Review by Dan Morrow

There’s a certain irony to Jamie Oliver, Britain’s best-selling non-fiction author and the nation’s favourite culinary campaigner, returning to our screens not to wage war on turkey twizzlers, but to take a blowtorch to the education system itself.

Oliver’s campaigning nous is undeniable. His last education campaign also kicked off with a TV programme, way back in 2005.

Jamie’s School Dinners transformed the national consciousness about school nutrition, and he is still fighting that fight. Just last March, he was calling on government to “step up to the plate” and extend free school meals eligibility.

I’m happy to follow in his footsteps with kitchen-related wordplay, so ready, steady, cook.

First off, it’s pretty clear to me that Oliver’s latest campaign will be anything but a flash in the pan.  

With Jamie’s Dyslexia Revolution, he serves up a documentary that is as raw as it is restorative, a dish best tasted with a side of professional humility, especially for those of us in education.

Oliver’s story is familiar to many: labelled ‘special needs’ at school, shuffled out of class for extra help and left with just two GCSEs. As he reminds us with characteristic candour, it was the kitchen, not the classroom that saved him.

His dyslexia, undiagnosed until he was 50, became both a source of struggle and, ultimately, a secret ingredient in his recipe for success.

But the documentary is not just about Jamie; it’s about the 870,000 children across Britain who, like him, find themselves boxed in by an “archaic education system”.

The show’s most searing moments come not from celebrity cameos but from the children and families who speak (sometimes haltingly, always honestly) about the emotional toll of being misunderstood and unsupported at school.

The message? The system, not the child, is broken

Oliver’s mission is clear: no child should feel “stupid, worthless, or dumb” just because their brain works differently.

He interviews teachers who admit their training is “not fit for purpose” and highlights the threefold increased risk of exclusion for undiagnosed dyslexic teens. The message? The system, not the child, is broken.

Predictably, #Edutwitter (or should that be #EduX?) has been a bubbling cauldron of reaction.

Some have praised Oliver’s candour and his call for early screening and better teacher training, echoing accessible learning experts who argue we need “a full-scale shift” in how we support all learners, not just “small tweaks”.

Others, ever the armchair sous-chefs, have questioned whether a celebrity can really understand the complexities of classroom life.

But here’s where we, as a profession, must turn down the heat. Respectful scepticism is vital, but so is a willingness to listen and learn. Sometimes, just sometimes, those outside our echo chamber can see what we cannot.

Oliver has been brave enough to address the sector directly and constructively with a well-informed article in these very pages. The flip-side of the pancake is surely to offer him the professional courtesy of engaging with him on the same terms.

If there’s a lesson to be drawn from Oliver’s documentary (and from the best of EduTwitter) it’s this: real progress demands humility.

Oliver’s documentary is not a panacea. One TV show won’t fix a system decades in the making. The real revolution will come not from celebrity campaigns but from a profession willing to be humble enough to adapt.

The genius of Oliver’s show is not in its celebrity, but in its challenge: to see our system as it is, not as we wish it to be, and to be brave enough to change.

In the words of the man himself, “You are NOT worthless.” The same could be said for our profession, if we can accept this programme’s lessons and be bold enough to act.

Let’s not just serve up the same old fare. Let’s cook up something better together.