There’s a moment about forty minutes into the premiere of HBO’s It: Welcome to Derry where you think you’ve got it all figured out. You’ve met the misfit kids. You know their traumas, their quirks, the ways they don’t quite fit into the Norman Rockwell painting that is 1962 Derry, Maine. You can see the Losers Club forming. You’ve watched this movie before.
Then the Capitol Theatre’s movie screen tears open like wet tissue paper, a demonic creature spills into reality, and children start dying in ways that would make Pennywise himself slow-clap in approval.
I’m talking guts on popcorn. I’m talking a little girl’s severed hand clutched by a traumatized protagonist who doesn’t even realize she’s holding it yet. I’m talking about the show pulling a rug so thoroughly out from under you that you’re left staring at the credits wondering if you hallucinated the last ten minutes.
Welcome to Derry, indeed. Population: declining rapidly.
This isn’t a prequel that’s content to coast on nostalgia or carefully color inside the lines Andy Muschietti drew with his two It films. This is something riskier, angrier, and far more willing to burn down what you expect to see what grows in the ashes.
The Setup: 1962 and the Shadows Lengthening
Welcome to Derry opens in January 1962, four months before the main events of the episode. We meet Matty Clements, a 12-year-old boy with an emotional support pacifier (which, honestly, same), sneaking into the Capitol Theatre to watch The Music Man. The film’s song “Ya Got Trouble” becomes a recurring motif throughout the episode—and it’s the perfect metaphor. Trouble is coming to Derry. It’s already here, actually, lurking beneath that Norman Rockwell facade.
When Matty gets caught and kicked out into the snowy night, he hitches a ride with what seems like a wholesome 1960s nuclear family headed to Portland. But within minutes, the mask slips. The mother gives birth—and I use that term loosely—to a demonic, bat-winged creature that proceeds to attack Matty in one of the most disturbing opening sequences I’ve seen in recent horror television. No slow burn here. Director Andy Muschietti kicks the door down immediately.
This creature, this “demon baby,” becomes the episode’s primary antagonist, and it’s viscerally terrifying in a way that Pennywise sometimes isn’t. There’s something primal about it—formless, hungry, wrong.
The Bait-and-Switch That Changes Everything
For most of the episode, we follow what appears to be a straightforward setup: a new generation of misfit kids investigating Matty’s disappearance. There’s Lilly Bainbridge (Clara Stack), traumatized by her father’s gruesome death at a pickle factory—a death she blames herself for. There’s Phil and Teddy, two nerdy boys whose bickering dynamic feels comfortably familiar if you loved Richie and Eddie from the movies. We also meet Ronnie, a Black girl whose projectionist father is being blamed for Matty’s disappearance, and Marge, desperate to fit in with the popular crowd.
They’re setting up a new Losers Club, right? We’ve seen this before. Outcasts band together, face their fears, defeat the monster. Rinse and repeat.
Wrong.
The episode’s climax takes place back at the Capitol Theatre. The kids screen The Music Man again, looking for clues about what happened to Matty. Instead, Matty appears on screen—pale, distant, holding what looks like a swaddled baby. Then that demonic creature bursts through the screen into reality, and all hell breaks loose.
Teddy is ripped apart, his blood and guts spilling over the popcorn. Phil and his little sister Susie are slaughtered off-screen. Only Lilly and Ronnie escape—Lilly holding Susie’s severed hand without even realizing it.
The kids we spent the entire episode with? Dead. Just… dead. In the first episode.
This isn’t a retread of familiar territory. The showrunners are making it crystal clear: nothing is sacred here.
Why This Twist Matters
According to interviews with creators Andy and Barbara Muschietti and showrunners Jason Fuchs and Brad Caleb Kane, this brutal ending was developed in secret after the original pilot script. When they pitched the series to HBO, Andy Muschietti reportedly stood up and theatrically pulled down headshots of the “main” kids to reveal a completely different group of child actors underneath.
“If we can replicate their reaction in the room with audiences at home,” Fuchs said, “we’ll have a really interesting, exciting, satisfying way to end episode 1.”
Mission accomplished. I was genuinely shocked.
But this isn’t just shock value. This twist serves a deeper purpose: it positions Lilly and Ronnie—two girls who would have been marginalized or overlooked in the original It story—as the true protagonists. One is haunted by trauma and guilt, the other is fighting to clear her father’s name while navigating Derry’s racism. These aren’t the typical “chosen ones.” They’re survivors by accident, thrust into horror they never asked for.
