The End of the F***ing World

‘I’m James. I’m seventeen and I’m pretty sure I’m a psychopath.’


When the The End of the F***ing World was trailed two years ago, I wasn’t sold. I thought the provocative title was a bit try-hard and embarrassing. Then a friend from work who always watches good tele told me how much she was enjoying it and I made a mental note to catch up. When it finished its run on Channel 4, it was quickly bought by Netflix; from there it has become quite the smash, succeeding on both sides of the Atlantic.


The bombastic title might put you off, but it shouldn’t. Although the name feels adolescent, something a thirteen-year-old would come up with having listened to Never Mind the Bollocks for the first time, the execution is seriously mature. Stylistically, I don’t think there’s been a better programme on television since the overlooked Utopia. From the locations to the soundtrack so much care and attention has gone into creating an idiosyncratic show with a unique tone and voice.

The nihilist comedy-drama began life as a graphic novel. Charles Forsman’s book was the starting point from which the TV show is based. Its story of suburban malaise, where two bored teenagers runaway and commit a bloody crime, was read by Jonathan Entwistle. Originally, he planned to adapt the story into a movie; however, the lack of takers meant he changed tact and pitched a miniseries. With Charlie Covell on board to write, the pair have produced a show that's become a sleeper hit.


Its story revolves around James and Alyssa. James lives with his embarrassing dad and the memory of his dead mother. For him, the adult world is phony, the school world a joke. He is Britain’s answer to Holden Caufield. Precocious and stubborn, he won’t be put in a box. Alyssa is similar. Her home life is in turmoil, but unlike James it isn’t owing to a haunting, rather some dickhead who's very much alive – her stepdad – whom makes life a living hell. She too doesn’t fit in at school: the negotiations and compromises of popularity aren’t for her. Less loneliness comes from being on your own than being surrounded by people you don’t like. In the first episode when she leaves her mean girl table behind and wonders over to James, it’s a meeting of minds, a council of weirdness that'll make and break them.


James is happy to have Alyssa’s company. As a child, killing animals was something of an occupation. Now he's older killing a human is his preoccupation. It’s fortunate then that Alyssa has come into view. After all, it’s a truth universally acknowledged that a psycho in possession of a good knife, must be in want of a victim. The thing is Alyssa is anything but a victim. She is a young woman with agency. Her first words to James are: “I’ve seen you skate. You’re pretty shit.” James’ response of ‘Fuck you’ comes as much from respect as it does hurt.

Chekhov's knife: it will go off.

With Alyssa so direct and powerful, she soon leads James on a merry dance. A dance that leads him to punching his dad in the face, stealing the car and flying down the highway. His passenger is quite turned on. What unfolds is a Badlands rebooting - just with Adrian Mole and Pandora Braithwaite in the roles. (I appreciate this A crossed with B facetious style of reviewing is pretty hack, but there is some truth in it. With the 50’s and 60’s rock n’ roll soundtrack, the dirt roads and neon diners, there is the heavy feel of Americana; however, the British casting and consequent accents means it feels fresh and original.) 

The first season’s quality never lets up. Having watched most of the second season, it feels more of the same. For a story about feeling empty, it’s full of beauty. Charlie Covell has to be commended on neutralising this acidic world. Her skill is dropping in just the right amount of romanticism means this star-crossed tale is more about love than death. Lines such as: “Sometimes I think I feel more like myself with James than I do on my own… Everything feels really simple” and “Sometimes James feels like a boy I could love. Like, really love & other times, he feels like a total fucking stranger” are perfect distillations of love.


Much like Catcher in the Rye is confused as a story of teenage rebellion, The End of the Fucking World is actually a cry for acceptance; not a turning away from, but a turn towards love.



  The End of the Fucking World series one is on Netflix. The second series is available on All4.