STRANGER THINGS HONORS ITS CONTRACT

Every show makes a contract with its audience about what kind of a show it is and what you can expect. Some elements of that are very general--STRANGER THINGS is always going to be intergenerational. It's always going to involve the Upside Down. It's always going to have at its core those five kids.

And some elements are very specific: STRANGER THINGS is going to find ways to reference 80s pop culture in fun, new ways. In season one Joyce's Christmas lights famously become a means of communicating with Will in the Upside Down. In season two we've got the kids, dressed as Ghostbusters for Halloween, actually using their ghost trap to trap a Demigorgon. In season three we've got Dustin having to sing "The Neverending Story" to get his girlfriend's help. (I realize, Christmas lights are not specifically 80s pop culture, but still, they're a riff on the mom in POLTERGEIST using a TV to talk to her daughter. They also feel like part of the overall CLOSE ENCOUNTERS vibe of Joyce and Will's stories in season 1.)

On the one hand, season four is doing a season long riff on NIGHTMARE ON ELM'S STREET, with Vecna in the place of Freddy. We even get Robert Englund as Vecna's one surviving victim. We've also got incidentals like roller skating parties and Dungeons & Dragons.

But for me the real "Oh this is STRANGER THINGS" moment is in 407, when the kids on our side and the kids on other side need a means to communicate; discovering that light works as a medium, the Our Side kids grab a Lite-Brite and use it. It's far less elaborate than Joyce's system, and it has no real set up--there's no one that's been working hard on their Lite-Brite art skills who is then required to use that talent to save lives. It's just a detail; and if I had to guess it's done that way to keep things new and surprising. If everyone expects you to do pop culture riffs, how do you keep making it fresh? You keep coming at the conceit in radically different ways. 

It's sort of like Star Wars and "I have a bad feeling about this." We all know it's going to happen. We all want it to happen. But how can you make it still a surprise. 

There might be more pop culture in the last two episodes. But the Lite-Brite is a fantastic choice, both because it's unexpected and it's laden with such positive nostalgia. (Coming in season five: Casio watches?)

STRANGER THINGS KNOWS HOW TO DO (AND OVERDO) BIG CHOICES

One of the things I write about a lot is the importance of having your character make big, bold choices. Those choices teach us who they are and give us a reason to root for them. I think it may be the most important thing in a pilot; you'd think it would be have a great character, and that's clearly important, too. But if they don't make any big choices, I'm not sure it matters. 

At the end of STRANGER THINGS 406, we see two versions of that principle at work. One is really effective, and the other sort of challenges my whole concept. 

Let's start with that. The older kids go out in the boat to investigate a rupture between the universes. And when they get to the spot where it seems to be coming from, Steve agrees to swim down and check it out. It's definitely a bold move. But he does so without any reflection on the danger involved. And what's more when he seems to wake something up on the other side, he seems genuinely surprised--and then is surprised again when that thing drags him down. 

None of that makes any sense. No one in that situation reacts that way. And so in that moment, rather than us feeling more connected to Steve, we feel removed from him. His bold choice is presented in a way that actually undermines his credibility; it's very much what the writers needed to happen.

But then on the other side of things, once Steve is dragged down, the other characters all jump in after him. Which is equally foolhardy, obviously, but now it's done with the acknowledgement of them knowing that. This isn't about being clueless, it's about saving their friend. It's the very definition of a great, character-defining choice.

STRANGER THINGS LOSES ITS RIPPLE

Episode 405 is in a sense the payoff on the problems caused by Episode 403, problems we might not have even noticed because instead of having a week to chew on it we had two minutes or a day. 

To recap: 403 asks Jane to take a huge journey from People treat me like a monster to I act like a monster to I am a monster to Wait no, I am a super hero. It's all good until that last step, which comes completely out of nowhere. You know, like a good twist should. But it's a centimeter off. Instead of Dr. Owens insisting she's not a monster and Jane refusing to believe him but going, probably despite her will, we get this radical unearned turn around in her psyche. She has done nothing to prove to herself that she isn't a monster. And in fact even Owens wanting her could be interpreted by her as being a result of her monstrosity.  

