The Small Town Hell of WIDOW'S BAY (2026)

Widow's Bay, the 2026 horror-comedy series on Apple TV, gives viewers plenty of reasons to shudder with its darkly funny evocation of 70s and 80s horror tropes, and fans of classic horror movies from those decades can revel in the tributes to Stephen King, John Carpenter, and Jaws (1975), among many others. Over the course of the first season's ten episodes, the monsters range from immortal serial killers, hungry demonic entities, and sea hags to the locals themselves, who might be willing to do anything to break the curse that grips their island. The unfolding of the larger plot pulls the series further into absolute horror as we learn more about the nature and history of that curse, but one of the scariest things about Widow's Bay - both the show and the setting - is the lifelong isolation of anyone unlucky enough to be born on the island. Like the Hotel California, Widow's Bay is a place where you can check out, but if you're a native, you can never, ever leave. While many horror movies focus on the insular, corrupted nature of small town life, Widow's Bay imagines a small town whose inescapable borders make it an especially chilling image of hell on earth.

All of the show's characters are forced to grapple with the implications of this particular element of the island's cursed nature. The series stars Matthew Rhys as Tom Loftis, who was not born in Widow's Bay but spent his summers there as a child and now lives on the island as the town's mayor. His dead wife, however, was a native, as is their restless teenage son, Evan (Kingston Rumi Southwick). Tom wants to bring tourists to the island even though he should know better, and his efforts are forcefully criticized by local Wyck Crawford (Stephen Root), who was also born in the town. The sheriff, Bechir Clemmons (Kevin Carroll), is a recent arrival, and he soon gets fed up with the creepy events taking place, but if his wife, Chelle (Sipiwe Moyo), gives birth to their first child in Widow's Bay, the sheriff's family will also become permanent residents whether they like it or not.

The trope of "there's something horribly wrong with this small town" is extremely common in horror, with Widow's Bay drawing particular inspiration from John Carpenter's 1980 classic, The Fog, in which the sins of the founders literally come back to haunt the community's present day inhabitants, but also Halloween (1978) and The Shining (1980), among others. There's a strong evocation of Jaws, too, thanks to the mayor's willingness to put both residents and tourists at risk, with the connection to Spielberg's iconic blockbuster made especially obvious in the seventh episode, "Seasickness." There are, in fact, lots of things horribly wrong with Widow's Bay, and we only get full episodes about some of them in the first season. There's a haunted hotel, a predatory sea hag, a serial killer called The Boogeyman, the town's cursed founder, an ominous church bell that shouldn't be able to ring, and a mysterious underground chamber, just to name a few of the more prominently featured terrors. Casually tossed lines from locals hint at centuries of similar weirdness, from the catastrophe-filled genealogy recited by Rosemary (Dale Dickey) to comments from the elderly Ruth (K Callan), who talks about the bizarre fates met by her family members and friends over the decades. (I really hope we're going to get a second season episode about the guy who was bitten by an animal and then became that animal.) Whatever can be scary and wrong with a small town, Widow's Bay has it, so much so that part of the dark comedy stems from the sheer variety of horrors one little island can contain.

Most people, of course, wouldn't choose to stay in such an awful and dangerous place, but the real knife-twist of Widow's Bay is that native-born islanders cannot physically leave without dying as a result. For every person who has ever escaped their own personal small town hell, this component of the horror story is by far the most disturbing. Like a lot of ambitious youngsters from the rural South, I left the small town where I grew up as soon as possible and would never move back, so the idea that I couldn't leave a place like that is absolute nightmare fuel. I wasn't even born in the town I longed to escape, but still the show's depiction of permanent imprisonment in an isolated community fills me with dread. In most horror stories, the survivors escape the cursed location, but Widow's Bay never lets its children break away, as we see depicted in several tragic incidents over the course of the season. Tom's foolhardy desire to bring tourism to the island is partly the result of his knowledge that his son is a prisoner there, and Tom thinks he can improve Evan's life by getting a little more of the outside world to come to him. That, however, ends up being more of a "misery loves company" situation, as the tourists inevitably encounter some of the island's terrors in the episodes "Beach Reads" and "Emergency Shelter." They, at least, can depart the island and never return, but it remains to be seen if locals like Evan and Wyck will ever be able to say goodbye to Widow's Bay. The show will undoubtedly maintain this worst and most central aspect of the town's cursed nature until the very end so that viewers and characters alike continue to experience the claustrophobic terror of being trapped in a place that wants to destroy them. My fellow small town escapees might find those future seasons easier to experience far from their own personal hells, preferably in the safe harbors of their own choosing.

