Introduction The day after we finished mixing season one, we took an all-too-brief two-week vacation. Then we returned to Los Angeles, took a deep breath, and dove into work on season two—just one week before
Stranger Things was set to premiere on Netflix. What we remember most from those early days was a rising sense of anxiety. We were working on a continuation of a story that, for all we knew, might never be seen. There was little fanfare and almost no marketing. The show was dropping in the middle of summer—a prime slot for a blockbuster movie, but not ideal for a small new series starring mostly unknowns from two first-time creators.
The buzz was scarily quiet. David Harbour grew so discouraged by the lack of promotion that he shaved his head—an act of frustration or maybe defeat. Then, on July 15, the show came out. And word of mouth spread like wildfire. Before we knew it, our little series had become far bigger than we had ever imagined. We remember Shawn Levy calling and saying, “Guys, just so you know—what’s happening isn’t normal. Don’t take it for granted. Soak it in.” We tried. But our excitement was quickly matched—and eventually overtaken—by creeping anxiety, again. Season one had been the story we’d been dreaming about our entire lives.
Could we do it again? And could we do it fast?
Netflix wanted season two to start shooting that fall. The turnaround was just as tight as it had been for season one—but this time, we didn’t have the luxury of a story we’d been developing for years. And beyond simply continuing the narrative, we now had to lay the groundwork for a mythology that could sustain several more seasons. We huddled with our writers in a small house in the Hollywood Hills—including a new writer named Kate Trefry, who would become one of our most trusted collaborators—and began frantically spitballing ideas. Lots and lots of ideas.
As we began writing the pitch for Netflix, it quickly became clear: We had too many ideas. What we were trying to cram into one season was really two or three seasons’ worth of plot and mythology. The characters were getting lost in the noise. So we hit the brakes, went back to the drawing board, and stripped the story down—refocusing the season on Will’s connection to the Mind Flayer and placing all our chips on Noah Schnapp, who’d had relatively little screen time in season one, to carry the emotional weight.
Script by script, the season began to take shape. It really started to click when we honed in on the cast we had come to love. What if we paired two of our powerhouses, David and Millie, for the season? What if we continued Steve’s evolution by throwing him together with the unlikeliest of characters: Dustin? And what if, instead of casting a stereotypical douche as Joyce’s new boyfriend, we cast Sean Astin—one of the sweetest, most lovable humans to walk the earth? We still weren’t sure we had a coherent season until the table read in Atlanta. Hearing the cast—including a brilliant young newcomer named Sadie Sink— read those words, we breathed a sigh of relief. We had a followup we could be proud of. And, as it turns out, Noah was more than up to the task of carrying such a pivotal role.
In many ways, season two is the most important chapter in
Stranger Things. It taught us how to handle the weight of expectations and gave us the foundation for the mythology we’d continue to build on for years to come. As for those discarded ideas from our original, overstuffed pitch? Nearly all of them eventually found their way into the show—including the final season.
Most importantly, season two gave us the courage to take creative swings, to lean on our brilliant actors, and to keep pushing the story into new territory—even when it didn’t always go the way we imagined.
We hope you enjoy revisiting this next chapter in the world of Hawkins. From Dustin and Steve’s bromance to Bob’s death to our heroes reaching Will through emotion and song (an idea we would return to in season four), this season is filled with moments that not only shaped the series but also reminded us why we fell in love with telling this story in the first place.
Over and out,
Matt and Ross Duffer
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