So then we get to 405 and it's all about Jane trying to get her powers back. And the journey that the writers want to take is very very small. She's going to make a tiny bit of progress, one small show of her powers. And then she's not going to be able to tap into them again. 

On the one hand, the problem here is sort of the reverse of 403; for as much effort and trust that she puts into this, she actually does earn some progress and the show won't let her keep it, which feels wrong. 

But the other problem is, there's just not much about her story to hold our attention. Yes we have some flashbacks, but really that's the work for 407 much more than here, so they can't give us much. Her story really needs another piece--which is exactly what they would have had if they had brought her to the lab with her insisting she's still a monster. It's the "I don't even want to be here" or "You have to stop this I am a danger to everyone." 

When you're writing you're always having to think in terms of Beginning, Middle and End. How does this decision ripple forward, both in terms of the rest of the episode and the rest of the season? 403 creates a HUGE ripple forward but then stops it at the end of the episode, leaving Jane in limbo. And so 405 has to in a sense start over. I actually think that's part of how we end up with Dr. Brenner again, too--it was such a meaty plotline before, it feels like there's momentum built into returning to it. Surely there must be more to play with. But no, it's really just a repeat of things we've already seen with the two of them in past season. And so at the end of the episode we end up quite becalmed.

STRANGER THINGS KNOWS HOW TO LAND A MISSION STATEMENT

Here's a technique that a lot of shows never seem to consider, but which I think can be so damn satisfying when it lands. I call it "the Mission Statement," and by that I refer to a moment in a series where a character expresses something that captures the essence either of their character or the show as a whole. 

It's the kind of thing you might see in a pilot as part of establishing the contract you're making with the audience. This is who/what we're playing with here. 

But in my experience it often works better later in a show, whether expressed for the first time or as a kind of reprise.  

In 404, written by Paul Dichter, we get Max offering an absolutely perfection of this. The out of nowhere twist at the end of 403 is that in fact she is Vecna's next intended victim. And where her friends are all like, we're going to protect you from this thing that we don't at all understand, she has seen so much bad stuff in her life (including last season) that her own attitude is acceptance. She writes letters to everyone she cares about and goes to visit the grave of her dead psychotic stepbrother Billy. It's just a matter of time. 

And at one point in the middle of it all, sweet sweet Lucas tells her not to give up, it's going to be okay. And this is how she responds: "I don’t need you to reassure me right now and tell me that it’s all going to work out, because people have been telling me that my whole life and it’s almost never true. It’s never true." 

It's a perfect Mission Statement. In fact it's a twofer--it both captures Max's experience and reality, and the whole cast's. You look at Eleven, Will, Joyce, Hopper, etc. and it's all the same. Their lives pre-show are filled with loss. And within the show there has proven to be more hope, they successfully face each new level of nightmare. But at the same time it never ends. The jury is very much still out on whether they all make it out of the show alive or okay. 

The writing doesn't dwell on any of this. We don't have the group suddenly saying, Oh God, that's my life, too. And that's part of what makes it so successfully. It says its piece and moves on.

Stepping back, here's what we can learn from episode 404 about how to do a mission statement well: 

1) Organic, Not Instant: When you're writing you really want to make it clear who your characters, what their essential problem is. But at the same time you have to wait for the right moment, that is, the moment where that information would come naturally. If you don't, it will come off as on the nose, that is, the characters are not speaking like they normally would. When we really  mess it up, the audience can pretty much see us standing there with our hands up our characters' backs, getting them to say our words. 

The Max moment works because it's completely organic to the situation. She is reacting to reassurance that she knows to be bullshit. And because it's organic it's also a surprise to us. It's like out of the blue the smoke clears for an instant and we get a moment of perfect clarity. We could not have seen it coming. 