The original It novel and the 1990 miniseries had limited roles for Black characters, and the 2017/2019 films, while better, still gave Mike Hanlon a somewhat underwhelming arc. Welcome to Derry seems determined to course-correct by centering characters who reflect a more diverse, authentic America—especially the America of 1962, with all its social upheaval.
The Adult Story: Major Leroy Hanlon
Running parallel to the kids’ story is the arrival of Major Leroy Hanlon (Jovan Adepo), an accomplished Black Air Force pilot who’s been stationed at the new Derry Air Force Base with his wife Charlotte (Taylour Paige) and their son Will. Yes, Will Hanlon—Mike’s father from the movies.
The Cold War backdrop is crucial here. It’s 1962. The Cuban Missile Crisis is on the horizon. Derry’s base is positioned as America’s “tip of the spear” against Russia. The tension is palpable, and it’s not just geopolitical—it’s personal.
Leroy immediately faces racism from his subordinates. One airman refuses to salute him, a clear act of insubordination that gets the offender threatened with court-martial. But the disrespect doesn’t stop there. Later, Leroy is attacked in his quarters by masked men demanding the specs for the new B-52 bomber he’s testing. It’s clearly an attempt to get him discharged—to push him out.
Adepo’s performance here is measured and powerful. Leroy’s not a hothead; he’s a man trying to maintain his dignity and do his job in a hostile environment. But you can see the weight of it wearing on him. The show isn’t just using racism as window dressing—it’s examining how systemic oppression functions, how it manifests in both overt violence and subtle erosion of spirit.
And here’s the thing: we already know how this ends for the Hanlon family. In the movies, Mike is the only one of the Losers who stays in Derry, the keeper of its dark history. His family has roots here, yes, but they’re also marked by tragedy. Whatever happens to Leroy and Charlotte in this series, it won’t be good. That foreknowledge adds a layer of dread to every scene they’re in.
The Production: Horror Craftsmanship
Andy Muschietti directed the pilot, and you can feel his fingerprints all over it. The man knows how to build atmosphere and then shatter it with violence. The production design is meticulous—1962 Derry looks picture-perfect on the surface, all bright colors and wholesome Americana, which makes the horror underneath feel even more violating.
Benjamin Wallfisch, who scored the It films, returns for the series, and his music walks that tightrope between nostalgic and ominous. The cold opening uses “Ya Got Trouble” from The Music Man to brilliant effect—the lyrics about moral decay creeping into a perfect town become the episode’s thesis statement.
Cinematography-wise, there’s a deliberate contrast between the bright, open spaces of daytime Derry and the claustrophobic, shadow-filled interiors where horror strikes. The Capitol Theatre sequence is particularly well-executed—the way Matty appears on screen, the creature’s emergence, the chaos of the attack. It’s visceral and disorienting in the best way.
The Stephen King Connection
One of the most reassuring aspects of this series is Stephen King’s involvement and approval. King has been notoriously critical of adaptations of his work (see: his feelings about Kubrick’s The Shining), so when he calls something “amazing” and “terrifying,” it carries weight.
King took to social media before the premiere, writing: “WELCOME TO DERRY is amazing. First episode is terrifying.”
According to showrunner Jason Fuchs, King had to “read and approve virtually everything,” but they didn’t know his reaction to the finished product until he posted publicly. “That was a huge relief and really a career highlight,” Fuchs said.
King’s involvement wasn’t micromanaging, though. According to Andy Muschietti, the author gave them creative freedom to “play with his toys,” trusting them because of how well they handled the movies. The series draws from the “interlude” chapters in King’s novel—the sections written by Mike Hanlon documenting Derry’s catastrophic historical events. These interludes were always some of the creepiest, most atmospheric parts of the book, so building a series around them makes perfect sense.
Easter Eggs and the Expanded Universe
Welcome to Derry is packed with references to King’s broader multiverse. Dick Hallorann from The Shining appears as Leroy’s driver at the base, played by Chris Chalk. Lilly wears a turtle charm—a clear nod to Maturin, one of the most powerful beings in King’s mythology and Pennywise’s cosmic nemesis. There’s graffiti referencing other King works, mentions of Juniper Hill asylum (from multiple King stories), and background details that reward attentive viewers.
