In his most famous work, “The Call of Cthulhu,” science fiction writer H.P. Lovecraft wrote, “I have looked upon all the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me.” In the context of the story, the narrator is describing his descent into insanity after beholding the most grotesque, ungodly beast in existence. But it’s also a fitting description of how I feel after spending one minute on TikTok. Being on that app — or any other form of social media, really — isn’t so much like navigating a minefield as it is finding a grenade on the ground and pulling the pin just to see if it’s still active. I know exactly what’s going to happen, but sometimes curiosity gets the better of me. For whatever happens after, I only have myself to blame.
The series is a dark but vital firsthand glimpse into the mind of a tempestuous teenager. It is as riveting and momentous as all great art should be, a stop-in-your-track piece of television that will leave your jaw on the floor.
It doesn’t take long to understand why these sites and apps are so treacherous. Since it was bought by Elon Musk, the X platform has become a breeding ground for conservative ideation. Far-right influencers and talking heads quickly learned to prey on pliant minds, disseminating untruths via short-form video content that users would see as factual. Thus, the cycle would continue, with that ideology spreading throughout X, TikTok and Instagram Reels like a virulent sickness. (Trust that the irony of quoting Lovecraft, whose personal views were as abhorrent as the ones being disseminated at large on social media, is not lost on me!) The only way you can get rid of pro-Trump ads on X is to line Musk’s pockets by purchasing a verified account, funding the contagion. But what’s most frightening is that these conservative algorithms aren’t targeting millennials with stalwart morals like myself; they’re after those who have grown up with screens their whole lives, the ones whose existence is ruled by the worlds they’ve built in their phones — teenagers.
Netflix’s new four-episode limited series “Adolescence,” about a 13-year-old boy named Jamie (superb newcomer Owen Cooper) who’s accused of killing a classmate, brilliantly dissects and dismantles those digital macrocosms that so many preteens and teenagers live in today. But “Adolescence” is not your average limited series and certainly not your typical Netflix fare. It’s as close the streamer has come to releasing anything unassailable in some time, a top-to-bottom exercise in how to make great television. Each episode is captured in one shot, creating a seamlessly immersive experience for the viewers as they learn more about Jamie’s life in real-time. But even the enormity of that stylistic feat is ultimately stunted by how gently yet confidently the series wades into the rising waters of conservatism among teenagers, and all of the violent repercussions the changing tide portends. This study finds its searing thesis in the series’ third episode, a dark but vital firsthand glimpse into the mind of a tempestuous teenager. It is as riveting and momentous as all great art should be, a stop-in-your-track piece of television that will leave your jaw on the floor and your mind on the future.
The third episode of “Adolescence” takes place seven months after Jamie was initially arrested on suspicion of murder early one morning, when the police raided his home and took him into custody. Since then, we’ve seen Jamie’s father, Eddie (Stephen Graham, who co-wrote and co-created the show), endure the red tape and paperwork of a police station. It was there that, after an eternity of tests and formalities, Eddie and Jamie watched the CCTV footage of Jamie attacking his classmate Katie. It looks like Jamie committed the crime he’s accused of, but police spend the second episode moving throughout the winding halls of Jamie’s school looking for a motive. As they search for answers, they see students with their eyes glued to their devices, unable to extricate themselves from the hit of dopamine they get from their screen’s blue light. Most teenagers disrespect authority and only pay attention when instructors play videos during lessons; otherwise, doing any actual teaching is next to impossible.
At their school visit, Sergeant Bascombe (Ashley Walters) learns he was misreading the emojis Katie left in a comment under one of Jamie’s Instagram posts. They aren’t symbols meant to convey their friendship but a coded form of harassment. A stick of dynamite is meant to depict an exploding red pill, while the number 100 signifies the “80-20” rule, which purports that 80% of women are attracted to the top 20% of men. It’s language that is popular among the “manosphere,” the bigoted subculture where self-described misogynist influencers like Andrew Tate (who is name-checked in the show) preach their regressive messages of hatred toward women. In this sense, Katie was taunting Jamie with language about being an involuntary celibate, or “incel,” and his violent response is not dissimilar from recent, horrific real-life cases of gendered brutality between teenagers.
(L to R) Owen Cooper as Jamie Miller and Erin Doherty as Briony Ariston in “Adolescence” (Ben Blackall/Netflix)
But Episode 3 takes the viewer even further into the inner workings of the manosphere’s hive mind, told through a chilling conversation between Jamie and a new psychologist, Briony (Erin Doherty), hired to draw up an independent report on Jamie’s mental state months after his arrest. Graham and his co-writer Jack Thorne construct a back-and-forth discussion that flows as naturally as any friendly chat, yet cleverly serpentines through Jamie’s perceptions about himself and the world around him. Though Briony is innately good at getting to the root of Jamie’s feelings, she can’t always do it without him noticing. The closer she gets to the truth, the more antagonistic Jamie becomes, believing he’s being tricked. One moment, Jamie sees Briony as a friend; the next, he thinks she’s being disparaging and misleading. To Jamie, a woman is only as truthful as a man believes her to be, and that scale can shift at any moment.
