Dacre Montgomery: The Life Story Behind the Stranger Things Star
In this post
A Perth Childhood Far From the Cameras
Dacre Montgomery was born in Perth, Western Australia, on 22 November 1994, to a Canadian mother, Judith, who worked as a clinical psychologist, and a New Zealand father, Scott, and that mixed background gave him a household where feelings were talked about openly and where two different countries were always part of the conversation. Perth sits on the far western edge of Australia, thousands of kilometres from the film sets of Sydney and the casting rooms of Los Angeles, so a boy growing up there did not meet actors at the supermarket or bump into film crews on his street, and the idea of acting as a job had to be imagined before it could be chased. His parents split up when he was still young, and Dacre has spoken in interviews about the confusion and anger that followed, about being a teenager who did not always know where he belonged, and about the way those feelings later became useful material for the characters he would play. School in Perth was not easy for him either, because he has described himself as a restless, overweight teenager who was bullied, and the boy who would one day be cast as a muscular bully on American television once knew exactly what it felt like to be the one picked on in the corridor.
Acting entered his life the way it enters many teenagers’ lives, through a school play and a drama class that felt safer than the playground, and the stage gave him a place where being loud, angry or strange was not a problem but the whole point. He began appearing in short films while he was still a teenager, learning the unglamorous side of the work early: long waits, small crews, scenes shot again and again until the light went. One of those early credits was the short film Bertrand the Terrible in 2010, a small Australian production that few people outside Perth ever saw, and it mattered not because it made him famous but because it put him in front of a camera and taught him how different screen acting was from the stage. At home he watched films the way other teenagers watched sport, and the performances he admired were the ones that carried danger and vulnerability at the same time, the kind of acting where a character could be frightening in one scene and heartbreaking in the next. That taste would shape every big choice he made later, because the roles he kept choosing were the ones with a hard shell and something softer underneath.
When it came time to train properly, Dacre applied to the Western Australian Academy of Performing Arts, known as WAAPA, in Perth, one of Australia’s most respected drama schools, and he was accepted into its acting course. WAAPA’s training is famously demanding, with days built around voice work, movement, Shakespeare, stage combat and scene study, and students are expected to treat acting as a craft with rules and techniques rather than a talent that simply arrives. Dacre graduated in 2015, and like most drama school graduates he left with a showreel, a headshot and no guarantee of anything, because the gap between finishing drama school and earning a living as an actor is where most acting careers quietly end. He stayed in Australia and kept auditioning, taking the small jobs that came, and the first feature film to give him a proper credit was the Australian comedy A Few Less Men in 2017, a sequel to A Few Best Men in which he played a young man caught up in a chaotic outback adventure. The film was not a hit that changed his life, but it put him on a feature set, in front of a cinema camera, working with established Australian actors, and that experience counted for more than the box office did.
The Self-Tape That Reached Hollywood
The job that changed everything arrived without a red carpet or a famous director calling his agent, because Dacre filmed an audition tape for the American film Power Rangers in his own home and sent it across the ocean. The 2017 film was a big-budget reboot of the 1990s children’s television series, and the role was Jason Scott, the Red Ranger, the leader of the group, a former high-school football star whose life had fallen apart after a car accident. Dacre won the part, flew to Vancouver in Canada where the film was shot, and suddenly found himself leading a franchise film with a cast of young actors, a huge crew and the weight of a brand that millions of children had grown up with. The film itself received mixed reviews and did not become the franchise its studio hoped for, but for Dacre it did something more useful than a hit would have done: it put his face in cinemas around the world, taught him how a large Hollywood production actually worked, and proved to casting directors in Los Angeles that an unknown Australian could carry a major studio film. He has said in interviews that he treated the job as a school, watching how the crew solved problems and how the more experienced actors protected their energy across long days.
While Power Rangers was still finding its audience, another self-taped audition was travelling in the opposite direction, and this one would define him. The Netflix series Stranger Things, created by the Duffer brothers, was looking for a new character for its second season, a boy named Billy Hargrove who would arrive in the fictional town of Hawkins, Indiana, as the new stepbrother of Max Mayfield, played by Sadie Sink. Billy was written as a problem: a handsome, cruel, violent teenager who bullied younger children, clashed with Steve Harrington, played by Joe Keery, and brought a new kind of danger into a show that had so far been about monsters from another dimension. Dacre sent in a tape, and the Duffer brothers saw something in it that other auditions did not have, because his Billy was not a cartoon villain but a boy who looked as if he had been hurt himself and had decided to hurt other people first. He was cast, and the second season arrived on Netflix in October 2017, only months after Power Rangers had reached cinemas, which meant that within a single year Dacre had gone from an unknown drama school graduate in Perth to a face that teenagers around the world recognised and argued about.
