When I made We Are Still Here way back in 2014, I realized that the chances of me ever directing anything set in the present were slim-to-none. Two films and one audio drama later, it’s remained very, very true. To be fair, I just don’t care for the present.
Nostalgia? Now that’s where it’s at.
I was born in the 70s, grew up in the 80s, and came of age in the 90s. When folks complain of Stranger Things’ abuse of “nostalgia porn”, I roll my eyes. The past may not have been perfect (Spoiler Alert: IT WASN’T), but I can’t deny missing the carefree years of my youth. Any excuse I have to creep out of the present, I’m going to take it.
That said, I was a mallrat before Kevin Smith claimed the word. I grew up going to the massive, labyrinthine Holiday Village Mall in Great Falls, Montana at least once a week throughout all of the 1980s. My father would pick me up from school and take me there every Friday, where we’d get cheese dogs and Orange Juiliuses (Julili?). After lunch, we’d spend an hour in Aladdin’s Castle Arcade, pouring quarters into Galaga and Gauntlet until my fingers ached.
When tasked with writing a Tale, I knew I wanted it to occur at the mall that now exists solely in my mind. The story, which occurs in the same fictional Lovecraftian town that We Are Still Here was set, wasn’t intended as a spiritual sequel, but a spiritual sibling.
Audio-only storytelling is a blessing to someone like myself, who is used to working in film, but I quickly realized that if sound was all I had, my voice actors had to be top tier. Landing the performances I wanted while working with close pals was a gift, and reminded me of a motto by old friend David Lawson: “Make movies with friends.” The results are amazing.
I’d been close friends with Clay von Carlowitz and Asta Paredes for over a decade and alway wanted to work with them. Benjamin Frankenberg, who I’d become buddies with a few years back, was in the same boat. I’d seen Chloe Levine in The Ranger and knew Xero Gravity from her amazing, next-level horror journalism work. Of course I wanted to have them at the mall-party.
The role of Poppa Jim was one we’d tried to crack for weeks and when someone on the team brought up Joe Bob Briggs, I leapt at the idea. I was watching him on late night television at the very same time I was loitering at the mall, and the connection felt too honest to pass up.
Everything Must Go was the single finest experience of my directorial career. Without the weight of the screen, we got to just have fun. Every take, every note… it all just felt nice.
I hope everyone tuning in to Everything Must Go finds a way to slide back to a simpler time. The 80s were special to many of us, but were also a dumpster fire. Including Reagan in my episode wasn’t just about setting a time, but about acknowledging someone from the era who, well… sucked.
Nostalgia is a powerful beast, and allows us to see the best in everything. I’m grateful to have harnessed it for my Tale, and I hope it warms your black little hearts as much as it did mine.
Ted Geoghegan
March, 2026
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EVERYTHING MUST GO
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