THE BOROUGHS (2026) – Stranger Things Grows Old, But Not Always Wiser

There is a neat, slightly wicked elevator pitch tucked inside The Boroughs: what if the Duffer Brothers’ familiar brand of suburban supernatural panic wandered out of Hawkins, checked into a retirement community, and found the monsters already waiting beneath the desert floor? Though Matt and Ross Duffer are here as producers rather than the credited creative engine behind the writing or directing, their fingerprints are unmistakable. Swap the bicycle-riding children of Stranger Things for a band of senior citizens, add underground tunnels, caves, and creatures with poor boundary issues, and the series immediately settles into recognizable terrain.

The Boroughs is at its best when it leans into that contrast between postcard serenity and pulpy menace. Alfred Molina, still instantly recognizable to many as Spider-Man’s tentacled nemesis Otto Octavius in Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man 2, brings a weary intelligence to Sam Cooper, a reluctant new resident of an almost too-perfect retirement home in the New Mexico desert. Sam begins as a man dimmed by grief and resignation, but the strange disturbances around him gradually rekindle his curiosity, pushing him into amateur detective mode alongside a lively circle of late-life adventurers. The supporting cast is a major part of the show’s charm: Alfre Woodard, Pill Pullman, Denis O’Hare, and Geena Davis lend the series texture, wit, and enough lived-in charisma to make the interpersonal detours marginally worth taking. Their banter, grievances, alliances, and small emotional subplots give the show a warmth that its creature-feature mechanics do not always earn on their own. Visually, the series has a Spielbergian glow: sun-bleached nostalgia by day, flashlight-and-shadow suspense by night. That old-fashioned adventure sheen is pleasing, even when the plotting starts to feel less carefully engineered than conveniently assembled.

The problem is that The Boroughs too often treats cleverness as a relay baton: whenever the story backs itself into a corner, someone in the ensemble suddenly produces the perfect idea, forgotten expertise, or timely revelation to keep the plot moving. It is entertaining in the moment, but the shortcuts accumulate, recalling the more frustrating conveniences of Stranger Things at its weakest. Still, the finale pleasantly avoids the empty cliff-hanger trap I feared it was heading toward. Instead of yanking the rug away, it offers enough closure to make the season feel complete while leaving a door politely ajar for future mischief. The result is a mildly enjoyable, handsomely packaged supernatural romp with a terrific cast and a smart premise, even if it rarely becomes as strange, surprising, or emotionally resonant as it wants to be. I am glad I checked in for one season; I am less certain I would renew my stay.