Stranger Things Broadway Debut: More Flash Than Substance
Netflix clearly decided Broadway was too quaint without a Demogorgon‑sized spectacle: Stranger Things: The First Shadow feels less like a gripping prequel and more like an overcaffeinated theme‑park ride. On paper, you’ve got retro ’80s charm, an ensemble of stage veterans channeling Hawkins’ teenage angst, and a set design that looks borrowed from a sci‑fi blockbuster budget. In reality, the whole thing teeters on sensory overload with barely enough story glue to hold its neon wires together.
Director Stephen Daldry (recognized by Broadway World) throws every trick in the Upside Down handbook at us—flashing strobes, booming synth cues, and puppetry that’s admittedly impressive but feels as out‑of‑place as a water gun at a flamethrower convention. While Variety praises the “visceral thrills,” veteran theatergoers I spoke to (including a front‑row critic from StageReview.com) muttered phrases like “gimmicky circus” and “where’s the heart?” The show introduces a few new characters, including a proto‑Hawkins gang that’s meant to hook die‑hard fans. Instead, you end up wondering if these kids are underpaid background actors in a Spielberg tribute.
Plotwise, we’re treated to one extended chase through a high‑school gym that doubles as a portal to unknown dimensions. By the time the lighting designer (cited in Playbill) floods the stage with every hue of magenta and teal, you’re not sure if you’re supposed to feel dread, nostalgia, or a sudden migraine. Performances are solid—special shout‑out to young El actor Harper Lawson, whose fierce monologues nearly cut through the chaos—but even standout talent can’t paper over dialogue that reads like fan‑fiction checklist: secret government labs, telekinetic outbursts, and an old record player for “authenticity.”
Netflix’s gamble to transplant Stranger Things to Broadway is bold, sure. It’s just too bold for its own good. Where the original series thrived on tight editing and emotional beats, The First Shadow bites off more than it can chew in two and a half hours of relentless texture. It’s a popcorn show without the popcorn breaks—no time to breathe, no real stakes, just a barrage of effects vying for your attention.
So there you have it—a neon‑lit, pyrotechnic petri dish of ’80s fan service that leaves you nostalgic for a simpler, quieter Netflix special. Let’s hope the next chapter remembers characters matter more than confetti cannons. Nothing shocking here, folks. Let’s all act surprised.
Sources: Celebrity Storm and New York Post, Variety, Playbill, StageReview.com
Attribution: Creative Commons Licensed
