Summary
The Boroughs has all the supernatural hokum and horror you might expect from a Duffer Brothers production, but it also has a wonderful cast and real wisdom at its core.
The involvement of the Duffer Brothers – they executive-produced Netflix’s The Boroughs, a supernatural murder-mystery set in a picturesque New Mexico retirement community – unavoidably evokes Stranger Things. It doesn’t help, I suppose, that The Boroughs sounds, at least on paper, a bit like Stranger Things in reverse, its peppy kids replaced by a group of jaded retirees. The closer analogue is Steven Spielberg, who was himself an influence on Stranger Things, but this sidesteps the schmaltzy early Amblin vibe in favour of a slower, sager story with a Spielbergian knack for quality but also real humanity and learned wisdom at its core.
This is to say that the masterstroke of The Boroughs is making it about older people. The cast is stocked wall-to-wall with stars, a billing not unlike something like The White Lotus for sheer novelty, but they’ve been tasked with playing proper characters who have real things to say about life. Their seniority isn’t a gimmick. It’s central to the point of a horror-adjacent plot that forces them to draw on decades not just of accumulated knowledge but also understanding. It gets that curiosity is its own reward.
It starts with the Boroughs itself. A swanky retirement community in the New Mexico desert, this is one of those settings you’re best not thinking about too much, logistics-wise. It’s basically an entirely self-sufficient little city. There are neighbourhoods, shops, golf courses, and fitness centres. There’s a lavish care home known as the Manor for those who require a bit more attention, meaning that even as the residents age out of independent living, they still don’t have to leave. For many, it’s a paradise, a second life coming at the end of the previous one that feels, ironically, like a new beginning.
Sam Cooper (Alfred Molina, Blood of Zeus, Three Pines) doesn’t see it that way when he’s dropped off by his daughter and son-in-law following the untimely death of his wife, Lilly (Jane Kaczmarek), who died in his arms from a sudden stroke. Thanks to some kind of contractual issue that Sam can’t get out of, he’s forced to move into the Boroughs against his will, despite being of (relatively) sound mind. A former engineer and grief-stricken curmudgeon, he was never especially outgoing socially, and now he’s being forced to live out the retirement dream of a woman whose life has been snuffed out ahead of schedule. He doesn’t want to be there.
Gradually, though, Sam begins to come around to the idea, thanks largely to the friendly overtures of his new neighbors, including outgoing womaniser Jack (Bill Pullman, The Sinner), another raconteur named Wally (Denis O’Hare, Trying), who introduces himself with the news that he’s dying from stage four prostate cancer, former band manager Renee (Geena Davis), and the only local married couple, Art (Clarke Peters, Foundation) and Judy (Alfre Woodard, The Last Frontier), the former being a weed-smoking golfer and the latter being a former journalist who can’t quite kick the investigatory habit.
Look at that cast! It’s obvious out of the gate that each of these characters has a bit more going on than necessarily meets the eye, and equally clear that each of their special skills will be put to use in figuring out the true nature of a monstrous threat that seems adamant on cutting the lives of the residents even shorter. The former occupant of Sam’s new house, Edward (Ed Begley Jr, Better Call Saul), who is now consigned to the Manor under the personal care of the facility’s enigmatic CEO, Blaine Shaw (Seth Numrich), insists that something is living in the house’s walls, and well… let’s just say he might be right.
The clues come gradually, and with appropriate weirdness. Who’s stealing quartz, and for what purpose? Is Edward really ill, or is he the only one speaking the truth? Why are the birds splatting into the ground? It’s obviously all connected, but The Boroughs is in no rush to tell you how, treating its eight episodes – none of them especially overlong – as a fun excuse to explore not just this supernatural mystery but also its decidedly human implications. The atypical Scooby Gang of heroes are the ideal vessels for touching on real fears, not of things that have too many legs and go bump in the night, but of a life coming to an indecent end, stripped of friends and family and memories. It’s never too late, the show argues, to form new relationships, find a new purpose, and come together to take on life’s monsters, real and imagined. What a lovely idea.
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