Forever, review: an unforgivably slow-paced adaptation of Judy Blume's seminal novel

Telegraph

08-05-2025

Sometimes a show can live up to its name for all the wrong reasons. Sprawling sluggishly over eight, hour-long episodes, Netflix's new teen drama Forever really does feel like it goes on… well… foooor-evaaaah.
This is a huge shame because, if only it were zippier, it would be precisely the kind of thoughtfully conceived and tenderly acted coming-of-age tale that our kids (and their parents) need right now: a perfect counterbalance to the worst-case scenario of Adolescence.
Created by Mara Brock Akil (best known for endearing sitcom Girlfriends and drama Being Mary Jane), it's based on Judy Blume 's classic, 1975 novel written in response to her then-adolescent daughter's request for 'a story about two nice kids who have sex without either of them having to die' – the then-typical 'punishment' for sexually active fictional teens of the era.
In the introduction to later editions, the straight-talking, sex-positive author set out her intention to push back against the prudish and dishonest teen tropes of the period. 'Girls in these books had no sexual feelings and boys had no feelings other than sexual,' she wrote.
Instead, she described two sweet, flawed and fumbling characters who lost their virginity together, 'responsibly'. Blume trusted her young readers to handle the information provided with equal responsibility – although anyone who passed the novel around the playground in the 1970s and 1980s will recall some serious snickering over the fact the male hero had nicknamed his penis 'Ralph'.
Banned by many American schools and libraries, Blume's books were loved for the honest way in which she normalised teen fears and desires. They were short on plot. The characters in Forever meet, fall in love, have sex, grow apart, accept their relationship doesn't have to last a lifetime, and break up.
Akil's series follows the same arc, updating themes to the 21st century. These kids have to navigate a world of social media confusion, viral sex tape-shaming , manscaping and ADHD diagnoses – and it's not a world through which their engaged, loving parents are always fully equipped to guide them. Akil also shifts the setting from New Jersey to sun-dazed Los Angeles and her characters' ethnicity from white to black – a switch which gives the show some much-needed bite. These are kids who don't just need to take precautions between the sheets, they also need to be prepared for the police stopping and searching their cars. Their parents are understandably terrified for their safety.
Interviewed for the Telegraph earlier this month, Akil (the mother of two teenage boys) spoke of the 'vulnerability' of young black men. So while in Blume's original, the male hero was more eager to have sex and the heroine was wary, Akil's version offers a bolder, more sexually experienced heroine Keisha (in the luminous Lovie Simone) and a more sensitive and socially awkward male lead Justin (adorable newcomer Michael Cooper Jr). Both kids are athletic and academic high fliers, meaning too much of the show is devoted to the finer details of their college applications. Their misunderstandings (and those of their parents) take far too long to resolve, with the relentless ellipses in text exchanges sound-tracked by too many drowsy R&B slow jams.
Kids whose attention spans stay the course will be rewarded with wholesome life lessons (learnt at the expense of character mistakes) and adults will gain insight into the often baffling challenges of modern youth culture. Consent – and how to put a condom on a cucumber in the dark – are covered.
It would be beyond excruciating – or 'uber awks' in Gen Zese – to watch the sex scenes together as a family. But Keisha doesn't meet 'Ralph' until almost five hours into the series. By which time, I fear, most viewers will have dumped the show.