Billy Hargrove became one of the most talked-about characters in Stranger Things, and the reason was not that audiences liked him, because for most of the second season they did not, but that Dacre made him impossible to ignore. He played Billy with a physical confidence that filled every room, a smile that could turn threatening in a second, and a temper that seemed to come from nowhere and then to make a terrible kind of sense. Viewers who had been bullied recognised the character at once, and viewers who had been the bully recognised him too, which is why the arguments about Billy ran for months on social media. The show’s third season, released in July 2019, gave Billy a different story, because the Mind Flayer, the monster that controlled Hawkins from the Upside Down, took him over, and Dacre had to play a boy who was no longer fully himself, moving like something else was wearing his skin. The season ended with Billy sacrificing himself to save the town, and in his final scene he remembered his mother, played in flashback by Gabrielle Maiden, and the boy who had been a villain for two seasons died as someone the audience finally understood. That ending only worked because Dacre had spent two seasons showing the frightened child underneath the bully, and the performance earned him praise from critics who had dismissed the character at first.
After Hawkins: Choosing the Smaller Room
When Stranger Things made him famous, the obvious move would have been to take the biggest action films on offer and repeat the Billy Hargrove formula until audiences grew tired of it, and Dacre did almost the opposite. His next major film role was in The Broken Hearts Gallery, a romantic comedy released in 2020 and produced by Selena Gomez, in which he played Nick Danielson, a hotel owner who helps Lucy Gulliver, played by Geraldine Viswanathan, turn her collection of mementos from failed relationships into an art gallery. Nick was gentle, funny and patient, almost the reverse of Billy, and the film asked Dacre to be charming without being dangerous, which is a harder trick than it looks when an audience has just spent two years afraid of you. The film was released during the pandemic, when cinemas were closing and audiences were watching at home, so it never had a normal theatrical run, yet it showed casting directors a different Dacre, one who could hold a romantic comedy together with warmth instead of menace. That range mattered, because actors who can only play one kind of character tend to find the offers drying up fast once the fashion changes.
Two years later he took a role that placed him inside one of the biggest films of 2022, Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis, in which Austin Butler played Elvis Presley and Tom Hanks played his manager Colonel Tom Parker. Dacre played Steve Binder, the real television director who directed Elvis’s famous 1968 comeback special, the black-leather performance that revived Presley’s career after years of forgettable films. Binder was not a large part, but it was a precise one, because the film needed someone who could stand in a control room and look like a man who understood television, and Luhrmann, an Australian director working on a huge international production, knew exactly what an Australian actor trained at WAAPA could deliver. Being part of Elvis put Dacre on a set with one of the most visually ambitious directors working in Hollywood, and the film went on to earn major award nominations around the world, which meant that Dacre’s name was now attached to a prestige production as well as a streaming hit. He has spoken about watching Luhrmann work and learning how a director builds a world out of music, colour and movement, lessons that a young actor from Perth could not have learned any other way.
In 2024 Dacre returned to the kind of film that first made him want to act, a small, strange, atmospheric story made far from Hollywood, called Went Up the Hill, a New Zealand gothic drama directed by Samuel Van Grinsven. Dacre played Jack, a young man who travels to remote New Zealand after the death of his mother and meets Jill, played by Vicky Krieps, the widow of his mother’s partner, and the film slowly becomes a ghost story about grief, guilt and the way the dead stay present in the lives of the living. The film was shot in New Zealand’s South Island, in cold and isolated locations, with a small cast and a slow, patient rhythm that asked the audience to sit with silence, and it was the kind of role that would never have been offered to him if he had only ever played Billy Hargrove. Critics who saw it at festivals praised its mood and Dacre’s restrained performance, and the film showed that he was willing to spend his fame on difficult work rather than safe work. Around the same time he continued to share his own writing, including poetry, through a podcast project, because the writing had been part of his private life long before the acting became public, and it gave him a way to speak in his own voice rather than someone else’s script.
