“I May Destroy You”

Content Warning: Minor Spoilers and Discussions of Sexual Assault

If you Google “I May Destroy You review” you receive about 254 million results in 0,52 seconds. I’m late. Nothing I say will be new and there are a hundred different writers who have said it better. Still, I don’t believe there is a single power that could prevent me from singing the praises of this show in a format that didn’t limit me to 280 characters.

Before I started watching I May Destroy You, I caught myself up on Michaela Coel. I’ve loved and followed her work since Chewing Gum. She’s been busy. Black Mirror, Black Earth Rising, that one line she had in Star Wars. Even if you don’t know Coel by name, you know her face. E. Alex Jung wrote a positively thrilling profile of her earlier this month, which led me to her 2018 James MacTaggart Lecture.

If you haven’t had the chance, I’d highly recommend both. Start with the profile.

Then I fooled myself into believing I was ready to watch I May Destroy You. No one can be ready. There is just the experience and the reckoning once you’re finished.

I May Destroy You, the 12 episode story of Arabella — a young woman trying to rebuild her life after her rape — has already been described as a masterpiece, as raw and honest. The one word that keeps coming to mind for me is tangible. There are so many moments you can fit yourself into. Multiple characters you could play for one second. It isn’t realistic, it’s real. These are authentic moments televised for us. It feels private. It tastes like a revelation.

Coel is the creator, writer, co-director and executive producer for the BBC One and HBO collaboration. Her influence shows. Who knew a comedy-drama based on sexual assault was even possible to create? Considering the series is based on her assault, Michaela did.

There’s something immeasurably valuable about seeing victims of sexual assault experiencing a range of emotions on screen. About seeing victims being shaped and defined, not by the event itself, but rather by the recovery and how they decide to go about it. About the ugliness and humanness that comes with healing.

There’s also something cathartic in all the types of assault Coel is willing to discuss. Rape, stealthing, uninformed consent, withdrawn consent, how you need consent for each sexual act. They aren’t all addressed in the dialogue, but Coel takes advantage of her medium. If words won’t say it, visuals will.

Let’s talk about characters for a second. Aside from the fact that I too would like Ben for a housemate, I cannot say I genuinely like any of these characters. At the same time, I adore them. There are no pure heroes and villains. Coel writes her characters in a way I’ve always wanted to see on international television. It is not their “otherness”, whether that be race or sexuality, that makes them compelling, yet their blackness has not been erased from them either. She embraces complicated characters and employs them to their full potential. Almost everybody is terrible in their own heartfelt way, a way that allows her as creator and us as the audience to explore the complexities of friendship, social media activism, health, and of course, assault. Even at their worst, you can still sympathise with them. Kwame’s apathy while spray painting as he comes to terms with his assault. Arabella’s defensive ruthlessness even with those she loves. Terry’s insistence on “self-care” as she babies her best friend to cope with her guilt. Zain and even David are made familiar. In the latter’s case, he may not be redeemable, but he is made to be very human.

During Coel’s MacTaggart lecture, she speaks about her assault, and about how we focus so much on perpetrators and their monstrosity, instead of on victims and whether they are being allowed to heal or find justice. About how no one cares when both victim and perpetrator are nobody in a world where names are everything. She took that, and she gave her characters — nobodies and somebodies alike — a chance to reclaim their humanity.

Humanness is such a big theme within this show. No monsters are hiding under the bed, or in the cupboard whilst the lights are off. There are just people doing terrible things. This is reflected in how heartbreakingly funny I May Destroy You is. Some moments were so serious and yet, I couldn’t help but laugh at the comedic elements thrown in: Arabella messing with Zain’s head and his guilty conscience whilst she thanks him for painting with her; Arabella caressing a corpse on the bus and smiling at the only other passenger; Arabella stopping her doctor from giving his prognosis so she can record and post a video for her followers; David reassuring her that he’s just a rapist before he starts listing every type of rape he’s committed. The moments are dark but there’s still light in them, even if that light is inappropriate laughter.

And then there’s the power of perspective. For most of the series, Arabella provides our point of view and there is both power and weakness in this. For example, Biagio. He is absolutely a victim-blaming, drug-dealing hypocrite, but he is not the antagonist of that scene in episode 8, titled “Line Spectrum Border.” She breaks into his house. She pushes boundaries the entire episode until she travels to another country to break into his house. His reaction, whilst extreme, can’t be faulted.

The music and costume departments deserve a round of applause. We got a soundtrack that both managed to blend into as well as enhance the scenes we were watching, and I have been listening to the aforementioned soundtrack on repeat, just to enjoy it. It is very well-curated. The costumes not only suit the characters, they tell their own story. Each outfit is memorable and reflects changes in the characters who adorn them. Even Arabella’s wigs tell us something.

A question I kept asking myself during this masterclass of a show is, who is the “you” in the title?

Is it us, the audience? Victims of sexual assault? Perpetrators? Arabella? Her fellow characters? Perhaps it is Coel herself being destroyed. One hundred and ninety-one (191) drafts of I May Destroy You were written, a process Coel described as being cathartic. It made me think. Perhaps it was harmful as much as it was healing. Perhaps the only thing to do after trauma is to destroy oneself and build again.

Ultimately, this is a story of healing. We see it in how Zain is allowed to return if only to be helpful, but mostly we see it in that final episode. I’m aware I’m probably in the minority, but I loved the finale. I did not grow to love it; I saw the credits and loved it instantly. The scenarios are not real, or rather, they don’t have to be. They are a “what-if” sequence, for Michaela, Arabella and us. They are a process of letting go and saying goodbye.

The finale left some loose ends behind. Kwame’s storyline feels unfinished, as he is just beginning his journey of self-reflection. There are already calls for a sequel, possibly with another character being the main protagonist. I understand, but I don’t agree. I believe it should end like this. It is the end of a story but not the end of theirs. They do not cease to exist. They continue to be, just as the audience will continue to be, and life and trauma and healing will continue to happen to all of us. On and off-screen.

Michaela Coel has created an impactful, gut-punching piece of work. She has filled it with moments that were seamlessly integrated into the story, and yet will somehow live in my mind for a very long time, simply for having stolen my breath away. Perhaps in a year, I’ll be able to watch this show more critically, though I highly doubt it. In the meantime, whilst I recover from being shattered by a 12 episode limited television series, I find myself agreeing with E. Alex Jung: “Michaela the Destroyer” is a fitting title.