Adolescence (2025), streaming on Netflix, is a 4-part miniseries unflinching in its portrayal of modern adolescent turmoil. Co-created by Jack Thorne and Stephen Graham (who also stars), and directed by Philip Barantini, it is a stark, unsettling reflection of toxic masculinity and the complex web of reactionary gender politics that pushes young people to the edge. The series has made waves around the world and deservedly so.
In the English town of Heywood, police force their way into a family home and arrest 13-year-old Jamie Miller (Owen Cooper) on suspicion of murdering his classmate, Katie Leonard (Emilia Holliday). What follows is a harrowing investigation that sees Jamie held for questioning before being transferred to a youth psychiatric facility. The first episode immerses us into the grinding procedure of the British justice system as we track Jamie’s fate post-arrest. The second shifts perspective to DI Luke Bascombe (Ashley Walters) and DS Misha Frank (Faye Marsay), the investigating officers, who uncover the dark influences of social media, bullying, and toxic online culture amongst teenagers while working on the case. By the third, child psychologist Briony Ariston (Erin Doherty) delves into Jamie’s troubled psyche, exposing a fraught and unsettling dynamic. The final episode turns inward, depicting the quiet wreckage left behind – his parents, Eddie (Stephen Graham) and Manda (Christine Tremarco) caught in an endless cycle of guilt, grasping desperately at what-ifs.
Set over 13 months, Adolescence explores the devastating ripple effects of a heinous act. Each of the four episodes serves as a chapter, examining how the incident fractures a family, entangles investigators, and unsettles a child psychologist tasked with understanding its motive. As Bascombe delves into Jamie’s school life and Briony unpicks his fractured psyche, a disturbing truth emerges: a boy battered by relentless online bullying, his identity warped by the insidious reach of incel ideology. By the time Jamie’s voice drifts in from prison, the damage is done, leaving a family adrift in a sea of irreversible consequences.
But this is more than just a crime story. It is a chilling glimpse into the toxic digital landscape shaping young minds today. As the series deepens, we encounter terms like pejorative emojis, red pills, the manosphere, cyberbullying, and the Red Pill Community – exposing how these online subcultures take hold of vulnerable minds and propel them toward dangerous extremes. The narrative peels away layers of misapprehension and diversion until it arrives at an emotional kernel of truth. The series refuses to settle into the nihilism that often plagues stories of this nature. Instead, it offers something far more difficult and valuable: a flicker of understanding, a glimpse of redemption.
Adolescence distinguishes itself through its form as much as its content. The writing resists the temptation to depict Eddie and Manda as neglectful or culpable parents. Instead, the series poses a more disquieting question: How much control can parents have over their children’s choices? Eddie’s quiet refrain – that they couldn’t have watched Jamie every minute – rings painfully true. It highlights the difficult reality that even the most attentive parents can be powerless in the face of social forces beyond their control. Jamie’s school, rife with unchecked disorder and adolescent cruelty, is a breeding ground for hostility. The institutional failures are as much a factor in the unfolding tragedy as any personal shortcomings. Meanwhile, Bascombe, a man who never wanted to be a father, finds himself unexpectedly forging a connection with his son through the case.
The series also explores how misguided notions of masculinity take root in young minds. When Briony visits Jamie at the psychiatric facility, these themes come to the forefront in horrifying detail. Their conversations are the most harrowing in the series, peeling back layers of Jamie’s psyche to reveal the unsettling motivations behind the crime. Ironically, she is often accompanied by an officer whose unending inquisitiveness injects an unspoken discomfort into these encounters. Briony never directly confronts it, but her restraint speaks volumes about the real horror that lies not in overt declarations, but in the spaces between words, in the quiet dread of what remains unsaid.
The series deliberately refrains from delving into Katie’s life, presenting her only through the recollections of others and glimpses of photos and videos. She remains an elusive presence, a figure shaped by the perceptions of those around her rather than a fully realized character. This absence is a pointed choice, shifting the focus away from the victim’s personal history and instead examining the systemic forces that shaped Jamie’s actions. By not offering a detailed portrait of Katie, the series ironically underscores how crimes like these often erase the victim’s individuality, reducing them to symbols within a larger societal reckoning.
The cinematography by Matthew Lewis is unvarnished yet deliberate, favouring long, unbroken takes that pull the audience into the unfolding tension, making every interaction feel immediate and inescapable. Each episode unfolds in a single, unbroken shot, drawing us into the events as if they are unfolding in real-time. There are no manufactured cliffhangers – just an unrelenting, immersive experience that places the viewer within the uncomfortable reality of the characters’ lives. The sound design is equally restrained yet deeply effective – silences weigh heavy, punctuated by the hum of institutional spaces, and the occasional, almost imperceptible sounds of breath-catching or voices faltering under strain. The background score by Aaron May and David Ridley is minimal, playing somberly to enhance certain moments without being loud or overemphasizing the emotions.
The performances are uniformly compelling, with debutant Owen Cooper delivering a quietly devastating portrayal of Jamie, his every pause and hesitation speaking volumes about the turmoil within. Stephen Graham and Christine Tremarco bring raw, unfiltered emotion to their roles as Jamie’s parents, capturing the helplessness of grief with heartbreaking authenticity. Erin Doherty’s Briony exudes controlled empathy, her measured composure starkly contrasting the storm of emotions swirling around her. Ashley Walters infuses DI Bascombe with layers of complexity as the case forces him to confront the cracks in his relationship with his son. What begins as a professional duty soon turns deeply personal, exposing unspoken tensions and long-standing distances between them.
Beyond its gripping drama, Adolescence offers a scathing critique of the online spaces that shape young masculinity, criticizing the influence of public figures such as Andrew Tate on impressionable boys. It doesn’t just depict Jamie’s descent – it questions the cultural forces that led him there. For all its bleakness, this is ultimately a story not about despair, but hope that we might recognise the warning signs before it’s too late, and that even in the aftermath of devastation, there is still a way forward.English, Drama, Color