What the Career Adds Up To
Looked at as a whole, Dacre Montgomery’s career so far has a shape that is easy to miss if you only remember Billy Hargrove, because it is the shape of an actor who keeps choosing the harder room. He started in Perth, trained at WAAPA, made a short film, a small Australian comedy and a franchise reboot, and then, at the moment when the world was ready to hand him the same villain again and again, he chose a romantic comedy, a prestige biopic and a quiet New Zealand ghost story. Each of those choices cost him something, because the romantic comedy was released during a pandemic, the biopic gave him a small part in someone else’s film, and the ghost story was seen by far fewer people than Stranger Things, yet each of them added a different skill to his work and a different kind of proof to his record. The through-line is not fame but control: Dacre has kept control of the kind of actor he is becoming, and that control is rare for someone who became famous as quickly as he did. His story also says something useful about where actors come from now, because his two biggest breaks both began as self-taped auditions sent from home, which means the gatekeepers of Hollywood matter less than they once did, and a drama school graduate in Perth can reach a Netflix casting room without ever meeting anyone in Los Angeles first.
The other part of the story is the one Dacre himself has talked about most honestly, which is that the anger and hurt of his teenage years did not disappear when he became famous, and that playing Billy Hargrove meant reaching back into feelings he had worked hard to leave behind. He has spoken about therapy, about writing poetry as a way of understanding his own mind, and about the difficulty of playing a character whose cruelty came from a place he recognised in himself as a boy. That honesty is part of why the performance worked, because audiences can tell the difference between an actor pretending to be angry and an actor who knows what anger costs, and it is also part of why his career has lasted beyond a single famous role. A performer who understands his own history can keep finding new characters inside it, and a performer who does not understand it will eventually run out of places to look. Dacre Montgomery is still young, still early in a career that could go in many directions, and the most interesting thing about him is not what he has already done but the pattern of his choices, which suggests that the next decade will be stranger, quieter and more surprising than the first.
The Roles Before the Fame
Before Power Rangers and Stranger Things, Dacre’s acting life was made of the small jobs that most audiences never see, and those jobs are worth describing because they explain why he was ready when the big auditions arrived. After graduating from WAAPA in 2015, he worked in short films and Australian television, learning the difference between a rehearsal room, where an actor can try something ten times, and a film set, where the light changes and the crew needs the scene now. His appearance in the 2016 Australian horror film Better Watch Out, in which he played Jeremy, a seemingly charming teenager whose behaviour turns dark over one Christmas night, was an early sign of the territory he would later own, because Jeremy, like Billy Hargrove, was a young man whose good looks hid something frightening, and Dacre played him with a calm that made the character’s cruelty more unsettling than shouting ever could. The film was made on a small budget and found its audience slowly, through festivals and streaming, but horror fans still talk about it, and it showed that Dacre could carry menace without raising his voice, a skill that the Duffer brothers would later use in Stranger Things.
The Australian film A Few Less Men, released in 2017, gave him his first feature film credit in a very different register, because it was a broad outback comedy about a group of friends whose weekend goes wrong in every possible way, and Dacre’s character had to be funny, panicked and likeable rather than threatening. Comedy of that kind is unforgiving, because a joke that does not land leaves the actor standing alone in front of a camera, and the experience taught him timing and the value of listening to the other actors in a scene, skills that would later make his Billy Hargrove scenes with Joe Keery and Sadie Sink crackle with tension. He has also spoken about the auditions he did not win in those years, the roles that went to someone else and the months when the phone did not ring, because those months are the real test of an acting career, and the actors who survive them are the ones who keep training, keep writing and keep believing that the next audition might be the one. By the time he filmed his Power Rangers self-tape at home, he had already learned the most important lesson of the business, which is that rejection is not a verdict on the actor but a fact of the casting process, and that the only useful response is to be better at the next audition than at the last one.
There is another part of his early life that shaped the actor he became, and it is the poetry he began writing as a teenager and has continued to write as an adult. Dacre has released his poetry through a podcast project, reading his own work aloud, and the poems deal with the subjects he has spoken about in interviews: his parents’ separation, the bullying he experienced at school, the anger he carried as a teenager and the slow work of understanding himself as an adult. Writing poetry is a private act, very different from acting in front of a camera, because there is no director, no co-star and no audience to react, only the writer and the page, and the discipline of finding the exact word for a feeling is the same discipline that makes an actor choose the exact gesture for a character. His willingness to share that private work in public tells audiences something about him that no interview could, which is that the toughness he plays on screen is not the whole of him, and that the boy from Perth who was bullied at school is still present in the man who plays bullies on television, watching, remembering and turning the memory into work.
