There’s a specter haunting television writers’ rooms across Hollywood, and it wears medieval armor. The shadow of Game of Thrones’ controversial final season looms large over every prestige drama racing toward its conclusion, creating a climate of anxiety that even the cast of Stranger Things couldn’t escape. Finn Wolfhard’s candid admission that everyone was pretty worried about their show’s ending reveals something profound about our current television landscape: we’ve entered an era where finales aren’t just conclusions, but legacy-defining moments that can either cement a show’s place in the cultural pantheon or risk tainting years of goodwill.
What’s fascinating about this collective anxiety isn’t just the fear of failure, but the specific nature of the Game of Thrones precedent. The show didn’t simply end poorly—it created a template for how a beloved series could alienate its most devoted fans through rushed storytelling and character betrayals. The Duffer Brothers and their cast weren’t worried about creating a bad ending; they were worried about creating a divisive one, the kind that fractures fan communities and becomes the primary talking point about a show for years to come. This represents a fundamental shift in how we consume television, where the final impression can override years of quality storytelling.
The reassurance Wolfhard describes after reading the Stranger Things scripts speaks volumes about the importance of intentional storytelling. Unlike Game of Thrones, which famously outpaced its source material and seemed to lose its narrative compass, the Duffers have maintained they’ve had the endgame planned for years. This distinction matters because it suggests a fundamental difference in approach: one show racing toward an uncertain finish line versus another methodically building toward a predetermined destination. The confidence Wolfhard expresses suggests that what makes a satisfying finale isn’t necessarily surprising twists, but earned conclusions that respect the journey.
There’s an interesting paradox in how audiences approach these final chapters. We demand satisfying conclusions that feel both surprising and inevitable, fresh yet familiar. The Game of Thrones backlash wasn’t just about specific plot choices—it was about the feeling that characters we’d spent years understanding suddenly behaved in ways that felt unearned. The Stranger Things team seems acutely aware that their challenge isn’t just wrapping up plot threads, but delivering emotional closure that feels true to the characters we’ve watched grow up on screen. This is particularly crucial for a show that began with children and will end with young adults.
Ultimately, the pressure on Stranger Things reflects a broader cultural moment where television finales have become collective experiences, watercooler moments amplified by social media into cultural earthquakes. The Game of Thrones phenomenon proved that even a controversial ending can’t kill a show’s legacy entirely—House of the Dragon’s success demonstrates that audiences will return to beloved worlds regardless of how previous chapters concluded. Yet the anxiety remains, a testament to how much these stories matter to us, and how deeply we invest in fictional worlds that become part of our own lives.
About the Author
