Adolescence Netflix creators open door to follow-up amid ratings and awards buzz

After a record-breaking run, the door cracks open

A four-part British crime drama shot in relentless single takes just became the first streaming title to top BARB’s weekly TV ratings in the UK. Now the people behind it are rethinking the plan to leave it as a closed chapter. Speaking to Variety about a potential return for the series, co-creator Stephen Graham said, “We’ll see how the figures are,” and added, “There’s the possibility of developing another story.” For a show pitched as self-contained from day one, that’s a gear shift.

Adolescence landed on Netflix in March 2025 with a tight focus: a 13-year-old boy, Jamie Miller (Owen Cooper), arrested after the murder of a classmate, and a community staggering through the aftermath. Co-created by Graham and Jack Thorne and directed by Philip Barantini, the series staged each episode in one continuous take. No cutaways. No breathers. Just the claustrophobic pull of a crisis unfolding in real time. It wasn’t just a stylistic flex; it put the audience shoulder to shoulder with the characters as the fallout spread.

The results stunned even the people who made it. Beyond the ratings feat—a first for a UK streamer in BARB’s weekly top slot—the series racked up thirteen nominations at the 77th Primetime Emmys, including Outstanding Limited or Anthology Series, and has already picked up two Creative Arts Emmy wins. Performances from Graham, Julie Walters, Gillian Kearney Tremarco, Cooper, and David Doherty earned nods, signaling that awards bodies felt the punch as much as viewers did.

What makes Graham’s fresh comments more striking is how firm the original stance sounded. He previously told Netflix’s Tudum that the team wanted to “end” where it began—in Jamie’s room—pulling the story into a full circle. That felt definitive. The new line—“There’s the possibility of developing another story”—isn’t a promise, but it signals the one thing network executives and fans always hope for: genuine openness.

There’s movement behind the scenes, too. On April 9, 2025, Deadline reported that Netflix and Plan B Entertainment were in talks about a second series. That report didn’t come out of nowhere. The show’s cultural footprint grew fast, fueled by word-of-mouth and the way it tapped anxieties around youth violence, the manosphere, and the unnerving power of online harassment. Amelie Pease, who plays Jamie’s sister Lisa, told Cosmopolitan UK, “I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended up going for a second season.” The cast seems game, which matters.

Not everyone on the creative team is racing toward a sequel. Co-creator Jack Thorne has been careful about what a continuation should be. Asked whether the next chapter should focus on Katie—the murdered classmate—he pushed back. “I don’t think we’re the right people to tell Katie’s story,” he said, pointing out that other writers might be better placed to build a drama around girls like Katie. The first series, he stressed, set out to tell Jamie’s story fully. Extending into a different perspective, if mishandled, could dilute that clarity.

That tension—audience demand on one side and creative discipline on the other—is the heartbeat of the current moment. Some shows chase momentum and come back thinner. Others reinvent. Adolescence was built as a “why-done-it,” not a whodunit, asking what pushes a boy into violence and what happens to the people in the blast radius. If it returns, it needs a question that feels just as necessary.

Stylistically, there’s another fork in the road. Barantini shot every episode in a single take. It gave the show its identity: unblinking, immersive, almost theatrical. Keeping that approach would preserve the brand but ramp up production stress—choreography, rehearsals, camera precision, actors operating without a net. Changing the grammar, though, risks breaking the spell that pulled people in. Barantini has a track record with long-take storytelling, and here it wasn’t a gimmick; it was the engine. If there’s a follow-up, expect long talks about whether to hold that line.

The business logic is clear. Netflix rarely turns self-contained hits into ongoing series, but it’s not unheard of. Ryan Murphy’s Monster started life as a one-off and then morphed into an anthology under the Monsters banner. Outside Netflix, HBO’s Big Little Lies was sold as a limited series and returned for a second run after awards heat and audience appetite. Audiences don’t care about marketing labels—limited, anthology, ongoing—they care whether the new chapter justifies its existence.

Adolescence has one big argument in its favor: it touched a nerve. The show folded in the manosphere, social media dogpiles, and the way radical ideas drift into a teenager’s orbit without anyone noticing until it’s too late. Parents recognized it. Teachers recognized it. The four episodes didn’t preach; they observed. That’s why the aftermath felt wider than the crime. If the team builds another story inside the same universe, that ecosystem—phones, forums, algorithms, and school corridors—is the natural terrain.

What a follow-up could be—and what stands in the way

Let’s deal with the obvious path first: continue Jamie’s life after the arrest. That would thread the needle between audience curiosity and the creators’ caution. It keeps faith with the original focus while pushing into new territory: courts, youth justice, therapy, the media machine, a family trying to rebuild. It would also test whether the one-take format can sustain a legal setting or institutional spaces without feeling like a stunt.

There’s also an anthology option—different characters, same issues. That model fits the show’s thematic backbone and respects Thorne’s instinct not to claim ownership of a victim’s perspective they don’t feel equipped to write. From a production standpoint, it offers freedom: new locations, different rhythms, a fresh cast. From a brand standpoint, it risks losing the emotional continuity that helped the first series punch through.

