I love pilot season. I love scoping out the new crop of TV shows, auditioning each series’ trailer for a slot in my fall TV lineup. I am excited to find a new character, a new world, a new twist that catches my attention, that make me eager for the official premiere, so much so that I mark my calendar. But even better is when I finally watch that pilot episode, that first season, and it lives up to my expectations—or even better, exceeds them. There is nothing like discovering a new world in which I want to spend hours of my time, whether it’s for adventure or mystery or comedy.
So I think it’s about time that we give a little love back to the magnificent season ones out there, especially those that are cast aside once the long-awaited season twos emerge.
Most recently, I have been confounded by the prevailing theory that Stranger Things’s sophomore season was miles ahead of its predecessor. For I have seen Stranger Things 2, and though it was quite enjoyable, it has nothing—nothing—on season one. Allow me to elaborate.
Season ones are like first dates. There’s all kinds of excitement, of hoping for an instant connection, though you’ll certainly settle for a mystery, a slow build-up of information and intrigue. Sure, it can be a bit awkward at first, but once you’ve gotten the necessary facts in order, you can move on to the deeper questions, to really getting to know (and, you hope, to like) this person sitting across from you; after all, the results of this first encounter determine how many more times you want to see him/her. The first season of Stranger Things was truly a fun, wild ride. I had never before been legitimately frightened by a television episode (Buffy's "Hush" notwithstanding), and then along came the Demogorgon and the Upside Down deathtrap, breaching the sanctity of space and time to bring mystery and terror to Hawkins residents. Now add to that the ‘80s setting, the incredible cast of kids, and my favorite, superpowers, and you have yourself a hit. Like good food and conversation, season one was one of the easiest shows in the world to binge. It was so intriguing, so funny, and so scary; I needed to know if Will would be found, what Eleven was capable of, and how any of this Upside Down invasion would be resolved. And season one answered these questions in an all-you-could-ask-for, fire and nail bat showdown. Magnificent.
Now skip to season two. In a sense, it’s your second date: you have filed away the required background information, and you’ve gotten the awkward meeting out of the way, but of course there’s still a whole lot more to delve into about this other person that you’ve met, the life they’ve lived, the things they know and like, etc. Most every TV creator I’ve read about describes their sophomore season as a time to “broaden the show’s world” and “discover more about” the characters that have been brought together, or the world that has begun to be developed. But I would argue that for all that has been gained with the ability to hit the ground running (since no introductions are necessary), it has lost just as much in the areas of originality and intrigue. It’s the curse of the sequel—the creators must carefully weigh the beloved plots, dynamics, and tone of season one with the need to expand and develop (read: change) those very things in season two. Despite the fact that shows readily introduce new characters, new settings, or new obstacles, there is a noticeable lack of “newness” from season one. It’s unavoidable. You cannot recreate the sense of falling in love with certain characters or situations, of scoping out what each person is capable of, and discovering what each world holds.
Not to belabor the point, but Stranger Things’s season one’s arc can’t be beaten: we journey from “wow, these kids are actually pretty entertaining” to “wait, didn’t there used to be four of them?” to “OH MY GOD MONSTER.” We see them accepting the existence of evil forces and magic while staying friends, as Eleven’s origins are fleshed out and the danger lurks ever closer; for goodness’ sake, we don’t even know what the Upside Down is. Then cut to season two, where the main subplots are mere continuations of the relationships and plots established in season one: we have 1) the love triangles involving Nancy and (now) Max, 2) #JusticeForBarb, and 3) a worsening of the Upside Down dangers. I didn’t care at all for the “development” of Eleven from a curious and caring soul to a disobedient brat, reaching its pinnacle in the Suicide Squad-esque episode 7 (which seriously only makes sense to me if it was an attempt to start a spin-off series where Kali’s crew joins up with The Punisher to dole out some vengeful justice). (For the record, in an EW article by Tim Stack, creaters Matt and Ross Duffer said that “…the goal of Kali’s introduction was to expose Eleven to more malevolent forces. […] Eleven being pulled to the dark side was an interesting idea.” Was it? Enough to derail the entire season? I think not).
Did I enjoy season two? Absolutely. Armed with the knowledge of what’s lurking around Hawkins, of what’s growing in that lab, I appreciated the increase in match cuts and jump scares and foreboding music, not to mention more arcade and board game nerdity. Steve-as-babysitter was a hilarious turn for his character, and his almost-death scene in the junkyard (not to mention the Jurassic Park homage in the penultimate episode [RIP Bob]) was just as good as Nancy entering the Upside Down in season one. And yeah, Eleven’s new hair is badass. But as a whole, did I enjoy it as much as season one? Not even close. On one hand, this is because I disliked Dustin as the jealous idiot, found the demodogs no more frightening than the Demogorgon, found Billy more annoying than (season one) Steve, and thought the final Eleven-defeats-the-big-bad-with-magic scene to be too easy and unimaginative. And on the other hand, I just have to say that the mystery and the terror and the humor of season one are so much better the first time around, when everything is fresh and exciting, and we don’t know for sure this is a “good conquers evil” type of world. Stranger Things 2 simply plays the “oh, it’s not over yet” card. (And by the looks of the finale, the third season looks to do the same).
To be fair, for a second season to be good and for a first season to be good requires two completely different criteria. After all, you have to have liked the first date enough to go back for a second, at which point you have entirely new expectations. And aside from the unoriginal “replacing season one with bigger and badder plot points,” season two did its job. Sure, it relied a bit too much on the tropes of “dig deep to find your anger” and training flashbacks during Eleven’s final battle, “burning the evil out” of Will, “bullies are bullied at home” with Billy, “everything dies once the mothership is defeated,” and Bob’s obviously doomed Jurassic Park mission. But when you have a season one that takes viewers from “normal small town” to “science-fiction hellmouth,” how can season two match that? Sci-fi to…even more sci-fi? Christmas light alphabets to…hand-drawn map puzzles? But I digress.
With the notable exception of Parks and Rec (and, frankly, most comedies), season ones have almost every advantage over the later seasons. I have the highest expectations for the second rounds of Jessica Jones and Westworld, just as I did for Stranger Things 2, though I know that my first encounter of each cannot be beaten. But kudos to every show that still has surprises, fresh and engaging plot lines (not fueled by delayed romances), and really any sort of meaningful continuations past season one. (Just so long as they don’t go above five.)