Another way of putting this, which I've talked about before, is that her statement, which is a kind of exposition, really, takes place within a real conflict. And as a result of that, instead of coming off as exposition, it comes off as part of the verbal duel she's in.  

2) Be Brief, Be Brilliant, Be Gone: Max's response is just 37 words. That's all she needs. I'd love to know if Dichter had it that concise right away. My guess is no, he went through drafts before he got to this finely distilled statement. 

Brevity and brilliance kind of go hand in hand here, or at least they do for many of us. So much of scriptwriting is distillation, filtering away everything you don't need until you're left with something pure and simple. And the character says it, and moves on. 

3) It Should Give the Character Wings: Max's statement has momentum to it. That is to say, it points her in a direction. Life sucks, I'm doomed, so I'm going to do what I'm going to do.

This is why I call it a "mission statement." Even as it's a statement of identity, it's never just that. It sets the character in motion. And here, as it's also a mission statement for the show as a whole, it sets not just Max in motion, but everyone else. She's making her peace with the world; they're responding in the opposite way, but they're both responding to that same prompt. 

A mission statement articulates the central problem or dilemma of a show. And being confronted with that problem should cause everyone to make choices. 

When it doesn't, when it's just sharing, it almost immediately becomes dead weight. By its nature it begs for a response. 

Again, mission statements can be a little dicey in a pilot; if you don't tread lightly, they'll see you doing it. But still, if you want an exercise to try, watch a random pilot. (If you want a suggestion, watch the pilot of EUPHORIA. It's so smart.) And pay attention for a mission statement or statements. What are they? Where are they? Do they work? If not, why not?

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Here's one more thing to remember about a Mission Statement. If it's done right, it really sells the audience on the character.  404 is Max's episode with or without that statement to the guys, but in saying that, she's established her own terrible stakes, which she'll spend the rest of the episode dealing with. And when she finally decides to fight back, to try and escape Vecna, it's just so damn satisfying in part because she articulated at the start how impossible that was. 

People love Jane, but I have to say, this season it's been Max that's the beating heart at the center of the show. Love her so much. 

STRANGER THINGS KNOWS HOW TO CHEAT

STRANGER THINGS Episode 403, which has the great title "The Monster and the Superhero," is a big moment in Jane's story. Basically her struggle is right there in the title: is the the super hero she was in Hawkins, or the monster that she was in the lab. 

The episode sets up the conflict/journey well. Having hit the horrible Andrea in the face with a skate, she begins fully believing she is a monster. And then we watch as reality at first confirms that--she's arrested; she's questioned; she's booked by the police. 

Then suddenly a reversal: federal agents show up and take her from the cops. And at first their presence seems like a confirmation of her beliefs; they must be here to take her back to the lab, where they can make her into the weapon they need. 

But then it turns out no, these are Dr. Owens' people. And he's come to Jane to convince her that Hawkins needs her, aka that she is still a superhero, which eventually she accepts. 

The problem is, that change of heart doesn't feel earned. Everything in the episode has really confirmed her self-talk. So by the time she gets to Owens, she should be 100% on board with her belief. She should be resisting his alternate take with everything that she has. But instead she rolls over almost immediately. 

This is the definition of a writing cheat, i.e. a moment when we the writers believe we need a certain something to happen, and so we step in and force characters to do what we want. It's not the egregious case by any means; in fact one strength of the Netflix binge approach is that viewers are likely to go right into 404, making this cheat is less likely to grate. You're thrown into all new challenges, so the past is quickly forgotten.

But not entirely. When writers cheat it does leave a bit of a bad taste, even if we're not fully aware of it. It can ripple forward, too.  Jane's story ends up being the weakest of the first half of the season; we have multiple episodes repeating the same struggle for Jane to regain her powers and remember her past. And while all of that does fall under the umbrella of Jane deciding if she is a monster or a superhero, it also throws out everything that the first two episodes had built up--that world, those characters and the possible consequences of Jane's actions. 