Poetry, Privacy and the Man Off Screen
Off screen, Dacre Montgomery has kept a life that is deliberately quieter than the fame that Stranger Things gave him, and the clearest window into that life is the poetry he has written since he was a teenager and shared through a podcast project, in which he reads his own work aloud. The poems deal with the subjects he has spoken about in interviews, his parents’ separation, the bullying he experienced at school in Perth, the anger he carried as a teenager and the slow work of understanding himself as an adult, and the fact that he shares them publicly, without turning them into a brand or a product, tells audiences something about him that no interview could, which is that the toughness he plays on screen is not the whole of him. Writing poetry is a private act, very different from acting in front of a camera, because there is no director, no co-star and no audience to react, only the writer and the page, and the discipline of finding the exact word for a feeling is the same discipline that makes an actor choose the exact gesture for a character, which is why the poetry matters to his acting, not as a hobby but as a training ground. He has also spoken openly about therapy, about the value of talking to someone who can help you understand your own mind, and about the difficulty of playing Billy Hargrove, a character whose cruelty came from a place he recognised in himself as a boy, which is an honesty that young men who watch Stranger Things rarely hear from a famous young man, and that makes the conversation easier for other people to have, which is a form of generosity that the audience rarely sees but that matters, because it says that needing help is not weakness but wisdom.
He has also kept his romantic life largely private, and the details that are public, that he has been in a long-term relationship with Liv Pollock, a model from Perth, are shared sparingly, which is a choice that has protected both of them from the worst effects of fame, because a relationship that is lived in public is a relationship that is judged in public, and Dacre, who learned early what public judgement feels like, has chosen to keep the people he loves out of it, as much as he can. That privacy extends to his life in Australia, where he returns when he is not working, and to his friendships, which are with people from Perth, from WAAPA and from the years before Stranger Things, rather than with the Hollywood circles that fame offers, which is a grounding that many young actors lose, because the famous world is seductive, and the old world, the one that knew you before you were famous, is the one that keeps you honest. He has spoken about the importance of staying connected to Perth, to his family and to the places he grew up, because those connections remind him who he is, when the characters he plays, Billy, Jason, Nick, Steve, Jack, each ask him to be someone else, and the man who returns to Perth is the man who knows the difference between a character and himself, which is a distinction that actors who lose themselves often forget, and that Dacre, by keeping his private life private, has remembered, which is why his performances feel grounded, because they come from a person who knows where he started, and who has not forgotten it, even as the world has learned his name.
The future for Dacre Montgomery is still unwritten, and the most interesting thing about it is not what he has already done but the pattern of his choices, which suggests that the next decade will be stranger, quieter and more surprising than the first, because he has consistently chosen the harder room, the smaller film, the more difficult character, over the easy repeat of a famous villain. He is still young, still early in a career that could go in many directions, and the roles that are likely to define his second act are the ones he has not yet played, the leading role in a film that belongs to him alone, a character that no other actor could have played, and a story that is personal rather than franchised, which is the kind of role that the Duffer brothers gave him, in a sense, when they cast him as Billy, yet Billy belonged partly to the show, and the next role, whatever it is, will belong to Dacre alone, which is a test that he seems ready for, because he has spent the years since Stranger Things preparing for it, in romantic comedies, in prestige biopics, in New Zealand ghost stories, and in poetry, which is a preparation that few actors bother with, because they prefer to wait for the role to come to them, while Dacre has gone out to meet it, one choice at a time, from Perth to the world and back again, which is a journey that is still in progress, and that the audience, which has watched him since he was Billy, will follow, because they want to see what the boy from Perth becomes next, and that curiosity, which is the best kind of fame, is one that Dacre has earned, by being honest, by being brave, and by being himself, in public, one role at a time.
My Take:
When I look at Dacre Montgomery’s career, the first thing that strikes me is how little of it was luck and how much of it was preparation meeting a camera at the right moment, because the self-tapes that won him Power Rangers and Stranger Things were not accidents but the product of years at WAAPA, years of short films and a childhood spent learning what anger and hurt actually feel like. People like to describe fame as a lightning strike, and in his case the lightning did strike twice in one year, but the rod had been built carefully in Perth over a decade, and that matters because it changes the lesson of his story from waiting to be discovered to being ready when the discovery comes. I think his best decision was the one he made after the lightning struck, when he refused to become Billy Hargrove for the rest of his life and took the romantic comedy, the Elvis supporting role and the New Zealand ghost story instead, because each of those jobs was a bet that audiences would follow the actor rather than the character, and most young actors in his position do not make that bet. The Broken Hearts Gallery was the bravest of the three, not because it was the best film but because it asked him to be soft in public after being hard in public, and softness is the thing that young male actors are most afraid to show, so the fact that he showed it tells me he cares more about the long career than the short applause.
