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This article is part of a three-part series breaking down the technical and thematic aspects of the Netflix series 'Adolescence". Read Apeksha Priyadarshani's "A Technical Masterpiece Exploring Teenage Misogyny" and Debanjan Dhar's "The Nightmare That is School" When the local police break down Jamie’s door in Netflix's 'Adolescence', his father’s reaction is something one can immediately recognise. It’s a look of fear, disbelief, confusion, along with an assurance of there being some sort of miscommunication.
How could a normal suburban family have anything to do with a violent murder? And yet, as the episodes go on—we begin to see how the meek, scared teenager has other sides to him deeply tucked away, revealing themselves only in certain moments. It’s a particularly harrowing thing to witness from the point-of-view of Eddie—a plumber, striving day and night to give his children the best life possible. It’s a deeply-felt performance, conveying the shame of ‘raising a killer’ and grappling with an endless pit of questions about what they could have done differently.
Yet, the family decides to live the rest of their lives with their heads held high—not letting their dignity get consumed by the stigma that society would like to attach to them. Adolescence is the latest within a sub-genre of films/shows that grapple with parenting as a horror story. In Lynne Ramsay’s We Need To Talk About Kevin (2011), Eva lives in the aftermath of her son Kevin’s horrific mass-murdering act in a high school.
In one of the most tense scenes, Eva comes face-to-face with a woman, who appears to be a parent of a deceased child. She splashes her cup of juice on Eva’s face. What’s most chilling about it is the resignation on Eva’s face, the shame she can’t let go of; believing she is deserving of such humiliation in broad daylight.
The film and the series deal with a parent’s worst fear—What if we’ve given birth to a criminal? There’s no real manual to parenting. How does one keep an eye on their child, without suffocating them and pushing them away? Can a parent, with their love and devotion, cure a child showcasing psychopathic tendencies? Or can a parent’s neglect turn a fun-loving child into an outcast—longing for attention from their peers, driving them to dangerous lengths? The isolation of teenage is captured with eerie authenticity in The Girl From Plainville (2022) on Hulu—an eight-part miniseries around the ‘texting suicide case’ with a teen called Michelle Carter at the heart of it. An investigation into the suicide of an 18-year-old Conrad Roy found that he was in touch with his girlfriend, Carter, while going through the act.
Apparently, Carter coaxed him to go through with it—and was thereby charged with involuntary manslaughter. The 2022 series, despite its passionate view of Carter’s deteriorating mental health, concludes that she did it to get the attention of her peers. The most harrowing part about these films and shows is how clueless the parents are.
They’re all diligent, checking up on their kids, trying to be there, trying to grant all their wants and desires, in a bid to keep them happy. And despite all of it; how the children manage to lead a secretive existence. Eva, despite being a reluctant mother, tries her best to be there for Kevin.
In a way, they share a twisted intimacy—where she is the only one who sees the pure, unhinged evil in him. On the other hand, her husband Franklin makes excuses on their son’s behalf, and tells her to stop projecting her paranoia onto him by painting him as a monster. In one of the most discomfiting scenes in the film, we see Kevin unfeelingly crushing cereals on the kitchen top, on the same day he’s about to slaughter his batchmates.
How does one reach out to a child who has shut down? They’re somehow convinced that the parents can no longer shield them from the suffering they feel around their friends in school/college. Counselling or psychiatric medicines are seen with the accompanying stigma of one being ‘crazy’—hence, one finds themselves resisting clinical diagnosis. There’s no fixed answer—given the myriad of elements in the equation that could vary for any situation.
As the last piece of dialogue sees Eva’s character ask Kevin—“Why?” Kevin simply shrugs his shoulders and says, “I used to think I know, but I’m no longer sure.” The final episode of Adolescence superbly captures the crests and falls of a family grieving their son’s act of violence. It begins on Eddie’s 50th birthday—where he’s upbeat about an English breakfast his wife Manda is making him.
They’re humming their favourite tune, whispering naughty things to each other, and opening gift cards. This feels like a family in remission, trying to heal 10 months after their son’s arrest. That’s until their daughter Lisa screams for her father, asking Eddie to come to the front door.
Someone vandalised Eddie’s plumbing company truck by spray-painting ‘nonse’ (a British slang to refer to an alleged or convicted sex offender, especially those involving children) on it. The episode follows the family as they seem resolute on not letting cruel teenagers take control of their day. They drive down to the nearest supermarket, intent on fixing the truck with a paint job, and making plans to go to the movies after that, and possibly grabbing some Chinese food for dinner.
Given the unbroken camera take, the episode captures a multitude of emotions. Even though one might be angry beneath, one could put on the facade of happiness, only if to ensure that the world around them doesn’t look at them with pity. It looks like the Millers have spent enough time trying to compartmentalise their self-worth from the crime of their son, and as a result have made the decision to be happy.
But their strong resolve is broken in the most unexpected places. Like at the supermarket, when a salesman recognises Eddie as Jamie’s father and makes a chilling confession (hinting at how widespread the incel culture is)—it shakes Eddie’s happy delusions. As he leaves the place, he finds the kids who vandalised his car.
A distraught Eddie ends up having a very public meltdown in front of the rest of the townsfolk. Driving home in a stunned silence, the family gets a call from Jamie, who informs them that he’s going to plead guilty. In a strange way, it brings a catharsis to the Millers, who can move on knowing their son has stopped lying to himself (and them).
They sob over their responsibility as parents—asking if there’s anything they could have done differently to prevent it from happening. Could they have paid more attention, been friendlier to him, kept an eye on his computer and phone’s browsing history? Could they have done more to fix his low self-esteem? At one point, Eddie asks Manda—“How did I make him?” Lisa walks into the room, fully dressed up, intent on lifting her family from the day’s all-round misery. “The same way we made her,” Manda tells Eddie.
Tatsam Mukherjee is a film critic and culture reporter. He is currently based in Bangalore. This article is part of Outlook’s April 21, 2025 issue 'Adolescence' which looks at the forces shaping teenage boys today—online misogyny, incel forums, bullying, and the chaos of the manosphere.
It appeared in print as 'Parenting As A Horror Story'..
