Adolescence: Netflix drama that hits too close to home

Twenty-five million viewers, one million in a single day. From the House of Commons to our own homes, Adolescence has ignited conversations everywhere.

But what is it about Netflix’s latest hit that has taken the world by storm? Its themes – knife crime, a teenager arrested for murder – are familiar enough. Perhaps too familiar.  

And, yet, this miniseries is undeniably haunting: a slow-burning ember; a sunburn, harmless at first, only to linger and settle deep beneath your skin. Even the UK parliament has taken notice, with Prime Minister Keir Starmer admitting that he’s watching it with his two children.

Having watched the show myself, I believe its success lies in how it pitches its narrative.

Because Adolescence isn’t just another whodunit.

Rather, it focuses away from the mechanics of crime and explores the psychology of the perpetrator, his inner turmoil, his family’s devastation.

It delves into deeper things than suspense and legal intricacy, and raises disturbing, often uncomfortable questions. What drives a child to commit an unthinkable act? Where does responsibility lie? How much of a person’s fate is shaped by environment, outside influence and upbringing?

We are challenged to look beyond the crime itself and consider its lifelong repercussions – the grief, the remorse, the sheer weight of a tragedy that can never be undone. We are forced, moreover, to confront our own childhood insecurities, the lessons of our upbringing, our own parenting skills and the burdens we unknowingly pass on to the next generation.    

What makes Adolescence so deeply relatable is that this isn’t a dysfunctional or broken home.

It’s disarmingly ‘ordinary’: a father who is neither violent nor neglectful, who works hard to provide; a mother who is a devoted and present homemaker; a sister who is kind, loving and wise beyond her years.

And the 13-year-old boy himself, barely past the age of bed-wetting, who still sleeps with a teddy bear.

This is not the portrait of a family you’d expect at the centre of such a harrowing story, and it’s what makes Adolescence so unsettling. There’s no comforting exit: you are forced to confront the deeply disturbing fact that, sometimes, a murder can happen in a home just like yours. 

Adolescence, then, is a wake-up call, a slap in the face.

It holds up a mirror to modern society and reflects the insidious realities of toxic masculinity, online radicalisation and the relentless pressure on today’s teenagers. Bombarded by trends, expectations and ideologies, young people are scrutinised by social media and judged. They are vulnerable in ways we scarcely understand. 

We are made to see that there are countless other individual stories all silently unravelling, possibly in the bedroom next door. And that, in my opinion, is the ultimate achievement of Adolescence: a drama whose heartbreaking moments are not violent but quiet, mute and unnoticed.

What drives a child to commit an unthinkable act? Where does responsibility lie?- Michela Spiteri

Particularly poignant is the scene where the boy recalls playing football in order to please his father, only on one occasion to see him look away unable to hide his disappointment.

The moment stays with him and festers. Later, in another gut-wrenching scene, the boy sits before a psychologist, desperate for one thing. And it’s not reassurance regarding his future, or absolution over his past, but a simple, aching need to be told that he is not ugly; that he is enough.

This speaks to a universal truth: we don’t always support our children as we should. We may not mean it but our silent expectations, offhand comments and glances of disappointment send subtle, often unconscious, messages that they have somehow failed us. 

And when children feel insufficient and unseen, when they grow up craving validation that never comes, the voices of influencers and self-proclaimed ‘alpha males’ are lying in wait. Psychological damage is inevitable.

Adolescence doesn’t let us off the hook. We see an entire generation at risk, lost to a digital world where validation often comes from the loudest voices online. 

But before we blame the internet, we must ask ourselves whether we are laying the right foundations in the home. Do we really ‘see’ our children? Are we physically and emotionally present in their lives? Are we teaching them to know their true worth before the world tells them otherwise, by which time we may have lost them for good?

As a mother whose son has spent – and still spends – countless hours locked inside his room talking to a computer screen, this series left me both distressed and relieved.

It forced me to confront the uncomfortable truth that, even when our children have food, a roof over their heads, healthcare, education and a warm bed at night, we still need to question whether we have done enough – whether we could have done better. 

And, if we’re honest, the answer is yes. As a parent, I am oblivious and completely unaware of what my son has been exposed to over the years. In today’s world, raising children who are happy and well-adjusted is nothing short of miraculous.

Adolescence offers no simple answers because life is never simple. 

In the final episode, the mother surveys the home she and her husband created and the two human beings they brought into the world.

“This is where we made him,” she says. “But we also made her.” A stark reminder that blame is not simple – two children, same home, exposed to the same love, yet only one lost his way. Nature or nurture?

But perhaps the most poignant moment of all is the final scene. We see the boy’s father – a man striving to be brave, holding it together for the sake of his wife and daughter – fall completely apart.

Because that’s how grief works. It sneaks up on you, reminding you that life could and should have been different. And, in that moment, Adolescence reminds us that, long after the headlines fade, what remains is a broken family carrying a sorrow that never ends.

Adolescence is British TV at its finest – a must-watch for everyone.