The Billy Hargrove performance deserves a closer look, because it is easy to praise it now and easy to forget how risky it was in 2017, when Stranger Things was still a young show and a new villain could have broken the balance that made the first season work. Dacre’s gamble was to play Billy as a boy who had been damaged rather than a boy who was simply bad, and the gamble paid off slowly, across two seasons, until the third season’s ending could land as tragedy instead of punishment. I notice that the scenes people remember best are not the ones where Billy is shouting or fighting but the ones where he is quiet, the beach scene with his mother in the flashback, the moment in the sauna when the Mind Flayer takes hold, the final sacrifice where his face changes from rage to recognition, and those scenes work because Dacre understood that a villain who never stops moving is boring, while a villain who sometimes stops and looks frightened is terrifying. The performance also had a physical intelligence to it that drama school training explains, because the way Billy walked into a room, the way he leaned against a car, the way he held a cigarette, all of it was chosen, and none of it was accidental, which is why the character survived being hated for a season and became loved by the end.
What I admire most about the path after Hawkins is the patience in it, because patience is the rarest quality in a young actor who has just become famous, and Dacre has shown it again and again. He did not rush into a franchise of his own, he did not take the first action film that offered him a poster, and he did not try to turn himself into a social media personality to stay visible between jobs, and each of those refusals cost him money and attention in the short term while buying him something more valuable in the long term, which is the freedom to choose. Went Up the Hill is the clearest proof of that freedom, because it is a film that almost nobody in his Stranger Things audience would have chosen on their own, a slow ghost story shot in cold New Zealand light, and he chose it anyway, which tells me he is building a career for himself rather than for an algorithm. I also think his openness about therapy and about writing poetry matters more than it might seem, because young men who watch Stranger Things rarely hear a famous young man talk about needing help, and the fact that Dacre talks about it plainly, without turning it into a brand, makes the conversation easier for other people to have.
There are limits to what he has done so far, and it would be dishonest to pretend otherwise, because he has not yet carried a film on his own as a leading man in the way that Austin Butler carried Elvis or that the biggest stars of his generation have carried their own franchises. Power Rangers was an ensemble, Stranger Things was an ensemble, The Broken Hearts Gallery shared its weight with Geraldine Viswanathan, Elvis belonged to Butler and Hanks, and Went Up the Hill shared its weight with Vicky Krieps, so the question that remains unanswered is whether Dacre can hold a film alone for two hours and make an audience stay with him. That is not a criticism of what he has done, because ensemble work is real work and supporting roles are real roles, but it is the next test, and I think he knows it, because the pattern of his choices points toward a leading role in a film that is strange and personal rather than a leading role in a franchise that is safe. I would also like to see him work with a director who pushes him the way the Duffer brothers pushed him, because his best work has come when someone asked him to go further than he thought he could, and his quieter films, good as they are, have sometimes let him stay comfortable. Comfort is the enemy of the kind of actor he wants to be, and the next five years will show whether he keeps choosing discomfort.
For anyone starting out in acting, especially far from Los Angeles or London, Dacre Montgomery’s story is useful in a very practical way, because it shows that the tools have changed and the work has not. The tools have changed because a self-tape filmed at home can now reach a casting director on another continent, which means a boy in Perth no longer needs to move to Hollywood before anyone sees him, and that is a genuine change that should encourage young actors in small cities everywhere. The work has not changed because the tape still has to be good, the training still has to be real, and the actor still has to understand the character better than anyone else in the room, and Dacre understood Billy Hargrove better than anyone else because he had lived with the feelings that made Billy. My honest view is that his career so far is a strong first act rather than a finished story, and that the second act will be judged by whether he finds a role that belongs to him alone, a character that no other actor could have played, because Billy Hargrove, brilliant as it was, belonged partly to the Duffer brothers and partly to the show. When he finds that role, and I think he will, the story of the boy from Perth will stop being a story about a famous villain and become a story about an actor, and that is the story worth waiting for.
