The Duffer Brothers' New Show Has Star Power but Loses the Plot

When Matt and Ross Duffer shifted from creating Stranger Things to executive producing, they handed the keys to The Boroughs—a new Netflix series that had all the ingredients to work. The creators, Jeffrey Addiss and Will Matthews, who brought Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance to life and co-wrote The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim, seemed like natural storytellers for this premise: a mystery unfolding in a desert retirement community where something sinister lurks beneath a glossy veneer of leisure and promise.

On paper, the concept nails the vibe. Set against the backdrop of a community that promises“you’ll have the time of your life,”The Boroughs echoes both the Spielberg-derived creature-feature formula of the 1980s—think Gremlins meets The Goonies with a splash of Cocoon—and the template that made Stranger Things so magnetic: an idyllic town with dark secrets, a ragtag group of unlikely heroes, and something lurking in the shadows. The cast lineup reads like a dream team. Alfred Molina plays Sam, a retired scientist grieving his wife (Jane Kaczmarek, in flashbacks); Denis O’Hare brings quirky charm as neighbor Wally; Alfre Woodard and Clarke Peters anchor the emotional core as Judy and Art, a couple whose idealism has calcified into distance; and Geena Davis shines as Renee, refusing to let age diminish her zest for living.

Yet somewhere between premise and execution, the show loses its footing. The central mystery that should propel eight episodes forward becomes a confusing mess—constantly shifting between what it seems to be about, whether a magical tree or an alien egg, creating befuddlement rather than intrigue. A leathery creature does pluck residents from their beds, but the framework supporting it feels hollow. The writing rarely rises to meet the caliber of its veteran cast, leaving Woodard in particular stranded with a character arc that flatlines from morose to glum. Most troubling is how the show treats its elderly protagonists: not as fully realized people with decades of lived experience, but as simplified characters defined only by the moments we’re shown—still capable of smoking weed and getting laid, yes, but ultimately hollow shells waiting for their stories to end.

There’s a deeper issue beneath the creative misfires. The show lacks genuine curiosity about what it means to age, to face mortality, to look back on a life lived. That requires a kind of empathy and understanding the writing staff—absent any significant voices from that generation—simply doesn’t demonstrate. James Schamus, the Oscar-nominated screenwriter behind Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, received a single episode credit but left no trace of his expertise. Without that perspective woven through, The Boroughs treats aging as a punchline to its monster story rather than the actual subject worth exploring. The occasional joke about fried food and the unfolding mystery become distractions from what could have been a genuinely moving story about people’s final chapters.

The show does capture flashes of that 1980s Spielberg magic—those moments of wonder and danger mixed together. But it squanders them by refusing to dig deeper into its characters’inner lives or commit to its mystery with any real coherence. A Netflix series with this cast, this budget, and this creative pedigree should feel like an event. Instead, The Boroughs plays like a missed opportunity dressed up in nostalgia and half-formed ideas, proving that star power and the right references can’t substitute for a story that actually knows what it wants to say.