 To give the audience a storyline and relationships to invest in and then just toss it out, it's never a good idea. If we liked what you were doing we now feel punished. If we don't like it, we're wondering what the hell is all this anyway. 

I wonder what would have happened if the script had allowed Jane's story to continue; she refuses to leave prison because she knows she's a monster and she's not going to be used to hurt anyone. So they have to force her to go to the lab, which foreshadows her running like hell when Dr. Brenner is revealed. And then the struggle going forward is first and foremost built out of her refusal to be a part of all this--in other words, a conscious choice. After those first two episodes this season give us an incredibly passive Jane. Everyone else is making the choices (including her past self). Which again, is not where you want your protagonist. Characters are defined by their actions. 

All of that could have made Jane's final discovery in 407 that she didn't kill everyone in the lab more meaningful, too. Having spent the first six episodes fighting being here because down deep she knows she's the bad guy, that becomes the point that she finally has to face what Owen and her friends have been saying: she's good. She's the hero. It's an upside down kind of a low point, but then that's perfect for this show.

Instead, that final reveal ends up feeling like another cheat, an unearned twist that is only there to get Jane to where we need her for later.

No one lands every twist or plot line. Every writer cheats at some point. Highlighting it when it happens to others is a way of becoming more aware of its presence in our own writing. 

It's very much in keeping with the premise of this blog: we learn by doing, but also by observing.

STRANGER THINGS BUILDS A GREAT CATASTROPHE

When we look back at season four of STRANGER THINGS, I wonder if the scene that will be remembered as the most scary and traumatic won't be one of the many insane horror moments but the scene in episode 402 of Andrea and her friends publicly shaming Jane at the roller rink. It doesn't really seem on par with I don't know, massacring a lab filled with children? And yet in practice it really hits hard. How do the Duffer Brothers do that? 

Here's a couple of the ways they build the sense of horror in that sequence: 

1) Establish the Stakes and Conflict Immediately: The roller rink sequence actually has a whole bunch of beats to it. First it's Mike and El and Will going to the rink. And even as they let the initial moment very much have that fun teen roller skating vibe, the Duffer Brothers fold in tension right away, via the fiction Jane insists on that she has friends and this is some place they go. When Mike steps away Will calls her on it, and her reaction conveys just how much pressure she feels for this to go well. Andrea hasn't even entered the scene yet but we've already got a sense of the stakes. 

2) Give the Nightmare Many Parts: It's really interesting how many distinct beats there are in the Andrea shames Jane sequence. First there's just Andrea showing up at the table; right then and there she could ruin everything for Jane by revealing they are not the friends Jane told Mike. Then we've got Andrea with Jane in the rink, skating her somewhere.

Then we've got what seems like the main event: Jane alone on the floor, the DJ dedicating a song to her as "the local snitch," a spotlight on her and dozens of girls circling her, imitating the hand gesture she threw at Andrea in 401 and telling her she's a freak. 

But we keep adding elements. The guy videotaping the whole thing.  The girls clasp hands, making it impossible for Jane to leave. The DJ won't turn the music off. The girls' spin around Jane is becoming so fast it's a blur. Then the DJ agrees to stop the song, shouts "Wipe out," and someone throws a milkshake on to her, causing her to fall to the ground. 

AND STILL we're not done. We've got everyone laughing. Andrea stops and mocks her (in another perfectly pitched, "I think I'm so smart but God I'm dumb" line). And then she flees. 

As an audience we've seen plenty of bullying sequences play out like this. I think what makes the Duffer Brothers version especially effective is their patience in adding new elements. There's never 2 or 3 things introduced at once; rather they build on what they have set up single step by single step. It keeps the sequence focused. And it gives it a sense of direction--we are headed toward something terrible.

