By someone who started this show as a literal child and finished it as a sophomore in college…
There are very few television shows that have the range to entertain you, emotionally devastate you, and then politely remind you that time is real and you are aging. Stranger Things is one of them. Season five, the show’s final act, is less a season of great television and more a carefully constructed emotional hostage situation where Netflix is holding up a scrapbook of your childhood and waiting for you to cry before pressing play.
As someone who first watched Stranger Things when homework didn’t mean eight papers a week and exams left and right, I can confidently say season five is doing the absolute most. It is dramatic. It is nostalgic. It is occasionally ridiculous. And yet, somehow, it works.
On paper, the plot of season five is simple: stop Vecna, save the kids, prevent the end of reality, and cry a little (or a lot). In execution, however, the season is a masterclass in dragging out emotional conversations while the world is actively ending.
Characters split up constantly, not because it’s efficient, but because the show needs everyone
to have at least one heartfelt confession before the finale. Mike gives speeches about three waterfalls and a life with El. Hopper stares stoically while repressing emotions like it’s his full-time job.
Will finally comes out as gay in the middle of the apocalypse, because apparently the end of the world is the most appropriate time for emotional honesty. Meanwhile, Max and Holly are locked in what feels like the longest conversation of our lives, set to “Running Up That Hill” of course, as the world actively collapses around them. Like, Max, I love you, but “RUNNNNN.”
Vecna, meanwhile, continues his reign as the most dramatic villain alive. However, he is one of the most complex characters I have ever seen. This season added depth to his character by providing the viewers with his backstory. His plan got confusing at times, but his commitment to the bit is admirable.
I had the pleasure of watching the finale in a packed theater. It clocks in at over two hours, a bold creative choice and also something you feel in your spine by the end.
“The Rightside Up” is not interested in subtlety. It wants spectacle. It wants tears. It wants to remind you of every emotional beat you have ever experienced since 2016.
The final battle is massive and cinematic. There is a Mind Flayer reveal (because of course there is), Will once again, the GOAT that he is, is in Vecna’s mind, flamethrowers, and Nancy Wheeler used as bait, but I wasn’t too pissed off because what was that “un-proposal thing,” in the middle of the world ending.
Eleven arrives dramatically late like always and immediately starts throwing hands with a creature made entirely of trauma and vines.
And then Joyce kills Vecna with an axe.
Not metaphorically. Literally. Repeatedly.
This is not just satisfying, it is deserved. After five seasons of reacting to chaos, and her son constantly being taken over by Vecna, Joyce finally gets to end it, and honestly? That alone justifies the runtime.
Just when it seems like things are wrapping up, the show reminds you it is not done emotionally tormenting you. Eleven stays behind in the collapsing Upside Down. Everyone screams in slow motion. Buildings fall. Hearts shatter. Netflix says, “Sit with that.”
Is Eleven dead? Alive? Living peacefully near a waterfall, unbothered by government agencies and narrative responsibility?
The show refuses to say.
Instead, Mike tells his friends a story. One where Eleven escaped, one where she rests, one where belief is more important than certainty. As frustrating as this ambiguity may be, it feels strangely appropriate. Growing up rarely comes with answers. Sometimes all you get is a version of events you choose to believe so you can move forward.
The eighteen-month time jump is where Stranger Things fully reveals its thesis: this was never just a show about monsters. It was about growing up.
You see Robin back on her radio rebel shit, Johnathan as a professor, and Steve as the school’s baseball coach. Dustin becomes valedictorian and delivers the best speech of all time, making the whole season come together. Hopper and Joyce finally choose stability, peace, and commitment.
The final D&D scene is pure nostalgia bait, and it works. The game that once helped these kids understand monsters now helps them process loss and change. When Mike closes the basement door, it feels less like the end of a show and more like the end of childhood.
Season 5 of Stranger Things is emotional, excessive, flawed, and sincere. It confuses length with depth at times and nostalgia with storytelling more than once. But it also understands something crucial: the audience grew up too.
Did it make me cry? Yes. Literally sobbed.
Did it have me on the edge of my seat? Absolutely.
Did I scream in that movie theater when I thought Steve was toast? Without question.
In the end, Stranger Things doesn’t just say goodbye. It grabs you by the shoulders, plays an 80s song, and reminds you that growing up is terrifying, but the story still mattered.
And honestly? That feels like the most honest ending it could have given us.