If you've enjoyed the first season of Widow's Bay, be sure to check out some of the horror movies that inspired it, starting with The Fog. Kate Dippold, the creator and showrunner of Widow's Bay, co-wrote the 2016 Ghostbusters movie and wrote the 2023 horror-comedy treatment of Haunted Mansion, which I did think was a big improvement over the 2003 version starring Eddie Murphy. For a truly terrifying story about a small town nobody can escape, read the original version or see the 1961 Twilight Zone adaptation of Jerome Bixby's short story, "It's a Good Life." Peaksville, Ohio, almost makes Widow's Bay look cozy in comparison, but we'll have to wait to see what's actually inhabiting that strange container in the underground chamber.

Reel Resistance: RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK (1981)

When it comes to movies that deliver on vicarious Nazi punching, it's hard to beat the original Indiana Jones film, Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981). The third installment of the trilogy is good for that, too, but the 1981 picture features all the adventure of a classic serial and all the patriotic verve of WWII era Hollywood. It plays like a feel-good morale booster for a dark time, and that's what makes it such an excellent movie to revisit in 2017. These are the times that try men's - and women's - souls, and sometimes you just really want to watch the Ark of the Covenant melt off Nazi faces.

Of course, Harrison Ford's errant archeologist is a terrible example of an academic; imagine being his department head or an unfortunate student in one of his classes. You'd have to mount your own expedition into the heart of darkness just to get your graded midterm back. His research methods and cavalier attitude toward site preservation probably drive real archeologists to drink. It's clear that Steven Spielberg's movie really wants to differentiate its heroic tomb raider from the villainous ones, which is why Jones is an archeologist who steals things to put them in museums rather than sell them for his own gain.

Archeological ethics aside, Raiders holds up beautifully more than 35 years after its original release. It's still a delight even if you know every line of dialogue by heart. Every fight and action sequence retains its excitement, a testament to the film's pacing and score as well as the performers themselves. Ford is very much the swashbuckling star, but Karen Allen's Marion has tremendous appeal of her own, especially when she's out-drinking men twice her size. Characters in these films have become old friends to many fans, including Denholm Elliot's delightfully dotty Marcus Brody and John Rhys-Davies' genial Sallah. The bad guys are a memorable bunch, too; Ronald Lacey plays the sadistic and creepy Major Toht, while Paul Freeman is the greedy collaborationist Belloq, who enjoys taking relics away from Indy at every opportunity. Both get their glorious and much deserved comeuppance in the finale, when Raiders kicks over into full supernatural mode with the assertion that the power of the Ark is real and seriously hates the Third Reich.

The message of Raiders made a huge impact on Gen Xers, who grew up with similar themes in Star Trek and Star Wars movies, but in the Indiana Jones films the point is more overt because of the explicit depiction of fascism and the fragility of a more historically realistic world. It's hopeful in that we see Indiana and his friends triumph over the forces of evil, but it's also horrific because we know that these bad guys were - and are - real. In a world teetering on the brink of upheaval and awash in dangerous nationalist propaganda, Raiders of the Lost Ark feels both comforting and bracing at the same time. It captures the strange cyclical nature of history, this movie from the 1980s set in the 1930s but still speaking to viewers in 2017. Here we are again, folks. Better grab your whip and fedora.

More Reel Resistance:

75 Years in CASABLANCA (1942)
Classic Movies for Courage

My friend at Critica Retro is also posting about about #TheResistance at the Movies, so check out that blog, too!

The Failure of Fathers in STRANGER THINGS

Warning: This essay contains spoilers! Read at your own risk.

