Stranger Things

So this blog has reached its century: a miraculous achievement in the cut-throat industry of amateur writing I'm sure you'll agree. Even though I’m obviously humbled by my success, I think it’s important to take time to remember other unsuccessful blogs that, unlike mine, didn't last the distance. Blogs like Eczema: My Struggle, a wryly written account of life with dry skin; The Toothpaste Diaries, a photo gallery by an Alcatraz inmate documenting the effects of oral hygiene; and my favourite, Paw: a blog established by dog owner, Esmerelda Jimjam, to display the writing talents of her dog, Floppy – famed entries included ‘ajsjfkfnkndfkdfndfnkfnfkndfkdfnknkdfnkdfn’ and ‘kisdidsdndfnfkndfkndfkndskndsknds.’ 

So I appreciate how in a highly competitive market you’ve stood by me by liking, sharing and trolling this blog. Without your support, a readership, this blog would be a diary- something that is far less cool. So thank you.

 Voice of Reason: Well that above paragraph was sarcastic. If this is your 100^th blog, shouldn’t you take a more celebratory tone, possibly extend a hand out to new readers who might be drawn in by this new edition?

Voice of Sarcasm: Why would anyone new read this?

Voice of Reason: Because it’s now 100. People love that number. Cricketers. Telegram enthusiasts. Broadcasters who want to fill hours of their schedule by producing countdown lists of the best thing ever. No one cares about the 99^th one, but with the 100^th one you had a golden opportunity to hook some new readers; an opportunity you've squandered by doing an ironic paragraph at the top.

Voice of Sarcasm: If people are reading this, just because it’s the 100^th one, then I’m glad I’ve alienated them. This blog is for the 6 people who were there when I wrote about Grayson Perry’s art exhibition. It’s for the die-hards, the completists, the people who read when they know it makes more sense not to.

Voice of Reason: This is the very thing your girlfriend tells you not to do: ramble at the top. Just talk about the thing you said you were going to talk about.

Voice of Sarcasm: Fine.

Voice of Reason: So, you’ll start now?

Voice of Sarcasm: Yes.

Voice of Reason: Well, that was easier than I thought.

Voice of Sarcasm: Deep down I want approval, so I don’t want this bit to be so protracted that I lose people. I guess the sarcastic opener was just an insecure way of trying to prove that I wasn’t like other blogs who indulgently write about topics no one cares about.

Voice of Reason: And spending an hour of your three hour writing time doing a back and forth between the voices in your head isn’t self-indulgent?

Voice of Sarcasm: I thought I was meant to be the sarcastic one.

Voice of Reason: Just get started.

Voice of Sarcasm: Ok.

This week my interests seem to have converged on the topic of monsters and alternate universes. Earlier in the week I read Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean At The End Of The Lane, a story about a young boy accidentally releasing powers from another dimension. As fantasy is rarely my bag, I was hesitant about venturing into this parallel universe, but because of the book's plaudits I felt it was a foray worth taking. Ultimately I found the book to be a good read, if a little loosely plotted. (Gaiman originally conceived the idea as a short story, however it morphed into something bigger.) Despite my reservations, it was good to get out of my comfort zone (‘coming of age’ novels) and read something fantastical and unbelievable.

After finishing the book I turned to The Girl and said, ‘Do you fancy watching Stranger Things?’ You might remember me in an earlier blog describing The Girl’s fear whilst watching Charlier Brooker’s Black Mirror- how she conspicuously went to brush her teeth during the scary bits- so I didn’t hold much hope of her saying ‘yes.’ Fearing her rejection, I lined up a series of arguments to win her round: "it has Winona Ryder in; it is up for Golden Globes; it was in The Guardian’s Top 10 shows of 2016; it’s one of Netlix’s most watched shows; my friends from work are talking about it and if I don’t watch I’ll feel left out …" Knowing me too well, she probably guessed that I had a case file of reasons prepared, and therefore thought it easier to throw out the case by immediately saying, "yes, go on then." By the end of the first episode, she was the one suggesting we extend our bed time to allow for another one.

Stranger Things is set in 1980’s Hawkins, Indiana. The timing is significant. Remember Back to The Future fans the scene where Marty’s dad confuses Marty for an alien from outer space? Well, this incident served as a metaphor for a sci-fi obsessed decade: a time when Spielberg and Carpenter films occupied the multiplex; Dungeons and Dragons littered table tops and Stephen Kings piled bedsides. The world was enraptured – fearful – of these imaginative lands, so when something out of the ordinary happened holding supernatural forces responsible wasn’t so far-fetched. Teenagers- like Marty’s dad- in particular were impressionable to the fantasy they were consuming, making them advocates of sci-fi in a way more cynical adults weren’t.

Marty crash lands into the past.

Stranger Things begins with a group of children playing their fantasy role play game, desperate to role a 13 (In Dungeon and Dragons I’m guessing you play with more than one dice. As a general rule, the more dice involved in a game, the more geeky it is). Rolling a 13 will ensure the evil Demogorgon is defeated; unfortunately, Mike’s mother brings the real world down on their fun, closing fantasia's portal door by reminding them they have homes to go to. Together Dustin and Will ride off, letting testosterone turn the pedals en-route as they launch into a race to see who can get home first. Throwing his feet into action, Will soon has Dustin eating his dust. Now separate, Will ventures through the misty streets alone. Suddenly, something jumps out ahead of him. He is startled. Afraid. Terrified. Abandoning his bike, he runs for home. Inside the house, he calls for his mother; his brother. No answer. He bolts the door. The door shivers, shakes. Someone is trying to get in. Will flees the inside for the out. Ensconcing himself in the garage, he loads a rifle that will take the taker. Unfortunately, the tables turn and Will is taken. His mother's life is about to be turned upside down as she learns her son is missing. This is the premise of Stranger Things: a mother’s search for her son. A search that isn’t as simple as officer Hopper's assertion: "In 99% of cases children are taken by someone they know." A science lab features in episode 1. For some unknown reason home lights flick on and off. A shaven headed girl turns up in a restaurant starved of language and food. How do these dots connect?

Winona Ryder's star turn as Joyce.

I really loved Stranger Things and I’m no sci-fi buff. I haven’t seen Halloween, Poltergeist or The Thing ­– all films that the child characters love. Even though I know the writers are in thrall to King (one episode is named The Body, a nod to Stephen King’s Stand By Me story) and Spielberg, I admit that I wouldn’t have picked up on all the references. Despite all of this ignorance, I totally bought the programme. The relationships between characters reminded me of Freaks and Geeks where the dislocation between parents and children is at odds with the camaraderie the children feel towards one another. Alongside the realistic depiction of social structures, there is a believably unbelievable yarn about mad scientists and government cover-ups. For someone who said last week that they didn’t do mystical puzzles, Stranger Things is that strangest thing: a riddle that I was happy to be confused by

Thank you again to everyone who has read, liked and commented on the blog. I really enjoy writing it each week; it is a lovely bonus that people look at it too.

Stranger Things is on Netflix.