uncertainty creates suspense. Fear does not come from constant action, but from suggestion. From the sense that something is wrong, that something is lurking just beyond what you can see. The Upside Down is not a defined system at this point. It is a mood, a threat, a place that does not follow our rules. That is exactly why it works.
A gradual loss of focus
From around the third season onward, the series slowly starts to drift. Not suddenly, not catastrophically, but noticeably.
Episodes become longer. The plot grows more complex. New characters and side stories are introduced. Many of these characters are well acted and often enjoyable to watch. But more and more, they feel unnecessary. Some appear, take up a significant amount of space, and then disappear again after a single season. Looking back, it is hard not to ask why they were needed in the first place.
Not every new figure deepens the story. Some feel like additions made to expand runtime rather than to strengthen the core narrative.
At the same time, the original concept no longer seems sufficient. The Upside Down on its own is no longer enough. Suddenly, there is yet another realm, the Abyss, connected through a wormhole. And of course, it is not simply there. It is created by humans, explained in detail, mapped out but not justified. Why was it created? Unanswered.
What once felt like an unknowable other world becomes part of an increasingly engineered system. The mystery is expanded, but not deepened. Instead of adding tension, this additional layer further dilutes the original idea.
When more becomes too much and monsters become human
At the same time, the storytelling itself changes. Mystery gradually turns into action. Suggestion turns into explanation. Suspense turns into spectacle.
The series begins to define its own mythology in ever greater detail. Dimensions gain structures and hierarchies. The monsters change constantly, not only in appearance but in meaning, and in how they exert control over their victims. What was once alien and unknowable is slowly rationalized and explained. This is where the main problem lies for me.
In the end, the threat is no longer something truly foreign. It becomes human. A psychopath with supernatural abilities. A character with a backstory, motivations, and a clear origin.
That shift fundamentally changes the series. Evil is no longer something unknown, but something man made. The mystery is no longer open, but resolved. For me, this takes away much of the power of the Upside Down. Why does everything need a human cause? Why cannot a monster simply remain a monster? Why must a foreign world always be fully understood?
Especially in science fiction and mystery, there is great strength in leaving things unexplained. In allowing ambiguity. In trusting the audience to live with unanswered questions.
Strong characters, weaker core
To be fair, the characters continue to work well even in later seasons. They grow up, evolve, and face more complex emotional challenges. Friendships change, relationships become strained, and loss feels real. This part of the series remains convincing and often genuinely moving.
But strong characters alone are not enough when the narrative core becomes overloaded. When more ideas, more threats, and more explanations are layered on top of each other, clarity is lost.
The Magic of the Unknown
Stranger Things is at its best in its first two seasons, when it combines atmosphere, time period, and mystery with confidence and restraint. It is emotional, tense, and genuinely mysterious without needing to explain itself. Later on, it loses that confidence. It wants to be bigger, longer, and more complex. In doing so, it sacrifices something essential. The magic of the unknown.
Sometimes, a monster from another world is strongest when we do not know where it comes from. And sometimes, a story loses its spell the moment it decides to explain everything.
Just my first 5 cents in the new year.
Alex
alexreusch 