The Duffer Brothers' 2016 Netflix series, Stranger Things, takes its cues from a bevy of 80s movies, most notably the films of Steven Spielberg and screen adaptations of the works of Stephen King. The mix also includes iconic pictures from the horror, science fiction, and teen genres like Alien (1979), A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), and the films of John Hughes. The television series reflects the culture of the 1980s as seen through the lenses of these pictures, creating a strong sense of nostalgia for Gen Xers in particular, who were the same age as the show's characters during the era depicted in the series. As a kind of period piece, Stranger Things offers us a chance to look back at the 1980s and consider its essential themes, from Cold War paranoia to the initial rise of geek culture as embodied by Dungeons & Dragons. One of the most telling themes incorporated into the series is the breakdown of the traditional nuclear family and the normalization of divorce, especially as those issues relate to absent or failed father figures in the lives of the children and teens. In fact, while Stranger Things depicts a number of father characters, almost none of its fathers manage to live up to the obligations of paternity, and substitute father figures must stand in to provide guidance and protection to the four young boys who function as the show's core characters.

The series focuses on a group of 12 year old friends who stumble into a bizarre government conspiracy after one of them disappears. Will Byers (Noah Schnapp) vanishes from the small town of Hawkins, but his mother, Joyce (Winona Ryder), soon suspects that her son is both alive and held captive in some mysterious place, where he communicates with her by flashing electric lights. While the friends conduct their own search for Will, Joyce enlists the help of police chief Jim Hopper (David Harbour), who becomes convinced that a government lab near the town is connected to Will's disappearance. The boys unexpectedly find Eleven (Millie Bobby Brown), a girl whose strange abilities and sudden appearance link her to both Will and the secretive lab. Meanwhile, the teen siblings of two of the boys discover more clues to the mystery and realize that a bloodthirsty monster is also involved.

The four boys at the center of the story are Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, and Lucas Sinclair. Only two of the four are shown to have fathers at all: Will has an absent, divorced father named Lonnie, while Mike has an older, sedentary father who spends a lot of his time sleeping in a Lazy Boy chair. We never see the fathers of Dustin and Lucas at all, although we can infer from the series that Lucas has a father who is a veteran of the war in Vietnam. Neither Lonnie nor Ted Wheeler can be called a good father in any meaningful sense, although Ted's failures are more sins of omission than anything else. Lonnie takes no interest in Will or older son Jonathan, and his ex-wife, Joyce, asserts that Lonnie used to deride Will as a "fag" before the parents broke up. When Lonnie does return after Will's disappearance, he turns out to be interested only in suing the quarry where Will's body was supposedly found; he doesn't actually care about his missing/dead son. Ted, who is still married to Mike's mother, Karen, and clearly has a good job, seems like a better father on the surface, but he has no emotional connection to his three children and doesn't seem to understand them at all. While Karen doggedly tries to earn the trust of both Mike and older sister Nancy while constantly caring for toddler Holly, Ted merely works and sleeps. He doesn't know how to talk to his children, doesn't seem to interact with them, and is shown in the last episode to be the only person sleeping in a hospital waiting room full of otherwise worried characters. If Lonnie is the stereotypical deadbeat dad of the 80s, then Ted is the stereotypical dad of the 50s and 60s, who leaves all the domestic and emotional work of parenting to his wife. Neither is the kind of father a child wants or needs, especially a boy on the cusp of adolescence.

Dr. Brenner with Eleven

Even worse than Lonnie and Ted is the manipulative Dr. Brenner, who adopts a paternal facade in his relationship with Eleven. Dr. Brenner is not the girl's real father, and no hint of a biological father's identity is provided, but he trains Eleven to call him "Papa" and to think of him as a parental figure. Lonnie and Ted are neglectful, emotionally distant fathers, but Brenner is actively evil and abusive. He encourages Eleven to rely on him, to obey him, and even to fear him, but he repeatedly hurts her and endangers her for his own ends. Part of Eleven's psychological journey in the series is her realization of Brenner's essentially bad nature and her ultimate decision to reject him. A stark contrast is provided for Eleven in the way that Brenner has treated her versus the way Joyce treats her in the seventh episode, "The Bathtub." Brenner has pushed Eleven to do dangerous things simply because he wants the power and knowledge, but Joyce asks Eleven to take risks to save her son. Joyce thanks Eleven for her bravery but also reassures her, holds her, and supports her, while Brenner dumps Eleven into the lab's sensory deprivation chamber and leaves her to confront the monster alone. Joyce's maternal behavior is utterly alien to Eleven; the scenes in the lab always show her surrounded by emotionally blank male scientists, with only Brenner's insidiously abusive relationship as a gross perversion of parenthood. Nonetheless, Joyce's brief relationship with Eleven clearly has a huge impact on the girl and helps her see the truth about Brenner. The last word she says to him is "bad," and the look on his face tells us that he understands that his hold over her has been broken.

