“You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” The gloomy forecast ofThe Dark Knighthas always resonated far beyond the superhero genre—because it reflects a genuine truth of lofty ambition. The recently-released fourth season ofStranger Things, in fact, has several characters who attempt to construe their own actions as heroism turned to villainy.
Foremost among these is Vecna, whose history unfolds in flashbacks, revealing the ways he has been a part of theStranger Thingsstory all along. Whether or not this was always the writers’ intention, it was cleverly done: thematically, Vecna fits perfectly into the overarching narrative, a corporeal representation of the secret tragedies that people carry. Vecna’s origin, however, is very much shaped by the sensibilities of real-life Millennials, whose generation has been marked by collective tragedy and failed ideals. By seeking to expose the fallacy of modern life, One speaks to the Millennial plight—not as a villain, but as a hero.
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Despite the long-favored pastime of generations to distinguish themselves from current trends (“Kids these days,” being a refrain of generations immemorial), scholars tend to agree that history repeats itself. Much has been made, in recent decades, ofpitting the passing generations against each other, but history will show that generational differences are transitory—the ephemera of circumstance.
Broadly speaking, parents raise their children to believe in the possibilities of a golden future, and the three generations that emerged in the second half of the twentieth century are no different: all three were raised believing that society had been ‘saved’ from the trauma of the previous. To wit, the Boomers’ parents saved the world (from Nazis), while Gen-Xers’ parents saved their families from moral decay (the 1960s), and Millennials’ parents saved their children from repressive expectations (the American Dream).
What is interesting aboutStranger ThingsSeason 4 is the way that three of its antagonists mirror the self-conceptions of these three generations, performing villainous acts in service of future good. It begins with the return of Papa, who closely mimics the parents of Boomers—a classic embodiment of “greater good” thinking in its most grandiose (and most sinister) sense.
In both present and flashback scenes, Papa is a Machiavellian prototype, willing to do whatever it takes to succeed in his human science project. Thus it is easy to see where Papa loses the moral high ground: without regard for who his work can benefit, his ambition is mere vanity—without consent from the subjects, his methods are abuse.Although the show has not actually confirmedthat Papa was ever motivated by good (his internal reasoning remains nebulous as of Season 4), his actions are recognizable enough to the audience as reflecting a savior mentality nonetheless. Whatever end Papa is pursuing, there can be no doubt in the viewer’s mind that he believes his means are justified.
Speaking for the parents of Gen-Xers, a new savior-villain emerges in Season 4, rallying Hawkins’ residents against the encroaching moral decay…ofDungeons and Dragons. Piggybacking on a real moral panic that occurred at the time,Stranger Thingsuses this plot to foreground Jason, who transitions from jocular to charismatic with disturbing alacrity. But that is the point: Jason is the savior of tradition, calling upon his congregants to take back their town—and thereby reaffirm their commitment to traditional values—by overruling the police and hunting down the witches themselves. Because Jason believes his cause to be righteous, he does not hold himself accountable to the law, directing his rage indiscriminately atthe hapless Hellfire Club. That his crusade (so far) amounts to little more than harassing nerds reflects the reality of Generation X’s youth: no pop culture niche was too innocuous to be considered utterly benign—anything heterodox was worthy of full-blown moral panic.
Finally, there is One, whose platform of salvation-by-eradication would not be out of place pinned to a Twitter profile. One’s goal—to dismantle the veneer of conformity used by ordinary people to conceal their secret guilt—is not in itself villainous (in fact, that same goal drives people to share their struggles on social media or to confront their demons in therapy). Furthermore, One’s first victim, his own father, is guilty—of a heinous act, which is not entirely absolved by the fact that it was unintentional. Butthe bloody reckoning that One deliversin return goes well beyond justice, a violent revelry that punishes his innocent mother and sister for participating in his father’s pretense. By the time he becomes subject number One, young Henry Creel has shown a taste for violence surpassing what justice requires; his platform may be righteous, but his practices are demonic. And so he becomes the demon Vecna.
As with Papa and Jason, Vecna’s vision of himself as savior also blinds him to his own capacity for villainy. Like the others, his notion of salvation revolves around strict adherence to a single ideal. Vecna seeks to deliver his victims from their hypocrisy (rather than from their trauma), so to Vecna, the secrets themselves are the wrongdoing—hiding a feeling of guilt is the same thing as being guilty. Vecna targets Max because she has survivor’s guilt over her brother’s death, although there is nothing she could have done to prevent it.Similarly, Vecna chooses Chrissyfor the shame of hiding an eating disorder (which is, if not caused, certainly exacerbated by an overbearing mother chiding her appearance). It is galling for the audience to later watch Chrissy’s mother, the party actually responsible for her daughter’s feelings of shame, lament Chrissy’s death—to watch the guilty party walk free, while the innocent has been punished.
Where Vecna truly fails, however, as a savior is his belief that salvation can simply be imposed on other people—that exposing guilt will expunge it. Contemporary psychology holds that someone cannot be saved against their will; Vecna attempts to do just that, in freeing his victims from the expectation of conformity. Instead, by forcing recognition on people who are not ready to confront their feelings, he turns his brand of liberation into just another expectation, which is no less repressive. But if the role of parents is to project their fantasies (or their insecurities) onto their children, it is, thankfully, the role of children to rebel against their parents’ vision.Max defeats Vecna (or, at least, she survives him)by dealing with her grief on her own terms, by naming her guilt and working through it within herself. Her healing weakens Vecna’s claim over her—takes away his power to proscribe her guilt, and thus to prescribe her future according to his narrative.
Of course, it may be too much to expect that all the residents of Hawkins will defeat Vecna by dealing with their private traumas, defeatingStranger Things' final boss by healing themselves. It is not a stretch, though, to imagine that Eleven—having dealt with her past,which she is presently working on—will step in, once again, to save the people of Hawkins, the people she loves. Eleven understands intrinsically what her predecessors are unable to grasp: there is no good greater than caring for others. She is only a savior because she loves the people she saves, enough to sacrifice herself fortheirgood. In many ways, Eleven was begotten by all three villains. Papa created her. Hawkins’s various Jasons molded the band of outcasts she found and made her family. Vecna freed her from Papa’s expectations for her future. But Eleven has outgrown them all—it is time for her to find her own identity, her own place in the world. As all children must.
