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Millennials seem to vacillate between two polarizing #moods: unspecified rage,eroticism example and a seemingly psychopathic disassociation.

That's what James and Alyssa, the teen leads behind Netflix's new dark comedy series The End of the F***ing World, embody. Their personas of unbridled fury and panicked dispassion are quickly revealed to be the defenses of two deeply traumatized brains.

But, like, same.

The two protagonists, like many millenials, hide behind whatever person they tell themselves they are. So tough, fearless, cussing Alyssa can pretend she's not actually a powerless child inside. And James doesn't have to admit he feels nothing, but only because he feels so much that he can't bear any of it.

Engulfed by an era of unprecedented change, anxiety, and uncertainty, Alyssa and James exemplify our generation's struggle with freedom — whether we're fighting for it, or being utterly clueless when we get it.

The End of the F***ing World is as electric as it is understated, with writing as beautiful as it is plain. It never fails to surprise, but maintains an acute sense of familiarity. Like its two unconventional heroes (played by the impossibly likable Jessica Barden and Alex Lawther), the story of a would-be teen boy serial killer and lovesick runaway is tragic, but not in in the way you think.

This is an apocalypse, as the title promises.

The show sells itself as a black humor murder mystery. It is, but in the same unorthodox way that TBS's Search Partyis. There's no mystery to the murder propelling the plot forward, so intrigue is replaced by a nervous dread. Inverting the traditions of murder mystery, the true victims of the crime are also the killers. Their violence feels like the most human response to the brutality the world inflicts on them.

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Balancing on the tightrope between expectation and the reality, you're steeped in the experience teenaged doubt. The huge discrepancy between what is said, and what is thought through James and Alyssa's inner monologues captures the schizophrenic psyche of a youth culture that feels adrift. Vilified. Fucked. Lost.

Millennials seem so damn sure all the time. We insist loudly and proudly that we give no fucks, or self-diagnose ourselves with every manner of mental illness to try and explain why we feel so aimless and empty. We broadcast everything, sharing our personal lives with the entire world, but nobody knows us.

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Until, against all odds, someone does.

That's what makes Alyssa and James perfect equivalents to the Bonnie and Clyde of our generation. From the 1930s through the 1970s, the murderous It Couple catapulted to some deep part of the cultural consciousness. The public's fascination with them had little to do with the actual crimes or historical figures, since both were romanticized beyond recognition.

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But as icons, they appealed to the scarred psyche of a generation trying to cope with everything from The Great Depression to WWII and even Watergate. Bonnie and Clyde were the ideal image of sexy rebels (crystalized by Arthur Penn's classic 1967 film) raging against a rigged establishment by breaking every social rule to get what was theirs.

You can imagine why they were beloved by a population that had suddenly lost all faith in the institutions that'd promised them safety, security, civility -- before throwing them to the dogs.

Like Bonnie and Clyde, Alyssa and James are outsiders. But unlike Bonnie and Clyde, Alyssa and James are far from idealized career criminals. They're kids, awkwardly stumbling ass backwards into becoming outlaws. Instead of revenge, they seek a purpose. And their haphazard path to high stakes criminality is paved only with the best of intentions, and hilariously amateur mistakes.

Where previous generations needed glamorized rebellion, millennials want an honest reflection of being caught in a permanent state adolescence. Fumbling to find their place in the world, Alyssa and James are desperate to understand who they are, grasping for any semblance of stability or connection.

SEE ALSO: Why surprise Golden Globe nominee 'The Sinner' is a must watch

The villain persecuting Alyssa and James isn't really the law, either. In fact, the character most empathetic to their plight is a government agent tasked with catching them. No, the real antagonists in The End of the F***ing World are the parents. The people who -- either through incompetence, negligence, abuse, or absence -- failed to prepare them for the world.

Millennials never really had faith in the adults running institutions, be it the police or school teachers. But we needed to believe our parents had our best interest at heart. And ultimately, we feel most betrayed by the people closest to home.

Because, sure, the real source of our millennial plight comes down to economic decline. And yes, it's mostly the media blaming us for ruining everything from avocados to love. But who do you think caused that economic clusterfuck we inherited? And who's scapegoating us at the dinner table for the rapid changes of a modern technological world?

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Our parents were the ones who were supposed to protect us, defend us, give us answers. But at worst they imparted trauma, or at best misguided principles. Like the generation before us realizing that the people in charge royally screwed them over, we're still trying to reconcile with the fact that mom and dad aren't coming to save us.

"People can't be answers," Alyssa thinks to herself after turning to her father for help. "They're just more questions. Questions like, 'Why are you such a fucking useless dad?'"

The End of the F***ing Worldcarries the restless, enraged ethos of an entire generation on its slim adolescent shoulders. But it does so by zooming in on the very human collateral damage that is the cost of our societal unrest.

You might be tempted to disregard the series as just another angsty teen drama. But I dunno — maybe we should start listening to what our kids are trying to tell us?

The End of the F**king World is now streaming on Netflix

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