But here’s what I appreciate: these aren’t just fan service breadcrumbs. They’re woven into the fabric of the story organically. If you catch them, great. If you don’t, the narrative still works.
Where Less Is More (For Now)
One of the most interesting creative choices is Pennywise’s limited appearance. Bill Skarsgård returns to the role, but the clown isn’t front and center—at least not yet. Instead, we get manifestations of It’s power: the demon baby, voices in the pipes, the lampshade made of screaming human flesh that terrorizes Teddy.
Barbara Muschietti compared their approach to Jaws, calling Pennywise their “shark.” You can’t let the audience get comfortable. You have to hide the ball.
This restraint serves the story well. By the time Pennywise does appear in full form (presumably in later episodes), the anticipation will be unbearable. And by showing It as a shapeshifter rather than always defaulting to the clown, the show expands the variety of scares available.
The Social Commentary
Welcome to Derry isn’t subtle about its themes, and honestly, I appreciate that. The year 1962 wasn’t just chosen at random—it’s a pressure cooker moment in American history. The Civil Rights Movement is gaining momentum. The Cold War paranoia is at its peak. Traditional social structures are beginning to crack.
The show weaves these anxieties throughout. Charlotte Hanlon notices something is wrong with the people of Derry from the moment she arrives—and she’s not wrong. There’s the racism Leroy faces. There’s the displacement of Indigenous peoples, referenced in the background. There’s the abuse and neglect children face in their own homes.
Pennywise doesn’t create this evil—he feeds on it. He amplifies it. Derry isn’t cursed because of Pennywise; Pennywise stays in Derry because the town is already rotting from within.
This social commentary never feels preachy or forced. It’s simply the reality of the era, presented honestly. And it makes the supernatural horror more effective because it’s grounded in very real, very human monstrousness.
The Critics Weigh In
Initial critical reception has been mixed but generally positive. Rotten Tomatoes has it at 76% fresh, with critics praising the atmosphere, performances, and ambition while noting some scattered plotting and overstuffed ensemble issues.
Emma Kiely at Collider emphasized that the adult storyline is actually stronger than the kids’ story, with Paige and Adepo delivering standout performances. Clara Stack as Lilly also got singled out for praise.
Chris Hayner at Polygon called it an “excellent prequel,” noting he was more interested in the lore of Derry itself than in the films. Chris Evangelista at /Film praised its consistent bloodiness but criticized attempts to over-explain mysteries that should remain ambiguous.
The harshest criticism comes from those who feel the show is trying to answer questions no one was asking—particularly about Pennywise’s origin. There’s validity to that concern. Sometimes mystery is more powerful than explanation. But after one episode, I’m willing to give the show the benefit of the doubt.
What’s Next: The Three-Season Plan
If Welcome to Derry succeeds, Muschietti has plans for three seasons, each jumping back 27 years (matching Pennywise’s cycle). Season 1 is 1962. Season 2 would be 1935. Season 3 would be 1908.
“There’s a reason why the story is told backwards,” Muschietti said cryptically. The show will explore not just Pennywise’s history but Derry’s—why he stays in this particular town, why he targets children, and how the town itself is complicit.
This reverse chronology is fascinating because it means each season will feel distinct—different time periods, different casts, different social contexts. It’s ambitious, maybe even a bit risky. But if they pull it off, we could be looking at something truly special.
Final Thoughts: A Promising, Brutal Beginning
Is It: Welcome to Derry perfect? No. The pilot juggles a lot of characters and plot threads, and not all of them land with equal weight. Some of the child actors are stronger than others. The CGI creature effects, while effective, lean more toward spectacle than genuine dread at times.
But damn, it’s ambitious. It’s bold. It’s willing to kill its darlings—literally—in service of a larger story. The performances from Adepo, Paige, and Stack are compelling. The production design is gorgeous. The social commentary adds depth without feeling didactic. And that ending twist genuinely caught me off guard.
Most importantly, Welcome to Derry feels like it has something to say beyond “remember this scary clown?” It’s examining the cycles of violence, the way trauma echoes through generations, and how communities can become complicit in evil through silence and inaction.
I’m not sure where this show is going, but I’m absolutely along for the ride. Just maybe with the lights on.
It: Welcome to Derry airs Sundays at 9 PM ET on HBO and streams on HBO Max. Episode 2 drops early on Halloween (October 31), with the season finale set for December 14.
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