TV Review: Fleabag Season 1
Each of us, whether we’re willing to admit to it or not, carry pouches of pain. The size and weight vary, even the way we deal with it is never the same from person to person. Some may put up a facade of jovial cheer. Some would guard this precious cargo as if their very lives depend on it, people wouldn’t be wrong to assume any outside interference may result in complete annihilation. Some, still, would hide behind sardonic putdowns pretending they’re okay, even if it’s pretty obvious to anyone with eyes, the witty retorts are just their chosen distance enforcers, providing people invested enough some level of entertainment while discouraging them from risking getting close enough to be in the splash zone of the tempered bile.
That is exactly the spot where we find our beloved and prickly protagonist, Fleabag. Yes, that’s her name. Just go with it. She lures us in by talking to us directly, letting us in on all her filthy thoughts and risqué take on things (she masturbates to a fucking political icon for Pete’s sake). We’re all her chosen tribe, with no one in the world of the show knowing her in the truest sense of the word. She convinces us we in the audience are her only confidants. But if you pause, even just for a bit, you’ll realize that her direct addresses to us mask some inner pain. No ordinary human can keep up the barrage of witticisms she throws our way, without the cracks showing. Something’s gotta give, right?
Another unmistakable indicator something’s amiss: her unquenchable thirst for sex. It doesn’t even matter with whom, anyone game is welcome. Now, we’re onto her. Some event in her life went sideways and she’s filling that hole (pun unintended) with unfulfilling, functional trysts with strangers. Not to mention, she’s roping us in to convince herself everything is alright. If she can make us LOL, then nothing can be wrong, right?
Oh, dear reader, oh girl. Phoebe Waller-Bridge, the show’s star and creator, has talked about the relish she luxuriates in knowing that once she’s got people howling with laughter, that is THE very moment to sucker punch every single one of us naive babies. For yes, our instincts were correct, she is burying a world of pain beneath all those zingers and the not graphic sex.
Waller-Bridge is a master at distraction. She reels you in with funny stories about Fleabag’s struggling guinea pig-themed cafe (Hillary!), her antagonistic but ever loving relationship with her sister Claire (the utterly mesmerizing Sian Clifford), and her barely cordial interactions with her artistic godmother/evil stepmother (THE Olivia Colman, almost stealing the show from under PWB). And just as you’ve gotten comfortable with the cringe comedy setups par excellence, Waller-Bridge pulls out the key to unlock Fleabag’s armor. She’s laid bare for everyone to see: a full, unadulterated view of a human being struggling with guilt on top of all the survival requisites (money, being number one on that list as her guinea pig cafe struggles throughout the season).
There is no pat redemption arc for our feisty Fleabag, however. This is not that kind of show. The pivot is hinged on desperation, as many of our actions in life are, and an unexpected act of kindness. Is it a cop out? Definitely not. The show may be caustic and acerbic to the high heavens but it does leave room for generosity and love, as perfectly embodied in Fleabag and Claire’s complicated sisterhood.
After breaking our hearts, the show patches us back up by making the case for second chances. There may be no go-backs and do-overs for most of the pain we cause others but there will always be an opportunity to do better for others but more importantly, for yourself.