Hopper and Sarah

Somewhere in the middle of the set we find Jim Hopper, the emotionally damaged police chief. Hopper has been a good father; we see that demonstrated in flashbacks of his daughter, Sarah. Tragically, Hopper's daughter contracted a terminal illness; her death destroyed his marriage, drove him to self-destructive habits, and closed him off emotionally until Will's disappearance resurrects his paternal instincts. Hopper was such a devoted father that the loss of his child wrecked him; it's clear that embracing the role means accepting the risk of loss and heartbreak. As he searches for Will, Hopper begins to revisit his grief and simultaneously regain his ability to be a strong father figure, even though the child he tries to help is generally unaware of his efforts. Trapped in the Upside Down, Will doesn't know how dedicated Hopper has become to finding him, but we see how Hopper adopts the paternal role that has been callously vacated by Lonnie, not only toward Will but toward Jonathan, as well. Hopper also takes the domestic role in relationship to Joyce, becoming her partner and emotional support. Despite his courage and resolution on Will's behalf, Hopper does not become an ideal father figure. He makes a Faustian bargain with Brenner to get Will back, one that directly endangers Eleven, so his paternal urge is limited in its scope. He is willing to trade one endangered child for another, even though he has learned that Eleven's mother never stopped trying to find her. It's ironic, on some level, that Hopper is willing to sacrifice the life of a girl to save a boy, given that he was himself the father of a daughter. He does, however, reach out to her in the series' coda, leaving food for her in a box in the woods. It might be too late - the show leaves us with a lot of questions about Eleven's fate - but at least Hopper continues to move back toward the role he once filled.

The absence of real fathers, whether physical or emotional, leaves the role to be filled by substitutes. Hopper becomes one surrogate father, albeit one with serious issues of his own, but other characters also volunteer themselves for the job. Will's older bother, Jonathan, steps in to fill the gap left by Lonnie, even though Jonathan still needs a father figure himself. Jonathan goes to school, works, helps to care for Will, and cooks for the family; he functions as a model for a newer, more invested kind of fatherhood that more closely resembles the multi-tasking required of mothers. He nurtures and supports Will, teaching him about music and bonding with him; Jonathan is the one who knows how to find Will's friends using the two-way radios. When Will goes missing, Jonathan searches for him and openly grieves; he is more in touch with his emotions than any of the previous generation of father figures. Jonathan and Nancy become younger parallels of the partnership embodied by Hopper and Joyce, both active, dedicated, and defined by their devotion to someone else. Jonathan's willingness to accept this burden makes us prefer him to Nancy's love interest, Steve, who is selfish and immature in comparison. The science teacher, Mr. Clarke, is also a surrogate father figure, although his role is less emotionally involved. All four boys have a close relationship with him; he provides them with the intellectual nurturing they cannot get at home and even tries to offer some emotional support after Will's disappearance. Ironically, Brenner's lab uses Clarke's dedication to the boys as a way to locate them; they pretend to be looking for talented science students for a fictitious state club. Clarke has no idea that he's actually betraying his favorite students to their enemies, but he - again unwittingly - makes up for it when he helps them design a sensory deprivation chamber for Eleven, even though it's Saturday night. Although the boys lack actual fathers in their lives who fulfill their parental obligations, the show depicts hope in the form of those who willingly take on such burdens, whether they are authority figures, male relatives, or teachers. If Mike, Will, Dustin, and Lucas become good men in their turn, it's because of characters like Hopper, Jonathan, and Mr. Clarke, not the men who sired them.

Stranger Things offers a dense narrative with many threads worth pursuing, especially in terms of its relationship to the culture of the 1980s, but the failure of fatherhood certainly seems to lie close to its heart. While mothers are generally shown as loving, dedicated figures - not only Joyce, but Karen Wheeler and even Terry Ives - fathers are seen as deeply flawed. They are absent, uninterested, clueless, or even cruel. They leave young boys to fend for themselves in a dangerous and uncertain world, even as the rules for what it means to be a man are in flux. They treat girls as things and betray them to suffering and peril. Still, there is hope. Where some men rush to vacate their roles as fathers, others step in. It will be interesting to see if Stranger Things revisits these themes with a second season or offers us a glimpse of the ways in which the four boys mature to become the fathers of another generation.