Young men believe that society lied to them — the world is rigged to suppress maleness and undermine their dominance. Rejection by women seems to offer the red-pilled young man of today a choice: will he remain involuntarily celibate or assert his power as an alpha male? They are not given a more adequate framework of how to respond. Before boys have a chance to become men, the messaging is that they must be accepted as one already. The perceived social expectation is that their path to full-grown maleness relies upon the fulfillment of their most immediate and hormonal impulses. Just as they receive instant gratification every day on the internet (which has replaced much of their natural socialization), so too should they expect life to provide available young women who must choose and value them. If they are rejected, how can they become sufficiently masculine and worthy of affection?
There is no question about innocence in Adolescence, Netflix’s psychologically riveting four-part miniseries, only the fallout that comes from the irretrievable loss of innocence. 13-year-old Jamie Miller (Owen Cooper) brutally murdered his classmate Katie Leonard (Emilia Holliday) because she rejected him. Jamie and his friends were harassing Katie online and despite all that, she tried to help Jamie and pull him away from the toxic narratives of the incel propaganda he was engaging with online. So, she had to pay. Perfect, thought Jamie, now her self-esteem was diminished to his level and he’d have a shot with her romantically. Nope. Katie rejected him outright which led to Jamie stabbing her to death.
The tragic crime is what happens but not what Adolescence is about. Adolescence is not a crime story. Adolescence is a psychological profile of why a teenage kid would enact a crime of romantic retribution. Above all else, it’s a probing social analysis of radicalization — how it’s caused by and affects the community.
The Netflix series, directed by Philip Barantini, is aided by its inventive use of one-take shots. Each episode is a continuous, uninterrupted take, which induces a sense of emotional containment. The camera moves smoothly between subjects and through spaces with them, with no invisible cuts, a remarkable accomplishment of choreography and blocking. Bartini, in partnership with cinematographer Matthew Lewis, carefully planned every shot. Netflix have told us which takes were used: they got the first episode in just two takes but that final fourth episode, which is complex and multidimensional in its use of space, was only landed on its 16th take. This is not normally how we think of television — as an elaborate cinematic construction of complicated parts where everything has to go right — but as a result of writers Stephen Graham and Jack Thorne’s diligent teleplay, the show is imbued with a quality few other shows reach.
Stephen Graham also plays Eddie Miller, the father of the boy, and gives what is sure to be one the year’s most affecting performances on film. Graham has previously starred in Barantini’s Boiling Point (2011), and once again, the two end up being fantastic collaborators. Embedded in the show is the concept of whether a child can come to murder by nature and / or nurture, and how that develops. For Graham’s part, his character highlights a cycle of violence — generational trauma has been passed on from his own parental neglect, incidentally to his son. It wasn’t by Eddie’s design as a father: he wanted so badly for Jamie to have what he didn’t, pushed him to enroll in sports and was deeply disappointed by his son’s performance, which led to Jamie holing up in his room and sitting on his computer where he found even more toxic models of masculinity. Graham’s performance, and the whole family’s struggle with living in society with their new family reputation, is the heart and pulse of the show.
Yet, specific episodes still circle around Jamie. The climax of the show, and the best it ever gets, is in an intensive therapy session. After already flubbing his way through one psych evaluation, Jamie meets with clinical psychologist Briony Ariston (Erin Doherty), wherein the show makes its most fascinating observations about gender. Jamie is challenged by the presence of this woman therapist and seeks validation. He’s not so bad looking right? Is she interested? Doesn’t he deserve some credit for not touching the girls body after killing her, wouldn’t most guys have done that? She rejects him, not out of cruelty, but out of professional obligation, which escalates Jamie’s tension. Again and again his advances and inquests for validation are refuted, until it breaks him down, and we see the side of him that was capable of the crime. It’s such moving stuff and beautifully acted by both parties.
Adolescence is the rare Netflix show which usurps much of what’s currently playing at the cinema. It’s boldly relevant socially and heartbreakingly sad. The British show ought to now find a global audience and it’ll deserve every measure of its success. Its mix of psychological profiling and one-take experimentation make Adolescence one of the most exceptional shows on television, but is also one of the best new things on any screen.