3) Reactions are Everything: So much of the pain of the sequence is built out of how Jane responds, the building horror that she shows in response to what they're doing. 

But they also use Will's reactions to this end. Even before Andrea has shown up, Will trails behind them on the skating ring, looking deeply troubled. Some of his troubles almost certainly have nothing to do with Jane lying to Mike and everything to do with he wants Mike for himself. But it doesn't matter; he's like a neon sign above their heads signaling their doom. 

And then once the horrors begin, the camera repeatedly goes back to Will and Mike, who sit there absolutely stunned. And each time that camera choice underlines again how terrible this is. 

4) Heroic Powerlessness is Also Everything: Characters are defined by their choices. When a character makes big, bold choices, it makes them attractive and compelling, even if they're bad guys. 

And when characters do nothing, it tends to make them less attractive. And to some extent Will's paralysis here does have that effect. It's yet another in a series of the moments in STRANGER THINGS where we just want Will to do something (which I assume will pay off with him actually making some kind of big choice at the end of the season; all the frustration we feel now is intended to make that choice more cathartic). 

But in general we expect Jane and Mike at least to act and act fast. And the fact that they don't, that our big choice heroes for some reason can't escape this, once again generates a feeling of horror. This situation is so bad even they can't get out of it. 

5) Use Catharsis to Seal the Deal: This sequence could have ended with Jane fleeing the rink. But instead, the Duffer Brothers address the obvious question, the one we want to see answered: What's a badass like Eleven going to do after being paralyzed and humiliated? 

She's finally going to stop performing as a normal kid and fuck some shit up, that's what. 

For the first two episodes we've watched Jane withhold herself, basically, to try to be something she's not. And she has been trying so hard, but it has not felt right at all. So to see her finally throw all that off and take up her true identity is immediately satisfying. Lent is over. Finally we get chocolate again.

But that promise of catharsis hides within itself the final and worst horror of all: Jane seen (and seeing herself) as a monster once again. 

Even as she's hitting Andrea in the face with a roller skate, I wanted to believe that would be the end of it. Andrea had it coming. Of course that's insane, because Jane HIT ANDREA IN THE FACE WITH A ROLLER SKATE. But that's what delayed gratification does, it gets us so invested in getting what's been withheld from us that we don't think too deeply about what catharsis will mean for the character. 

The beginning of the rink sequence sets up that the most horrifying thing that could have happened was that Jane was publicly humiliated in front of Mike. But at the end in her attack we discover the Duffer Brothers had sold us a fake set of terms; the worst horror Jane could be asked to experience wasn't humiliation, it was being confronted again with her own sense of monstrosity.

STRANGER THINGS KNOWS HOW TO INTRODUCE A CHARACTER

 

STRANGER THINGS Season 4 dropped on Friday and I'm going to spend this week and next week talking about some nice moves in different episodes. 

Today: Episode 401, "The Hellfire Club," written and directed by show creators the Duffer Brothers. It's a new year in Hawkins, Russia and that little town in California where Joyce moved her family and El/Jane. And with a new year we get a ton of new characters, including Charlie's pothead friend Argyle; Dustin and Lucas' DM Eddie Munson; Hopper's Guard Dmitri; Max's acquaintance Chrissy; Nancy's co-editor Fred; Lucas' teammate/public speaking expert Jason Carver; Joyce's frenemy Yuri; and that #!%!% Angela. 

(Oh, and Vecna lol.)

Even with extra long episodes, this is a lot of characters to service on top of the 17 main cast members. A couple will only be around a couple episodes, but that's immaterial at the moment of their introduction. Every single one of these characters need a first moment that defines who they are in a way that is distinctive, compelling and immediate. There's just no time to waste. 

(And the Duffer Brothers are really, really good at this. Last season they introduced Billy, Max, Robin, Suzie and Erica, and each of them was immediately iconic.)

So how do the Duffer Brothers do it? Let's look at a couple characters. 

