Sometimes characters reappear, not exactly where readers expect them, and yet they feel familiar all over again. Two years earlier, in the penultimate country of the journey, the Russian thread showed its bloodier side: first we followed the life of Smolensk vampires led by Yuri Stoyanov, then the focus shifted from Alexei Ivanov’s book to a world of Soviet ghouls. Continuing with Stoyanovsky’s humor, one could say the circus is gone but the clowns linger. In short, the book has closed, but the series did not become a seamless continuation. It seems the Food Processing Unit earned a second season, a fate apparently denied even to the likes of Good Omens’ Neil Gaiman.
The sequel emerged not only without a literary spine but also without the original crew. Instead of Alexander Tsekalo’s Wednesday production company, the Amusement Park studio took charge. Kinopoisk had previously produced series like King and the Jester, Monastery, End of the World and Fandorin. Azazel. Sergei Kaluzhanov, who worked on Roman Volobuev’s Detective Syndrome, handled the script. And horror producer Svyatoslav Podgaevsky, known for The Queen of Spades: Black Rite, The Mermaid. Lake of the Dead and Yaga. A Nightmare in the Dark Woods, was replaced by Eduard Bordukov, who directed the fencing drama On the Edge and the street football series The Box.
With a certain affection for the imperfect, yet possessing its own peculiar charm, Podgaevsky’s work did not fully recapture the magic of the first run. It is hard to pinpoint the culprit: perhaps the director struggled with the extended arc of the story, or the material did not align perfectly, or simply some unseen force unsettled the plan. In this light, the emergence of a second Pishcheblok remains a curious impulse, but the premise is clear enough: a return, and not a revival of the previous form.
In essence, the plot unfolds three years after a troubled Olympic summer at the Burevestnik camp. Valerka Lagunov, played by Peter Natarov, has grown into an exemplary pioneer and class president—vampires, it seems, are compelled to uphold order. Comrade Igor Korzukhin, stationed at the camp, assists Valerka in keeping her monstrous nature under a careful leash. Daniil Vershinin provides the portrayal of the friend who helps keep the balance. The duo discovers a method that allows Valerka to drink blood only on every full moon, sparing others from harm and maintaining her humanity. This development opens the door for Valerka to encounter a new affection, Anastasia, at camp, portrayed by Maria Abramova. Yet Valerka’s fragile humanity faces potential threats from other supernatural beings that drift into the story.
Behind the camera, a decisive shift in leadership brought a different energy to the production. Compared to the awkward stumble of the first season, the new direction hints at a better alignment with contemporary fantasy storytelling. The show now echoes Stranger Things in mood and pacing, yet attempts to carve its own path. The soundtrack leans into distinctive synth textures, while the visual language trades some of the earlier frenetic energy for a more controlled, expressive approach. A new cinematographer—distinct from the earlier collaborator—contributes to a sense of continuity, even as the look evolves. Viewers can sense a deliberate move toward a more cohesive, immersive experience.
Stranger sensibilities also fade from the tone, as the first Pishcheblok’s more provocative moments are pared back. The creators approach a cleaner balance, reducing gratuitous explicitness while retaining the edge that gives the story its bite. Anti-Soviet currents, which had been softened in the film adaptation of Ivanov’s text, reappear in a more deliberate, if stylized, form, inviting a conversation about power, control, and memory. The new approach treats the material with a wary respect, avoiding didacticism while allowing subtext to shine through. There is a subtle tension between the historical context and the camp fantasy, a fusion that invites viewers to question authority without preaching to them.
Regardless of the missteps of the first season, the second installment grants the writers a freer hand: the goal is not to imitate but to reimagine. The choice is not only to re-create anti-Soviet sentiment but to explore urban fantasy with a fresh sensibility. Whether that blend proves durable remains to be seen, but the path feels more intentional. For now, the conversation centers on what the season might reveal: a meditation on how childhood dissolves and what happens when established rules lose their edge. The second chapter promises a different angle—perhaps a meditation on governance, myth, and the human heartbeat beneath the legendary veneer.
In sum, the new Pishcheblok arrives with a mix of cautious optimism and critical curiosity. It looks at the shifting sands beneath a long-running myth and asks what remains when the original texture frays. The questions now are less about fidelity to source material and more about how the story sings in a modern key, how characters retain their essence while growing, and how the world they inhabit continues to evolve. The journey continues, and audiences are invited to watch closely as the second installment navigates its own peculiar balance between memory and invention.