‘Adolescence’ Review: A Real-Time Crime Story That Exposes the Dark Side of Teen Life

The organizing concept behind Adolescence may initially sound like a gimmick, one of those attention-grabbing tricks designed to sell a film or series. But as the minutes go by, it becomes clear that, rather than calling attention to itself, this formal choice gives the show a sense of urgency, truth, and density it might otherwise lack. The “trick” is straightforward: each episode is filmed in a single, uninterrupted take, unfolding in real time, with the camera moving acrobatically through spaces and between characters. Is the device noticeable? Yes—especially in episodes where the camera movement is more energetic and showy. But it never becomes distracting or self-indulgent. The viewer is so immersed in what is happening that, after a while, the constant motion of bodies and actions simply becomes part of the experience.

At the core of this gripping British miniseries is the case it tells. Not because of the crime itself—there are countless series built around murders to be solved—but because of how that death triggers a compact yet incisive study of what the title announces: adolescence. Created by Jack Thorne and Stephen Graham (who also stars), Adolescence opens with a police operation that is both routine and shocking. More than half a dozen police cars arrive at a house in a small British town—filmed in South Elmsall, though never named—officers storm in aggressively, shouting, breaking in doors, clearly ready to arrest a dangerous criminal. The shock comes when it turns out they are not there for a drug dealer or a hardened offender, but for a 13-year-old boy, dragged out of bed. Terrified by the violent intrusion into his bedroom, he wets himself.

Jamie’s arrest is brutal and bewildering. His parents have no idea what is going on. He is accused of a crime he insists he did not commit, handcuffed, shoved into a police car, and taken to the station. His father Eddie (played by Graham), his mother Manda (Christine Tremarco), and his older sister (Amélie Pease) follow behind. The detective in charge, Luke Bascombe (Ashley Walters), carefully explains the procedure to Jamie, and much of the episode is devoted to the process itself: the paperwork, the waiting, the tension, the fear and confusion experienced by both the boy and his family. Lawyers, social workers, and police officers come and go, until the story reaches its first interrogation. It is there that we begin to understand what may—or may not—have happened.

SPOILERS FOR EPISODE ONE

Jamie is accused of murdering a female classmate the night before. He denies it. His father finds the accusation unthinkable. But the police begin to present increasingly compelling and disturbing evidence. By the end of the first episode, the mystery remains open. Jamie claims innocence, yet the facts seem to point in his direction. What becomes clear in the second episode—set days later at Jamie’s school—is that Adolescence is less interested in solving the crime than in examining the forces and dynamics that might lead to such an act in the first place.

END OF SPOILERS

The series structures its remaining episodes around key environments: the school, a session between Jamie and a psychologist (Erin Doherty), and the family home. The central questions are both unsettling and provocative. Is there a world parents cannot see? Are there dangerous zones their children move through without them knowing? Are there violent impulses being hidden from adults? Gradually, an element that both the police and the parents struggle to understand takes center stage: social media. Online comments, group chats, cliques, arguments, and rivalries emerge as crucial terrain. Adolescence appears here as a universe saturated with small and not-so-small forms of violence—inflicted and endured by people who are not fully equipped to process them.

Each episode of Adolescence lasts exactly as long as it takes to watch it, and at no point does the series aim to offer a complete or definitive picture. Characters drift in and out. Some seem important and then vanish; others appear marginal only to grow in significance. Thanks to this narrative strategy—and to the single-take structure—the series operates like a panopticon, a cross-section of adolescent life where aggression and cruelty surface in multiple forms. The point is not to identify a single trauma or culprit that explains everything. Tension and violence cut across the entire spectrum, from the “problem kid” to the top student. An emoji on Instagram can trigger disaster. A careless comment can do the same.

Adolescence also turns its attention to an increasingly relevant issue: the resurgence of misogyny among young men. The series gestures toward phenomena such as incel culture, toxic figures like Andrew Tate, and the growing appeal of far-right ideologies among teenage boys. These elements orbit the central event, helping to contextualize it and to capture the atmosphere within the school—an atmosphere that clearly extends beyond its walls. While the miniseries does not engage in overt political commentary, it is hard not to imagine some of these boys as future recruits for the reactionary movements that are currently gaining traction.

Beyond its thematic ambitions, Adolescence works as a harrowing family drama. Neither the viewer nor the parents ever gain certainty about Jamie’s guilt, but the overwhelming impression is that the problem at hand may be nearly impossible to solve. The dangers are not obvious, nor are they confined to teenagers with troubled backgrounds or overtly violent personalities. They can affect any adolescent who spends too much time on a phone or computer, scrolling, posting, monitoring others, feeling attacked and attacking in return—immersed in a culture that communicates through humiliation and symbolic violence. “I took my eye off the ball for a moment, and this happened,” says a key character. The metaphor is painfully clear: look away, and you lose. It is a battle that feels almost unwinnable.

On a purely cinematic level, Adolescence is remarkable for its performances—Stephen Graham, Christine Tremarco, Erin Doherty, and newcomer Owen Cooper are all exceptional—and for the way real time and the long take pull the viewer into minute details, sensations, and emotional pressure. Whether or not there are hidden cuts is beside the point; the coordination between camera movement and the cast’s sustained intensity is astonishing. Graham previously starred in Boiling Point, another acclaimed British project built around the same formal device, and he reunites much of that creative team here to push the concept further. The result is exactly what it sets out to be: Adolescence stands as one of the most unsettling, distressing, and powerful series in recent years.