Hysteria Over Adolescence: Why Troubled Men Deserve Better Than Buzzwords
At Acting Coach Scotland, we’ve been watching the internet lose its collective mind over Netflix’s Adolescence—a show that’s sparked more pearl-clutching than a Victorian melodrama. The culprit? The so-called “toxic masculinity” of young men, splashed across the screen like a bad pantomime villain. Even Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s jumped on the bandwagon, famously misjudging Adolescence as a “documentary” not once, but twice. If only his Net Zero commitments were as fictional as this Netflix thriller—alas, poor judgment seems to be the real drama here. But we’re not here to buy the hype. We’re here to train actors in the truth: complex characters, layered performances, and stories that don’t bow to clichés—without ever condoning misogyny, violence, or harm.
““Its somewhat disconcerting for me, having researched this topic, to see this show being brought up in Parliament. Policy decisions should be based on sober research, rather than a piece of performance art””
Let’s lean on expertise to unpack this. William Costello, a doctoral researcher at the University of Texas at Austin, studies incel psychology—those involuntary celibates often scapegoated as “toxic masculinity” incarnate. On his recent Triggernometry podcast (catch it here), Costello shows that young men aren’t the snarling misogynists of Adolescence fame. They’re wrestling with self-worth, misreading social cues, and facing mental health struggles—not excuses for bad behavior, but realities that deserve understanding over caricature.
At Acting Coach Scotland, we challenge the lazy narrative with evidence from our craft—acting—and a few iconic characters who might be misread as “toxic” by the Adolescence crowd. To be clear: we firmly reject any forms of violence, hatred, or misogyny. It is however, an Actor’s job to explore complexity—flawed heroes and villains worth studying, not emulating in their darkest moments. Spoiler: there’s no such thing as “toxic masculinity” or “toxic femininity”—just humanity, messy and multifaceted.
Tyler Durden: The Rebel We Dissect, Not Defend
Take Tyler Durden from Fight Club (1999), played by Brad Pitt. He’s a charismatic anarchist who rejects society, starts fight clubs, and rails against emasculation—“We’re a generation of men raised by women,” he snaps. A “toxic masculinity” poster child? Not so simple. At Acting Coach Scotland, we don’t condone his chaos or misogyny—blowing up buildings and punching faces isn’t heroism. But Tyler’s a reaction to a world that’s left men adrift, a role we’d coach students to unpack, not praise. His complexity lies in his pain, not his fists—something Adolescence misses with its one-note villains.
Tony Soprano: The Mobster with a Heart
Switch to The Sopranos and meet Tony Soprano. A mob boss who kills and cheats—sounds “toxic,” right? Look closer. Tony’s in therapy, battling panic attacks, and weeping over ducks in his pool. James Gandolfini made him a flawed everyman, not a monster. We don’t cheer his violence or betrayal at Acting Coach Scotland—those are flaws to portray, not virtues to mimic. Costello’s research aligns here: men aren’t inherently “toxic”; they’re shaped by pressures. Tony’s a hero to study for his humanity, not his body count.
Travis Bickle: The Loner Who Reflects Us
Then there’s Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver. A gun-toting loner with a savior complex—Adolescence might tag him an incel and move on. But Robert De Niro’s Travis craves connection, muttering, “Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets,” from despair, not dominance. His vigilante streak isn’t laudable—we don’t teach students to idolize gunplay or obsession. Costello notes many young men feel unseen, not entitled, and Travis reflects that struggle. He’s a warped hero saving Iris (Jodie Foster) for meaning, a role to analyze, not replicate.
The Myth of “Toxic” Anything
Here’s the crux: “toxic masculinity” isn’t a thing. Nor is “toxic femininity.” These labels oversimplify human struggles, pinning bad behavior on gender instead of choice. Costello’s work shows men like incels often face depression and isolation—not justifications for misogyny or violence, which we unequivocally reject, but calls for empathy over scorn. That’s every character worth playing—flawed, not “toxic.” The online world wants sermons; at Acting Coach Scotland, we train actors to dive into the raw truth: people are complicated, and great acting honours that without endorsing harm.
Starmer’s gaffe—calling Adolescence a “documentary”—shows how fiction gets mistaken for fact when it suits the narrative. The Spectator caught him out, a reminder that leaders and shows can misjudge reality. At Acting Coach Scotland, we’re not raising woke warriors or violent tropes. We’re crafting actors who can embody Tyler’s turmoil, Tony’s contradictions, and Travis’s quiet fury—complex figures who prove humanity isn’t a problem to fix, but a story to tell, flaws and all.
So, to the Adolescence hysterics: take a breath. It’s a gripping yarn, not every young man’s soul. And if Starmer wants a real fiction to tackle, maybe he should start with his Net Zero promises—now that’s a plot twist we’d love to see unravel.
