When Matt Duffer and Ross Duffer first approached networks with the idea that would eventually become Stranger Things, they understood the challenge of translating a deeply nostalgic, visually specific vision into something tangible. A verbal description alone could hardly communicate the nuances of what they were trying to achieve: a series that merged childhood wonder with supernatural horror, grounded in the unmistakable aesthetic of the 1980s.
Enter the genius of film clips. In the pitch meetings, the Duffer Brothers pulled together a curated selection of movies that illustrated not just the visual style, but the emotional and tonal resonance they aimed to capture. Matt Duffer explained, “We wanted to use these films to establish what we were trying to do.” They weren’t merely waving around favourites—they were constructing a visual language that could communicate mood, atmosphere, and narrative intent.
Films like E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial and Close Encounters of the Third Kind provided the emotional and fantastical scaffolding for the show. The wonder, the awe, the sheer strangeness of encountering the unknown was mirrored in Hawkins’ kids’ encounters with the Upside Down and its monstrous denizens. These cinematic landmarks showcased how innocence, bravery, and friendship can intersect with fear, creating a perfect template for a series that was simultaneously heartwarming and terrifying.
By demonstrating these references, the Duffer Brothers made it clear that their vision for Stranger Things wasn’t derivative. Rather, it was a careful distillation of their emotional and cinematic DNA, using classic films to signal the show’s dual nature: a story of children confronting extraordinary events while grappling with the very real anxieties of growing up.
The pitch meetings didn’t shy away from the dark side. The Duffer Brothers were acutely aware that if Stranger Things were going to resonate, it needed genuine tension alongside its nostalgic charm. Clips from Poltergeist, Hellraiser, and A Nightmare on Elm Street underscored their intent to imbue the series with dread and psychological intensity. Ross Duffer reflected, “We wanted to bring that level of dread and unease. Those films manipulated audiences in ways that were raw and powerful.”
This sinister undertone became a cornerstone of the series. The Upside Down, with its shadowy creatures and malevolent forces, embodies the type of horror the Duffers admired—creeping, suspenseful, and rooted in the unknown. The use of horror clips in pitch meetings allowed them to visually convey the type of fear they wanted audiences to feel: anxiety that builds slowly, tinged with the vulnerability of youth.
At the same time, clips from coming-of-age classics like Stand by Me and Firestarter reminded networks that at the heart of the series were relationships, growth, and human emotion. These films reinforced the importance of friendship, loyalty, and the trials of adolescence. Matt and Ross clearly understood that a purely horror-driven narrative would not suffice; viewers needed to care deeply about the characters facing these supernatural horrors.
By juxtaposing the innocent thrill of adventure with palpable terror, the Duffer Brothers created a blueprint for a series where viewers could simultaneously feel awe, nostalgia, and unease. The pitch meetings demonstrated that the show’s success would hinge on this delicate balance—a formula that has defined Stranger Things across five seasons.
The brilliance of the Duffer Brothers’ strategy lay not only in showcasing what they wanted Stranger Things to feel like but in cultivating a shared understanding of the 1980s as a cultural touchstone. These films weren’t just inspiration—they were keys to accessing a collective memory that could resonate with both those who grew up in the era and younger viewers discovering it for the first time.
By weaving clips from E.T., Close Encounters, Stand by Me, Poltergeist, Hellraiser, and A Nightmare on Elm Street into the pitch, the Duffer Brothers communicated the layered identity of Hawkins, Indiana. The town itself became a character shaped by nostalgia, fear, and wonder. Each frame in the series echoes these influences: a bike ride across the moonlit streets, a shadowy figure emerging in the woods, the crackling static of a telephone line signaling something amiss. It’s cinematic storytelling made televisual, blending the intimate with the extraordinary.
This approach set the stage for a cultural phenomenon. Stranger Things became more than a series; it was a celebration of a cinematic era, an affectionate homage that simultaneously entertained and challenged viewers to recognise the lineage of its storytelling. Fans could trace the DNA of Spielberg, Carpenter, and King within the narrative, spotting the echoes of beloved classics in moments of tension, awe, and emotional resonance.
As Season Five approaches, revisiting the Duffer Brothers’ pitch strategy reminds us why the series feels both familiar and thrillingly fresh. Each episode is a testament to the meticulous thought behind its creation—a product of childhood nostalgia, cinematic love, and a desire to tell stories that resonate universally. From the awe of encountering the extraordinary to the terror of the unknown, Stranger Things embodies a cinematic legacy that reaches far beyond Hawkins, Indiana.
The magic of Stranger Things lies in this careful curation, this marriage of homage and originality. The Duffer Brothers didn’t just pitch a show; they pitched an experience, a feeling, a world where classic cinema informs every frame, every scene, every gasp. And now, with fans counting down to the next season, it’s clear that this thoughtful foundation has only deepened the show’s cultural impact.
From the whimsical joy of E.T. to the unsettling dread of Hellraiser, the pitch meetings reveal the Duffer Brothers’ secret ingredient: an instinctive understanding of how films shape emotion and memory. That instinct has carried through every season, ensuring that Stranger Things continues to captivate, terrify, and delight viewers of all ages.