Ethically, the creators are navigating a minefield. Centering a perpetrator can look like sidelining a victim, especially when social feeds flatten nuance. The first series worked because it refused easy redemption arcs or cynical shock value; it stayed with the messiness of cause and effect. Any return would need to be just as strict about boundaries—no sensationalizing, no tidy catharsis.

The industry mechanics matter here, too. Netflix will weigh awards momentum, viewing hours, completion rates, and how the show performs across regions, not just in the UK. BARB’s historic top slot proves domestic reach; Netflix’s internal data decides the rest. Plan B brings scale and prestige, but the calculus includes cost. One-take episodes aren’t cheap, even if they look stripped back. Rehearsal time, technical crews, and reset days add up.

Scheduling could be a headache. Graham is juggling acting and producing commitments. Thorne is one of the busiest writers in British TV. Walters, Tremarco, Cooper, and others saw their profiles rise off the back of this run. Locking a window where everyone’s available to do something this tightly choreographed is half the battle.

If the green light comes, expect months of quiet development before anyone rolls a camera. A follow-up like this doesn’t survive half-baked ideas. The room would need to agree on the core question first, then build set-pieces the one-take format can carry without gimmick fatigue. There’s a reason you remember specific sequences from the first series: hallway confrontations, distracted phones buzzing at the worst moments, a fight that felt like it might spill into your living room. That level of planning doesn’t happen fast.

The cast are already setting the tone publicly. Pease sounds open. Graham sounds open. Thorne sounds careful. That mix signals a creative team that won’t chase a season two just because the numbers are good. If anything, the cautious messaging raises the bar: if they come back, it’ll be because the story forces their hand.

What about the audience? The show sparked debates that leap from living rooms to classrooms. The themes collide with real-world headlines: school violence, online radicalization, and the way influencers and forums can warp a kid’s sense of identity. Policymakers are wrestling with this space, and so are platform moderators and parents. A second series would land in the middle of that—and risk being read as commentary, no matter how carefully it’s framed.

One practical question is whether the follow-up would keep the same title if it becomes an anthology. Marketing-wise, the name carries weight. The word itself—Adolescence—anchors the idea that this is about a stage of life rather than a single crime. That gives the brand room to move. It also explains why the show traveled globally. Parents in Manchester and parents in Minneapolis understood the core fear: what is my kid seeing when I’m not looking?

Critically, the first run earned goodwill by refusing to choose sides between a tabloid frame and a social science frame. It never tried to tidy up the mess. You can’t reverse-engineer that tone; you have to earn it again. If the new story leans into courts and institutions, it risks feeling like a conventional drama. If it leans inward toward family and friendship dynamics, it needs to find new ground that isn’t a retread of grief, anger, and blame. The safest route—ironically—is the one that feels most dangerous: pick a hard, precise question and stay locked on it.

It’s worth remembering how unusual the first series looked on paper. A one-take format across four episodes is a daring ask. Barantini and the cast turned constraint into momentum. The camera’s refusal to blink made everyday things—doorways, text messages, pauses—feel loaded with dread. If the team returns, they might tilt the technique: longer takes with discreet seams; a mix of real-time and jump cuts; or a hybrid that preserves intensity without repeating the trick, beat for beat. Purists will campaign for the full single-take again. Pragmatists will argue for flexibility. That debate alone could shape the budget and schedule.

Then there’s the awards shadow. Thirteen Emmy nominations change the stakes. If a second outing falters, critics will call it an overreach. If it lands, it cements the show as more than a lightning-in-a-bottle moment. Awards aren’t the point, but they’re a gravitational pull—especially when renewal talks are in the air.

On the business side, Netflix’s playbook favors global hooks and bingeable formats. Adolescence delivered both. Four episodes meant low commitment and high conversation. A follow-up could aim for the same footprint—tight run, limited episodes, big swing—or stretch to six and risk bloat. If the streamer positions this as part of a bigger strand of social thrillers, that could also shape promotion, release timing, and how it’s slotted against other awards hopefuls.

What does success look like from here? Three beats: a clear story goal that justifies itself without the shock of mystery; a formal approach that feels essential, not decorative; and a moral compass that doesn’t wobble when the discourse heats up online. The first series earned trust on all three. Keeping that trust is the test.

For now, all eyes are on the numbers. Graham’s line—“We’ll see how the figures are”—isn’t a tease for the sake of it. It’s the reality of 2025 television. If viewing holds and awards night is kind, Netflix has every reason to press go. If the creators land on a story that makes their stomachs flip—the good kind of fear—the rest will follow. Until then, the show sits in that rare spot where both a graceful exit and a carefully built return would make sense.

One last point about expectations: a second chapter won’t answer the questions people are asking about adolescence and the internet. Dramas don’t fix things. At best, they give us scenes we recognize and choices we argue about afterward. That’s why this one took off. It wasn’t the twist. It was the feeling that you were sitting in rooms you know, hearing words you’ve heard before, watching a worst-case scenario that didn’t feel unreal. That’s the space a follow-up would need to find again, even if it tells a different story altogether.

So, is a return happening? Talks are real. The cast is open. The creators are cautious. The audience is waiting. And the title now carries a weight that’s hard to ignore. For Netflix, for Plan B, and for the team that made it, the next move is simple and hard at once: earn it. If they do, Adolescence Netflix could be the rare limited series that comes back with its integrity intact.