by Natalia Cherepanova

Within just a few days, the mini-series by Phil Barantini, Steven Graham, and Jack Thorne became the most talked-about TV event of the spring. An experimental social drama told in four intense acts, it delves deep into issues of school violence, far-right subcultures, and the profound failures within the educational system. Crucially, the series offers no easy answers. Even though all the clues hit the table within ten minutes, the central murder remains an existential puzzle until the final moments.

Around seven in the morning, Detectives Bascombe (Ashley Walters) and Frank (Faye Marsay), backed by a SWAT team, burst into the home of plumber Eddie Miller. "You've got the wrong door!" shouts Eddie (Steven Graham), while his wife, Mandy (Christine Tremarco), and daughter, Lisa (Emily Pyzer), collapse in fear. Given Graham’s tough-guy roles in early Guy Ritchie films and This Is England, viewers might quickly suspect criminal activity. But the officers move decisively toward the child's bedroom. They're here for 13-year-old Jamie (Owen Cooper), accused of murdering his classmate. After a short ride to the station, the boy, innocent-looking and terrified, insists on his innocence. His father, lawyer (Mark Stanley), and viewers all believe his frightened tears until undeniable proof soon emerges on screen.

Netflix’s gripping new drama, Adolescence, highlights the troubling reality of the manosphere's influence on teenage boys, spotlighting a single harrowing incident. Inspired by various real-life cases of knife violence involving young men, the series brings attention to critical issues surrounding incel culture, male aggression, and social media pressures. Creators Jack Thorne and Steven Graham envision the series as an educational tool, capable of igniting important conversations in schools and governmental bodies about the radicalisation of youth. Indeed, with 24.3 million global views within days of release, the drama has resonated widely, topping charts internationally.

Each episode of Adolescence is filmed as a single continuous shot (obviously, not in one take), executed with choreographic precision, arguably an even greater challenge than Barantini’s previous work. While Boiling Point (2021) unfolded entirely within a bustling restaurant kitchen, here the camera journeys through moving cars, soars into bird's-eye views, and circles continuously around its characters, sometimes involving hundreds of extras. Without cuts or parallel editing, the narrative emerges through raw emotions rather than a straightforward, detailed account. Four individual episodes each offer a crucial hour-long snapshot: from police interrogation rooms to school visits, therapy sessions, and finally, returning to the now-empty child's bedroom.

Two and a half years ago, Steven Graham called up his friend, writer Jack Thorne, deeply shaken by a news article about a teenager who brutally killed a peer. Soon after, similar stories filled British news. Still puzzled about motives, they turned to friend and writer Marielle Johnson. She guided them toward the "manosphere," a disturbing online subculture of involuntarily celibate men (incels), harbouring violent resentment against women. "If I were an isolated teen, I could easily find all my answers there," Thorne admits. The infamous influencer Andrew Tate, whose misogynistic videos remain widely viewed despite accusations of human trafficking, is repeatedly mentioned by characters.

Instead of familiar street-tough teenagers, Graham and Thorne present a new antihero, a quiet, vulnerable boy shaped by a toxic digital environment. Jamie’s chilling rationale for murder, rooted in incel ideology, underscores a devastating new reality facing young people today. The series rejects simplistic explanations, instead crafting complex characters whose struggles evoke empathy and demand reflection.

Stylistically, the show carries forward the tradition of British social realism, echoing classic "kitchen sink dramas" that portrayed working-class struggles, angry young men, and dysfunctional families, territory familiar to filmmakers like Ken Loach and Lynne Ramsay. Thorne himself co-created the influential Skins (2007–2013) and penned This Is England (2006). Yet, Adolescence breaks new ground, rejecting simplistic social determinism. The supermarket car park tragedy at its core can't be neatly explained away by family abuse, cyberbullying, or peer cruelty. Instead of pinpointing a societal evil, the creators craft nuanced, empathetic characters deserving of viewer compassion.

Choosing Barantini for the project was intentional. His directing follows Hitchcock’s advice: dialogue is just words, while faces must tell the real story. Indeed, the camera doesn't merely capture dialogue, it gestures, reacts, and vividly paints emotional portraits. The series shines with tense drama and exceptional acting, notably the standout performance by newcomer Owen Cooper. The young actor thoroughly memorised his demanding script, matching seasoned co-stars and brilliantly balancing innocence with unsettling bursts of anger and vulnerability. Cooper, himself from a foster family, bravely uncovers his character’s darkest corners, avoiding easy villainisation. Astonishingly, this is his acting debut, clearly, a promising career awaits.

Precisely dissecting parental anxieties, the creators pose an unsettling rhetorical question: How can we protect our children? The scariest part is that they offer no universal solutions. Jamie’s tragedy highlights that no single person is wholly to blame, raising Adolescence to a genuinely disturbing existential drama.

‍