I experienced something unexpected at the Stranger Things finale in theaters.

The parking lot was overflowing. That’s the first strange thing.

To give you some context, most malls are struggling these days, but the Neshaminy Mall in Bensalem, Pennsylvania, is practically on life support. As a lifelong Pennsylvanian and mall enthusiast noted in a nostalgic piece, this once-bustling hub is now mostly a deserted ghost town, with half of it slated for demolition. There are really only two reasons to visit: a well-stocked Barnes & Noble and the AMC movie theater.

And people do flock to the theater. It’s one of just three in the Philly area with an IMAX screen, making it a hotspot for fans of high-quality formats. I’m there frequently for my work as a critic, and I’m used to seeing the IMAX auditorium packed. However, the parking lot outside the theater at 8 PM on New Year’s Eve, the night it was screening Stranger Things 5: The Finale, was something else entirely. The concession line was massive (tickets were free, but guests had to buy a $20 concession voucher to reserve a spot), and the wait for anything beyond popcorn, soda, and candy was significant. The atmosphere was electric. It was the most crowded I’d seen a theater since the Barbenheimer phenomenon.

This was a bit unsettling. I knew, on some level, that Stranger Things was a cultural juggernaut. Netflix, known for its secretive yet ruthless approach to canceling shows that don’t meet undisclosed metrics, has always treated this series like its own version of the Avengers or Star Wars. Regular press releases boast impressive stats, new episodes can crash the service, and the cast and imagery appear in ads and brand partnerships that no other Netflix show enjoys. Season 4 even revived Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill,” among many nostalgic hits the show has brought back into the spotlight. Even in the murky waters of streaming data, it’s clear that Stranger Things has a massive following and remains a phenomenon, even if later seasons haven’t received the same critical acclaim as the first. Yet, feeling that impact can be challenging.

There are many possible explanations: a fragmented internet, the diverse and curatorial nature of online fandom, Netflix’s binge-release strategy that stifles conversation, and long gaps between seasons that dampen any sense of momentum. Then there’s the show itself. Analyzing Stranger Things isn’t particularly difficult; it has always been straightforward in its messaging. There’s no mystery that its characters can’t solve, no reference that the creators won’t discuss, and its narrative largely ignores the world beyond Hawkins, Indiana. Even the Upside Down, the show’s dimension of horrors, is so desolate that the final season reveals its true nature as a bridge rather than a destination, connecting our world to the actual home of the show’s supernatural threats.

In practice, this makes Stranger Things feel complex while remaining easy to follow. This accessibility allows all kinds of viewers to enjoy it together, perhaps even making the trek to a nearly abandoned mall on New Year’s Eve.

The second strange thing: According to the woman who scanned my ticket, this was the busiest she had seen the theater since Black Friday 2024, when Gladiator II and Wicked both premiered. Back then, she recalled being told that staff expected 8,000 people for the day. On this night, they anticipated a crowd of 1,000 over the course of an hour.

I spotted entire families, many in pajamas, friends of all ages, and plenty of couples. There were Hellfire Club T-shirts, Demogorgon crowns, and popcorn buckets (purchased in advance from Target). Everyone was snapping group selfies and posting photos or Instagram Reels of the bustling concession area. It was New Year’s Eve, and the vibe was festive.

In line for concessions, I met a woman named Gia who was there with her daughters. They had been watching together since the first season in 2016 and loved the show’s excitement, saying it was “full of action.” They expressed their nerves about the finale, worried that “people might die.”

I overheard similar conversations. One person speculated that Dustin might not make it, despite Steve’s attempts to save him. In the bathroom just before the show started, a teenager complained about how long his little brother was taking to wash his hands. “I swear to god,” he said. “If I miss a single minute of this, I’ll lose it.”

I met a couple, Adam and Tiffany, who drove an hour to be there. Recently engaged and in their late 20s and early 30s, they started watching Stranger Things separately as teens before they began watching together. (He thought it was season 3; she insisted it was season 4.)

“I love the nostalgia it brings, even though I didn’t grow up in the ’80s,” Adam said. He grew up watching E.T. and The Goonies, so he feels a connection to that era despite his youth. He also appreciated the government conspiracy elements. “In the first season, it was really prominent with the MK Ultra stuff. People didn’t know about it, and it was a great way to expose them. I really enjoyed that aspect, and it continues, especially in the latest season — the government doesn’t always have your best interests at heart.”

Tiffany added, “We’ve really come to know and love all the characters, you know? I’m not ready to cry tonight.”

I must admit, I was continually surprised by the atmosphere. I’ve grown used to the asynchronous way most modern entertainment is consumed and discussed — often with apologies as everyone tries to gauge how much of which shows they’ve seen. Sports are among the few reliably communal experiences we have in front of screens. The television experience depicted in Stranger Things was communal, shared in living spaces where the screen competed for attention with the world around it. In contrast, the way fans have experienced the show has been largely private, watched on phones, laptops, or TVs at their convenience.

One last strange thing: Even for someone like me, who isn’t a fan of Stranger Things, watching the finale in a packed theater was genuinely incredible. The crowd cheered frequently: when fan-favorite Steve Harrington was saved from falling to his doom by his rival Jonathan Byers; when the newly beloved character Derek Turnbow flipped off the villainous Vecna with his “Suck my fat one!” catchphrase; when Eleven faced off against the massive, arachnid Mind Flayer in the climactic battle. When a character was thought to have died, a wave of sniffles swept through the audience.

There’s a sincerity to Stranger Things that contrasts sharply with the cynicism of its marketing and imitators. The Duffer brothers are enthusiastic creators who openly share their influences, but they’ve always been clear about their intentions with the show. Despite the dissonance that has crept in as the series evolved, hopping from genre to genre, it remains a coming-of-age story about the various ways one can grow up.

This focus on nostalgia can sometimes overshadow the present in which the show aired and what it must have been like to grow up during that time. If you were a child watching it, you were experiencing the world when Donald Trump was first elected, when COVID-19 turned life upside down, and when social media brought our worst fears right to your pocket. Your very own personal Upside Down.

“Life has been so unfair to you, so cruel,” Jim Hopper tells Eleven early in the finale, as she prepares to sacrifice herself in her battle against Vecna, believing she doesn’t belong in the world anymore. He urges her to fight for a life beyond the horror. “I know you don’t believe you can have any of this. But I promise you, we will find a way to make it real. You will find a way to make it real, because you have to. Because you deserve it.”

This line breaks the fourth wall, transcending the Hawkins/Upside Down narrative to resonate with the final moments of 2025. The room full of fans, young and old, gathered with their families, partners, and friends, taking selfies and cheering, haven’t just spent a decade with characters on screen that feel like friends. They’ve grown up together, navigating through hell. The kids, young adults, and grown-ups of Stranger Things have faced their own hell alongside them. A wild, nonsensical nightmare that has, in many ways, transformed them from who they were a decade ago, much like bookish Nancy Wheeler has evolved into a rifle-wielding monster slayer.

Capping off that journey in a theater full of people who have shared it with you? What a way to end a year. What a perfect note to start a new one, stepping back into the world with fellow fans, searching for the right side up.