Clearpost.online It's your post, so post it!

Netflix subscribers will be drawn to Adolescence for its hook, a formal choice that gives the show a different energy from similar domestic dramas or splashy crime thrillers. Each of the four hours of this harrowing study of the ripple effects of an act of violence unfurls in a single unbroken shot. The 1917 approach to trauma intensifies the bone-deep emotion of the piece by not allowing either the performers or viewers the release that co*es with a cut. We sit with these people on the worst days of their lives as if we’re actually in the room with them. It creates a less passive connection to the characters because they’re all we have to hold onto in these dark moments with no montage or needle drops to pull the curtain down on the emotion of the scene. It helps a great deal that all four hours are anchored by excellent performers, especially Stephen Graham, who may have never been better than he is in this show’s final hour, when a father’s past, present, and future crash into an emotional pileup.

Adolescence opens with DI Luke Basco*be (Ashley Walters) and DS Misha Frank (Faye Marsay) chatting on what seems like an ordinary morning. After a few minutes, they roll through a typical neighborhood to the front door of what seems like a normal family. Armed officers order the family to the floor as they march upstairs and arrest a 13-year-old boy named Jamie Miller (Owen Cooper). As his parents protest that they must have the wrong house, Jamie is dragged down to the station. From the beginning, the formal choice of a oner has an impact in that we’re stuck with Jamie in the back of the cop car, trying to read his body language but also instantly caught up in the chaos of the event. True crime has trained viewers to ask if his behavior is that of the guilty or innocent, but his incredibly young face also reminds us that this is a child. What could he have done to warrant a dozen cops descending on his house?

When they get to the station, Jamie’s parents Eddie (Graham) and Manda (Christine Tremarco) learn the details about the accusations by the end of the first hour: The cops believe that Jamie stabbed a female classmate to death. The structure allows for a procedural approach over this premiere, revealing information slowly as the camera swoops back and forth from the Millers to DI Basco*be to an attorney hired to advocate for the family. It’s a riveting hour of television, one of the best of the year in purely structural terms.

One of the most interesting choices in the production of Adolescence, which was written and created by Graham and Jack Thorne and directed by Philip Barantini, is what happens next. Each of the four episodes has a very different perspective and energy, in part because they’re not consecutive hours. The first two are relatively close, but, without spoiling, the last two jump ahead significantly, allowing viewers to consider why these specific four hours were picked to tell the saga of Jamie Miller. 

After the ensemble approach of the premiere, the other three installments beco*e showcases for different performers, illustrating the tendrils that emerge from a violent act. The second centers on Basco*be as he goes to the school to investigate and awkwardly uses the case to reconnect with his own son; the third is a breathtaking two-hander between Cooper’s deeply troubled young man and the therapist assigned to him, played by Erin Doherty of The Crown; and the fourth brings the case back to the Millers, and allows Graham and Tremarco emotional beats so true and pure that it feels like we shouldn’t be watching them. It’s reminiscent of Todd Field’s In The Bedroom, one of the most striking studies of grief of its era.

Adolescence struggles more with big-picture issues than small ones. When the scripts wade into the muddy waters of what it means to be a teenage boy in the 2020s, co*plete with discussion of deciphering emojis and the power of the word “incel,” it can feel more manufactured to make a point. And there are times, especially in the second hour, when it seems like the structure is rushing the plotting. When you only have an hour to cram in some crucial details about the case, it can lead to unnatural dialogue. It’s a much better program when it allows its characters to breathe, revealing themselves naturally. It’s also worth noting that the writers stick with the Coopers to what some could consider a fault given how much it sidelines the victim of the crime. The show walks right up to this potential criticism by letting DI Frank talk about how crime stories often spotlight offenders more than their victims, but that doesn’t make it less true here. 

Adolescence drops into a Netflix algorithm that is glutted with stories of criminals, both of the non-fiction and Harlan Coben variety. People co*ing to it looking for another intense mystery with a great final twist will be disappointed. This is not that show. It’s a character study about the unimaginable and how parents send their kids into a world that’s increasingly hard to navigate. 

More and more, the social-media world forces kids to skip a step and jump straight to adulthood, bypassing the title of this show. What happens to a culture that turns adolescence into viral fodder and warps expectations of teen se*uality? The most impactful thing about Adolescence is how it feels like just one of these stories of lost youth. In that sense, it’s not a statement or a solution. But it will crush your heart nonetheless.

Adolescence premieres March 13 on Netflix