Argyle: While the real key to Argyle is his voice, by which I mean both his laid back Cali cadence and his blissed out pov, when we meet Argyle it's all about the visuals. He has extremely long hair, which immediately sets him apart, and paired with sunglasses and a hat with the bill up, which just looks ridiculous. And he's driving a pizza van. It's a package that tells us, this kid is likely to be some variety of absurd.  

Jason: We meet basketball team captain Jason Carver at a pep rally. He, too, has his own look--he's clean cut in the extreme, which becomes a great point of contrast with Eddie, who he will come to consider his enemy. But the key with Jason is his public speaking ability, which is demonstrated in two ways: First, the subtle demagoguery of his words themselves: he's an excellent speaker, with a clear strategy of first affirming the crowd and then pitching to their heartstrings, but raise your hand if you weren't just a little bit creeped out when he stopped in his speech to say hey to his girlfriend. 

Second, how people respond to him. When he speaks, people want to do what he says. This is his magic power, and we'll see him exercise it again and again. 

So the Duffer Brothers tell us who Jason is through his talent and others' reactions to him.

Angela: Angela's introduction is very interesting. We first see her laughing at Jane, after some boy hits her with a spitwad. That establishes her as a bad guy crony type, but nothing more.

In a sense we're not going to see her full potential until Jane starts her presentation and Angela undermines her with her constant questions to the teacher. 

But we open that scene at the end of Angela's presentation of her hero. And it's a very 80s high school presentation in tone. But I think the key is that she's talking about Helen Keller. You couldn't choose a hero that is less controversial or more likely to make you look "good." And Elodie Grace Orkin's performance subtly plays on this; when she finally names who she's talking about she's got so much self-pride. And at the same time when she mentions the word "disability" she does so with just a hint of condescension. She's the good girl who is actually a real shit, basically. 

So in her case the Duffer Brothers reveal character through her voice--again, her tone and point of view--and also through her choices. She chooses to speak about Helen Keller, and in a very typical way, and in doing so we learn what's at her core.

Eddie: Eddie walks into STRANGER THINGS like he's been here the whole time. He's perfectly pitched for the show, and once again iconic. 

Because he's going to be so important to the plot, the episode gives him quite a bit of time. He has three scenes--his introduction in the cafeteria; him as a DM; and him with Chrissy in the woods--that are each in their own way character defining. 

But just to take the first one, when Finn and Dustin go to meet him in the cafeteria: we open on him, reading a Newsweek story about Satanic panic around Dungeons & Dragons. There's a cool needle drop going on behind him, "I Was a Teenage Werewolf," by the Cramps, and he puts on this newscaster voice and at first we're just getting little glimpses of him--the black metal hair; the rings; his eyes. 

Then at the end of the sentence, which says D&D leads to murder, he throws down the magazine and we get a full look at him. And his tongue is out and his head cocked in such a way that absolutely looks like '80s "Satanic" heavy metal groups like Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden or Motley Crüe. And as he finishes we cut to those around him, who laugh, all clearly on his side.  

Just in this moment, which is only the barest beginning of him in this scene, there's so much good stuff. The things he's mocking are exactly what he's about to accused of. His character is defined in terms of his speech and the adoration he receives back, all of which exactly parallel his soon-to-be enemy Jason. And at the same time his type of speech is the exact opposite of Jason; he's ironic where Jason is earnest, he's ridiculing the voice of the status quo which Jason is absolutely the mouthpiece for. And where Jason gets an entire room cheering for him, Eddie has just his few devotees, and seems happy with that.

So, with Eddie character is defined through his look, his voice and point of view, his relationship to those around him and to society, and also the background music used for him. 

But also, though we may not be aware of it in the moment, he's defined through contrast. He is everything that Jason is not.  

If you're looking for an exercise for your own writing, try watching the first episode of any season of STRANGER THINGS, and see the many different ways the Duffer Brothers introduce new characters. They really are so good at it.