Picture this: the windswept beaches of Long Island, waves crashing under grey skies, a lighthouse beam cutting through the fog. That was almost where Stranger Things began. Before Eleven, Demogorgons, and the neon glow of Hawkins’ Starcourt Mall, the show was Montauk — a dark, coastal conspiracy thriller with just as much heart, but a very different backdrop.
When Matt and Ross Duffer first pitched their show to Netflix, their dream wasn’t a small Indiana town. It was Montauk, New York, a place so soaked in legend that it practically hums with mystery. Home to rumours of secret government labs, Cold War paranoia, and the infamous “Montauk Project” (an alleged real-world series of experiments involving mind control and time travel), the location was a goldmine for the Duffers’ signature mix of sci-fi terror and emotional storytelling.
The brothers described their original idea as “an eight-hour sci-fi horror epic… exploring the crossroads where the ordinary meet the extraordinary.” That phrase alone captures everything Stranger Things would eventually become – just relocated, restructured, and renamed.
They wanted Montauk to feel like a classic 1980s film that never existed: something between The Goonies and Firestarter, dipped in the cinematic glow of E.T. and Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It was a love letter to the stories that raised them, from Stephen Spielberg’s suburban wonder to Stephen King’s small-town dread.
And Montauk wasn’t a random choice either. The town already had deep cinematic roots. It was famously used as the stand-in for Amity Island in Spielberg’s Jaws, which, as the Duffers later admitted, was a massive influence on their creative style. That shark lurking beneath calm waters? That’s the energy they wanted. A sense that something sinister brews just beyond the ordinary.
The show’s early concept art, leaked years later by fans, even featured a snow-dusted Montauk beach with the skeletal remains of a government base looming nearby. It was moodier, colder, eerier. If Hawkins feels like a haunted autumn afternoon, Montauk would’ve been a stormy November night.
But as perfect as it sounded on paper, reality had other plans.
Before Hawkins, There Was Montauk: The Origins of Stranger Things
Filmmaking has a way of humbling even the grandest visions. When Stranger Things began pre-production in 2015, the Duffers quickly realised that their dream of filming in Montauk might be their own personal Upside Down. Shooting in the dead of a Long Island winter meant sub-zero temperatures, unpredictable weather, and logistical chaos.
Trying to wrangle child actors in icy conditions? Not ideal. Shooting in a real town instead of a controlled studio environment? A nightmare for scheduling, lighting, and sound. The Duffers, who were already stretching Netflix’s patience with their ambitious scope, had to rethink fast.
So, in one of the most consequential creative pivots in recent TV history, Montauk was scrapped. Enter Hawkins, Indiana.
The move south to Georgia changed everything. Filming in and around Atlanta not only provided more reliable weather but gave the team a chance to craft a fictional town from scratch. That freedom was liberating. As Matt Duffer later explained, setting the story in a made-up location allowed them to control every detail: the geography, the institutions, the myths. “We could do things like put Hawkins under quarantine,” he said, something that would have felt implausible in a real place like Montauk.
Hawkins became a cinematic sandbox. A town big enough to feel alive but small enough to trap its residents when the Upside Down began bleeding through. Its endless cornfields, neon-lit malls, and wood-panelled basements gave the show an instantly recognisable aesthetic – one that felt both real and dreamlike.
And while Montauk might have offered more Jaws-style paranoia, Hawkins brought warmth. It felt like home – a place where friendships could bloom, where bikes clattered over cracked pavements, and where kids could take on monsters with slingshots and stubborn courage. The setting’s very ordinariness made the extraordinary feel closer.
Ironically, that shift also gave Stranger Things its emotional core. Hawkins wasn’t just a place; it became a character. A symbol of nostalgia, safety, and the creeping horror of change.
Had the Duffers stuck with Montauk, the show might have leaned more toward a dark, conspiracy-laden mystery. But Hawkins gave it heart. It turned what could have been a cold thriller into a story about connection, community, and coming-of-age under impossible circumstances.
If the Duffers’ pivot proved anything, it’s that sometimes creative constraints make art stronger. By moving from Montauk to Hawkins, they transformed a niche concept into a pop-culture juggernaut that would define an era of streaming television.
The decision to fictionalise the setting did more than just save production headaches—it unlocked creative potential. Hawkins became timeless, unbound by the specific geography or history of a real place. It allowed for the show’s blend of mystery, heart, and horror to evolve naturally, season after season.
And while Montauk’s conspiracies would have given the story an intriguing edge, it’s Hawkins’ emotional depth that made Stranger Things iconic. From Eleven’s first Eggo waffle to Steve Harrington’s redemption arc, the show’s greatest power lies in how it balances supernatural spectacle with very human storytelling.
Still, traces of Montauk linger in the DNA of Stranger Things. The shadow of government secrecy looms large, echoing the Montauk Project’s alleged experiments. The sinister Hawkins Lab is a clear evolution of those Cold War-era conspiracy myths. Even the show’s tagline – “The world is turning upside down” – feels like something pulled straight out of a tinfoil-hat radio broadcast.
Had Stranger Things stayed Montauk, the tone might have skewed darker, perhaps closer to Fringe or The X-Files. But the Duffers’ decision to relocate allowed them to tap into something broader: the universal nostalgia of small-town childhoods in the 1980s. In doing so, they created a cultural language that resonates across generations.
The show became a communal touchstone, uniting parents who grew up on E.T. and Ghostbusters with kids discovering that same magic for the first time. And that’s the real brilliance of Hawkins—it feels lived-in and familiar, a reflection of our collective memory of what growing up felt like, rather than what it actually was.
Now, as Stranger Things 5 approaches, the circle feels complete. The show that began as a cold, eerie Montauk experiment has become a story about warmth, resilience, and shared wonder. And even though we never saw that windswept coastline version of the tale, the spirit of Montauk still hums beneath Hawkins’ surface.
The Duffers’ original idea might have been buried by practicality, but its essence survived – the paranoia, the mystery, the sense that something unspeakable hums just beyond the ordinary.
The evolution from Montauk to Stranger Things is a perfect encapsulation of creative adaptability. It’s proof that even when plans fall apart, magic can still be born from compromise. Without those freezing Montauk winters, we might never have met Hawkins’ lovable misfits or ventured into the Upside Down.
So next time you hear the haunting synths of the Stranger Things theme, think about that alternate reality. Somewhere, in a parallel universe, a version of the show called Montauk exists – colder, stranger, maybe more sinister. But here, in our world, we got Hawkins. We got friendship, nostalgia, monsters, and heart. And honestly, that sounds like the right side of the Upside Down to be on.