One more thing about Dacre Montgomery deserves attention, and it is the way he has handled the attention itself, because fame arrived for him in the form of a character that people loved to hate, and that is a strange kind of fame to live with. When audiences meet an actor who played a villain they hated, they sometimes treat the actor as if he were the villain, and Dacre has spoken about fans approaching him with a mixture of excitement and fear, as if Billy Hargrove might step out of the television and into the street. He has handled that attention with a calm that is worth admiring, because he has never pretended that Billy was a hero and never apologised for playing him either, and that balance, pride in the work without confusion about the character, is a mature response from a young man. I think his decision to keep living a relatively private life, to share poetry rather than gossip and to let the work speak, has protected him from the worst effects of sudden fame, and it is a model that other young actors could learn from, because the actors who burn out are usually the ones who try to feed the fame instead of the work.
I also want to say something about the Australian side of his story, because it matters more than it might seem to an international audience. Australia has produced a long line of actors who left home young and became famous in America, from Mel Gibson to Nicole Kidman to Margot Robbie, and the pattern has often been that the actor leaves and rarely comes back, except for a premiere or a holiday. Dacre’s pattern has been different, because his most personal recent work, Went Up the Hill, was made in New Zealand, his training was in Perth, and his poetry is rooted in the places he grew up, which suggests that he has not cut himself off from home in order to succeed abroad. That connection to home is not sentimental, it is practical, because an actor who knows where he comes from has a voice that is his own, and a voice that is his own is the one thing that cannot be copied by the next handsome young actor who arrives in Los Angeles. If he keeps that connection, and keeps choosing the harder room, I believe his second act will be better than his first, because the first act was about being discovered, and the second act will be about being chosen, by directors who want him for the actor he is rather than the villain he played.
Finally, I think the lesson of Dacre Montgomery’s career for anyone watching from the outside is that a famous role is a beginning, not an ending, and that the years after the famous role are where a career is actually made. Too many actors treat a breakthrough as a finish line and spend the rest of their lives trying to repeat it, while Dacre has treated it as a door and walked through it into rooms that were smaller, quieter and harder, and that choice has given him a career that is still growing rather than one that is already fading. The test ahead is the leading role that belongs to him alone, and I hope he finds it in a film that is strange and personal, because that is the kind of film that would let him use everything he has learned, from the WAAPA training to the poetry to the years of being bullied and being the bully. When that role comes, the story will change again, and the boy from Perth will no longer be the boy who played Billy Hargrove but an actor with a body of work that stands on its own, and that is a story worth waiting for, because it is the story of a person becoming himself in public, one role at a time.
One last reflection on Dacre Montgomery concerns the way his story will be remembered, because the boy from Perth who played Billy Hargrove is already becoming something else, an actor who chooses strange, quiet films, who writes poetry, and who is not afraid to be soft in public, and that evolution, from villain to poet, is the most interesting part of his career, because it shows a person who is not defined by a single role, but who is defined by the choices he makes after it, and those choices, which have been brave, patient and personal, suggest a future that will be stranger and more surprising than the past, which is exactly what a good career should be, one choice at a time, from Perth to the world and back again.
Frequently Asked Questions
Where was Dacre Montgomery born and raised?
Dacre Montgomery was born in Perth, Western Australia, on 22 November 1994, and he grew up there before training at the Western Australian Academy of Performing Arts (WAAPA), from which he graduated in 2015.
How did Dacre Montgomery get the role of Billy Hargrove in Stranger Things?
He won the role through a self-taped audition sent to the show’s casting team. The Duffer brothers cast him as Billy for the second season, which was released on Netflix in October 2017.
What was Dacre Montgomery’s first major film role?
His first major film role was Jason Scott, the Red Ranger, in the 2017 film Power Rangers, which was shot in Vancouver, Canada. His first feature film credit was the Australian comedy A Few Less Men, also released in 2017.
What happened to Billy Hargrove at the end of Stranger Things season 3?
Billy, who had been taken over by the Mind Flayer, sacrificed himself to save the town of Hawkins and died in the season 3 finale in July 2019, remembering his mother in his final moments.
What films has Dacre Montgomery made since Stranger Things?
He played Nick Danielson in The Broken Hearts Gallery (2020), Steve Binder in Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis (2022), and Jack in the New Zealand gothic drama Went Up the Hill (2024).
Does Dacre Montgomery write poetry?
Yes, he has shared his own poetry through a podcast project, and he has spoken in interviews about writing as a way of understanding his own feelings and his teenage years.
