Ivan Radford | On 23, Mar 2025

There’s always a moment, after a really long take in a film or a TV series, when you stop and think: how on earth did they do that? Adolescence, Netflix’s remarkable four-part series, is filmed in four single takes – and it’s testament to how well made it is that you don’t really stop to think about how they did it until it’s over.

It begins on a normal weekday morning, when the police invade the home of the Miller family at 6am. Led by DI Bascombe (Ashley Walters), they storm through the house until they find 13-year-old Jamie Miller (Owen Cooper) and arrest him of suspected murder. Armed with guns, they whisk Jamie away – much to the shock of his parents, Eddie (Stephen Graham) and Manda (Christine Tremarco), and his sister, Lisa (Amélie Pease). We follow Jamie in the car to the police station, where he is processed and questioned, with a lawyer (Mark Stanley) allocated to his defence.

It’s a blistering start to what will end up as a harrowing ordeal, for us as much as the characters. The script, by Graham and Jack Thorne, takes us step by step through the case, the first episode focused on the arrest, the second on the police investigation three days later, the third on a psychological examination of Jamie several months down the line, and the fourth on the family a year later. It’s a shrewd move, not only because it allows us to explore the murder from multiple angels, but also because it packages everything we need to process into distinct emotional experiences.

Far from a gimmick, the use of the single takes is integral to that effect: in the first episode, the racing camera immerses us in the reeling sense of disorientation and lack of control; in the second, it makes us feel lost in the sprawling scale of something much bigger than one incident; in the third, it confines us to the same, unflinching, claustrophobic setting as Jamie and his interviewer; in the fourth, it removes any filter to give us an intimate proximity to the aftermath and consequences of the crime.

Director Philip Barantini – reuniting with Graham after the single-take kitchen thriller Boiling Point – is operating at the height of his considerable powers here. He’s a masterful storyteller, leading an inventive crew who can pivot from handheld to drones and back without dropping the ball. The effect is flawless in concept and execution, letting us get a feel for the criminal justice system in real-time and not letting us pause for breath until each episode’s end credits arrive, precisely when a break is needed.

Most incredible of all is that this is all done while still managing to give the cast time to sink their teeth into the challenging material. Rehearsed in chunks that gradually built up in length, the ensemble are uniformly incredible, whether they’re on screen for a minute or an hour – from the friendly desk sergeant and the frazzled teachers to the resilient DS Frank (Faye Marsay) everyone feels reel, rounded and lived-in.

Mark Stanley (who’s impressed in Netflix’s Criminal and Grenn in Game of Thrones) is brilliant as Paul, who doesn’t sugarcoat anything and speaks plainly and honestly to Jamie and his family. Equally understated is Ashley Walters as DI Bascombe, who finds humanity within his bleak job – and has his own heart wrenched over his relationship with his son, who goes to Jamie’s school. A scene in which his son explains social media and the meaning of emojis to him is at once essential exposition and a moving moment of character-driven connection.

That opens up the scope of Adolescence to really live up to its title: the show isn’t solely about Jamie, but about something more than that. Thorne and Graham make a passionate plea for adults to think about what children’s lives are like online, with grown-ups unable to monitor it, even if they are aware of or understand it in the first place. Surrounded by a constant virtual playground in which bullying can take place, while a shifting world leaves young men wondering what value they have, the result is a potentially toxic and harmful arena for influencers such as Andrew Tate. While Tate’s name is mentioned once by an adult, it’s telling that the young people don’t mention him at all – they’re already steeped in that influence and awareness that it doesn’t need stating.

All this comes astonishingly to a head in the impeccable third episode, which sees Jamie interviewed by Briony Ariston (Erin Doherty), who is carrying out one of two independent assessments before the trial. Erin Doherty is one of the best actors working today and she brings her cool, probing presence to the role of Briony, who is determined from the off to do her job thoroughly. She nudges Jamie towards talking about difficult topics and ideas through carefully planned questions, finding a fresh angle every time he becomes conscious of it. She’s alternately shy, polite, authoritative, candid, friendly, encouraging. He knows she’s smart, and she knows he knows it – and that dance of intellects is riveting to watch, as she tries to get Jamie to unpack beliefs that he may not even realise he’s absorbed.

Owen Cooper is every bit her match in a remarkable debut turn. The 15-year-old shifts personas as their conversation evolves, moving from innocent to abusive, quiet to dominant, amusing to insulting, all without warning. It’s a performance of performances, managing to win our sympathy one moment and then intimidate us the next, but throughout he’s always insecure and in need of reassurance – reassurance of his importance, of his worth. He always sees himself as the victim, entitled to recognition and power or control over the situation, and Cooper captures that objectifying personality trait with a chilling nuance.

Doherty is a generous screen partner, giving Cooper the space to erupt and emote, all while the camera circles them with a searching intensity. But she ensures Briony is as important as Jamie, he reactions graduating from curious to afraid but without losing a sense of compassion and concern. The result is a thoughtful hour-long discussion of the “manosphere” and its impact, delving into the roots of incel culture and exposing the potential for radicalised young men even before they’ve grown out of boyhood.

The poignant concluding chapter whisks us forward to Eddie’s 50th birthday, reminding us that the heart of the show, in many ways, are Jamie’s parents. “How did we make her?” asks Eddie, as he and Manda share their admiration of their daughter. “The same way we made him,” comes Manda’s heartfelt reply. Christine Tremarco is wonderful as the wounded mother trying to hold together the family unit, retain a semblance of normality and support her husband.

Stephen Graham, meanwhile, is phenomenal, at once stealing every scene and shrinking into the scenery to let everyone else shine. He’s heartbreaking as a dad trying to work out where he went wrong, grappling with guilt, regret and doubt. Close-ups in the first episode show his facial expressions twitching with every thought, as he grapples with his son being searched at the station – and that fiery confusion is still there in his eyes come the finale, with added pain and sadness. Because, of course, this isn’t the finale, and there’s no neat way to wrap up or explain the murder or how such violent misogyny reared its head – it’s not as simple as Eddie being an abusive parent, because he isn’t, he’s just an everyday guy struggling to express his own emotions, even on his birthday.

How do we solve the problem of today? That’s the question Eddie’s been taught to focus on by his therapist – and it’s a fitting one to leave hanging in the air. Adolescence asks us to think about behaviour in the past, invites us to worry about the future, but most of all shines a spotlight on the burning problem of masculinity in society today. At once a deeply moving drama and a terrifying watch for parents, this important, urgent masterpiece is one of the most timely pieces of TV in recent memory. Some have called for it to be shown in schools – that might feel like an appropriate step, but that’s misunderstanding something that’s much bigger and complicated than any one programme. Adolescence won’t fix the problem – but it challenges everyone in our society to accept responsibility for solving it.

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