The series’ one-shot style demands that everyone, both in front of the camera and behind it, be as prepared as possible. And though Episode 3 has fewer sophisticated visual tricks than the other hour-long installments, it boasts small, almost indistinguishable details that enhance the stomach-churning spectacle. Watching Jamie explode into an unmitigated rage is terrifying, and it’s meant to be. But when the camera slowly tracking the psychologist and her patient dips behind Briony and frames Jamie from below, the 13-year-old looks as though he’s towering over her. “Look at me now!” Jamie screams at her. “You do not control what I do with my life, get that in that f**king little head of yours.”
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Briony maintains her composure but asks the guard waiting outside the room for a break so she can get a cup of tea. The camera follows her out of the room as she collects herself before asking a security guard to look at the camera taping Jamie. The guard, a man, hovers behind her as she watches the video feed, spouting useless information about body language that, surely, an educated and trained psychologist already knows. With Jamie’s outburst sitting at the top of her mind, Briony knows that refusing his well-meaning conversation could affect her performance and access to her client, not to mention her safety. Should the guard read her as curt, or worse, a “b***h,” things could become dangerous. The viewer doesn’t see what Briony inspects on the video feed, only a tight shot of her face as she endures a constant internal conversation about her own security while simply trying to do her job. It’s a shrewd aside from the larger story, but one that succinctly highlights how women must constantly be aware of their surroundings without being didactic and obvious.
Doherty’s eyes never betray her character. She may be cunning, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care or she’s cruel. Coincidentally, that’s a universal truth that many young people like Jamie need to learn.
When Briony returns to her discussion with Jamie, she regains his trust and asks what role social media and popularity — two matters that are closely linked in the digital age — play in his life. Their conversation becomes granular. Jamie laments that he believes he’s ugly. He tells Briony that it seems normal for 13-year-olds to be sexually active. He says that boys in his grade should be careful who they show nudes of their classmates to, lest those classmates get mad. He points to how easy it is for anyone to access porn, no matter their age.
Each of the points is a litmus test for the viewer. Do we think any of these things are normal for a teenager to believe? Even if they’ve been normalized, does that make them alright? “Adolescence” refuses to moralize, but in Jamie, the series finds a cherubic picture of innocence corrupted that can be applied to youth everywhere.
(L to R) Owen Cooper as Jamie Miller and Stephen Graham as Eddie Miller in “Adolescence” (Ben Blackall/Netflix)It’s easy to imagine this conversation happening on a stage, like a one-act play before an audience. It’s fast-moving and dialogue-heavy but not ostentatious. Director Philip Barantini pulls in for tight closeups and fades in and out of sound, bringing in the pattering of the rain outside to punctuate the blow of Jamie’s worldview. As Jamie, Miller is astounding. He has the preternatural ability to contort his facial expressions ever so slightly, going from innocent to cold and malevolent and back again in a split second. It doesn’t read like a performer’s trick but rather a physical display of Jamie’s warring mind, where what he’s been fed through social media algorithms, the manosphere and his father’s reluctant affection all battle with what he knows in his heart is morally upstanding. And Doherty, who did similarly excellent (and very underrated) work on the Prime Video series “Chloe,” is Miller’s perfectly cast foil. Briony has an approachability that belies her talent, but Doherty’s eyes never betray her character. She may be cunning, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care or she’s cruel. Coincidentally, that’s a universal truth that many young people like Jamie need to learn.
And that’s what “Adolescence” encourages. This is not just an excellent display of form and style in the televised medium; more than that, it’s a gripping call to action that has genuine potential to change minds and save lives.
In a bloodcurdling coincidence, the series was released just days after it was revealed that a British man, Kyle Clifford, searched for Andrew Tate videos before carrying out the murder of his ex-girlfriend and her sister and mother. The connections between the online cult of misogyny and real-life gendered violence are clear and as simple to read as any social media post. For that reason, I’d go as far as to say that “Adolescence” should be required viewing for all teenagers, and certainly a condition of having a phone. If a teen wants to be tapped into the digital echo chamber, they have to know what it can do to them. Goodwill and hope that parents will raise their children correctly aren’t enough when the worlds inside of their phones can undo all of that learning. Time is running out, and legal protections that restrict digital access aren’t guaranteed. Social media has turned real-life into science fiction and vice versa, and “Adolescence” is like staring directly into the eye of the beast, hoping that meeting its gaze will negate its poison.
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