Adolescence is not about Andrew Tate. This four-part Netflix drama does mention the manosphere maniac’s name – referring to a misogynistic social media trend as “the Andrew Tate s**te” – but it smartly skirts delving too deeply into his murky world. Instead, this is a complex and layered portrayal of how teenage boys are increasingly stumbling down a dark and terrifying path. And to top it all off, it’s also quite possibly the most technically audacious TV show of the last decade.
So what’s going on here? Adolescence is the brainchild of the almighty Stephen Graham who, inspired by reports of violence perpetrated by teenagers, decided to merge this with his affection for the docuseries 24 Hours in Police Custody. He enlisted prolific screenwriter Jack Thorne to help him pen the scripts, while the crucial third part of the creative triangle was director Philip Barantini. He had worked with Graham on the 2021 film Boiling Point, which told its story of an intense restaurant kitchen in one continuous shot.
That technical gambit also sits at the heart of Adolescence, with each of the four episodes unfolding as a single, hour-long take. If there are any sneaky cuts or stitches, they’re totally invisible. But this is no gimmicky flourish. Each of the four scenarios is driven by story rather than technical audacity. So while the second episode is a jaw-dropping exercise in logistics and filmmaking skill as two detectives work their way around a school, the third instalment barely leaves a single room. It’s technical genius feeding a story in the best possible way.
And that story is chilling. In episode one, armed police burst into the home of a 13-year-old boy – Jamie, played by the incredible Owen Cooper – and arrest him for murder. He’s so terrified to be in custody that he wets himself. But over the course of the next hour, a story begins to emerge. One of Jamie’s classmates is dead and DI Bascombe (Ashley Walters) is absolutely sure he did it.
Erin Doherty and Owen Cooper in Adolescence on Netflix
(Credit: Netflix)
Adolescence isn’t a mystery. It isn’t a whodunnit. It isn’t a procedural, in which we follow the cops as they investigate or Jamie as he prepares for trial. Instead, Graham and Thorne mostly allow the machinations of the law to exist in the background, focusing on the way this hideous crime affects the people it touches – from Jamie’s family to his school classmates to the police responsible for answering why this ended up happening. The fourth episode, especially, barely mentions the attack at all but allows its evil to infect everything that’s happening to the family – even months later.
The reason this works so well, aside from the unforgiving scrutiny of Barantini’s roving camera, is the strength of the performances. Cooper, in his first ever professional acting role, is capable of swerving on a dime between relatable teenager and chilling macho caricature within seconds. Anybody even remotely familiar with incels, the manosphere, and the anti-feminist internet will recognise its talking points and behavioural tics. Adolescence doesn’t need to go in hard on Tate and his ilk because it’s so smartly observed that it recognises the potency of their poison more than their specific cults of personality.
Cooper is helped, of course, by an experienced adult ensemble. Graham has made a career out of adding hidden depth to “man’s man” characters – from This Is England’s Combo to Joseph in The Virtues – and, in Jamie’s father Eddie, he adds another classic role to that canon. Graham perfectly portrays the idea of a man crumbling through his own confusion and guilt, fighting his own tears and attempting to beat his turmoil through sheer perpetual motion. It’s a terrific contrast with Amelie Pease, whose portrayal of Jamie’s older sister is broken in a much more subtle – but equally compelling – way and Christine Tremarco as Jamie's mother, who appears to disintegrate entirely under the weight of what has happened.
Christine Tremarco and Stephen Graham in Netflix series Adolescence
(Credit: Netflix)
But the truly unique thing about Adolescence, particularly in the current TV landscape, is its economy. It doesn’t spend two or three hours meandering around in narrative nothingness to get to 10 episodes and it doesn’t labour its “mystery”. It gets in and gets out, telling its story in exactly the way it needs to be told – asking questions that merit discussion long after the credits roll.
Most importantly, though, it recognises that Andrew Tate isn’t the biggest issue affecting young men in 2025. He’s simply the most prominent super-spreader for the virus of misogyny – a virus that is more prevalent than any other and just as deadly.
Adolescence will be released on Netflix from 13th March.
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