To Fuck or Not to Fuck: How Fleabag Shows Us That Perhaps, the Phallus Does Feel Emotions
Fleabag, Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s most influential work till now (fight me), is a story that charms through disorder. It is an imperfectly perfect depiction — of acutely flawed characters, awkward dialogues, troubled interpersonal relationships, and almost as a cherry on top, an unrequited love story. It is a comically dysfunctional journey of humor, heartache, and unfiltered authenticity, where breaking the fourth wall is just as common as breaking hearts for Fleabag, our “slightly” deranged, detached, and cynical protagonist. Bridge’s creation invites us into the turbulent and emotionally chaotic world of Fleabag, who tries (really hard) to make do with the vestiges of her shambled life after the tragic passing of her best friend. However, a pause as a result of all this trauma is not a privilege that Ms. Fleabag can afford. And so, she puts forward her best foot (read: black lacy lingerie), bludgeoning her emotions and numbing away all that she feels by seeking validation from men through mindless sex and meaningless relationships- sometimes great, sometimes despicably bad and without fail, always unsatisfactory (you know how it goes). But this is until she is (dare I say) illumed to take a sip from the chalice of love.
Enter the Hot Priest (in s2), a disarmingly charming young man who is set to officiate the wedding ceremony of her father and ex-godmother (another thick layer of trauma we will not be discussing in this essay). From their very first encounter (one that unravels into a catastrophic family reunion) there is an immediately undeniable, incandescent spark between them. As the show progresses, this spark blossoms into a genuine connection — of two equally imperfect people finding solace, companionship, and then, love, in each other’s candor and flaws.
Alas, a priest and a feminist (who very enthusiastically admits at a feminist conference that she’d totally change the way she looks) are a match forbade in heaven. In Fleabag, where most things come down to sex or no sex for our protagonist, this inevitably begs the question: Will they succumb to their desires and take a naughty bite of the forbidden apple?
Fleabag is a show that is unconventional and paradigm-shifting in its construction (and deconstruction) of female sexuality. And in doing so — in a paralleled fashion — it dismantles male sexuality, an element of masculinity that has forever been marked by the timeworn, blaséd portrayal of men as nothing more than entities that exist to please the phallus. Waller’s intentional imbuement of begrimed characters allows her to demonstrate how beautifully complex love, sex, and emotions can be.
Even though there is a lot to unpack from the show in its own virtues, analyzing Fleabag through the lens of Laura Mulvey’s concept of the gaze- one that challenges the very backbone of how patriarchy pervades cinema — opens up an interesting horizon for discussing how film and media can become a frontier for showcasing the kaleidoscopic and nuanced nature of sexuality.
According to Mulvey, under patriarchy, there lies this asymmetry of the “gaze” in most mainstream films, with an implied male viewer deriving visual pleasure from an objectified female performer, drawing a distinct binary between the two. She introduces the idea of scopophilia, an apparatus widely used to predominantly structure the male gaze in Hollywood cinema, which enjoys objectifying women into mere bodies to be looked at. This is extended to the screen through several components of directional choices like dialogue, costume, and cinematography, inherently sexualizing women in a voyeuristic manner; it enforces an eroticized presentation of women that caters to the pleasure of an assumed heterosexual male spectator. As Mulvey reiterates, this pleasure in looking — scopophilia — is integral in forming cinematic elements of fascination and fantasization that perpetuate patriarchal ideology.
Films that adhere to this treat women as consumption commodities, dismembered from their own voice and subjectivity. The male gaze strips women bare (quite literally and figuratively) of any narrative liberty or agency, let alone of the sexual kind. It disregards the true magnanimity of the feminine patchwork, eradicating its subtleties and bottlenecking its ability to stand upright as an entity of its own without having to cower under the patriarchal shadow.
On the other hand, despite putting men on a positional hierarchy, the male gaze imposes an expectation on men to, in turn, decontextualize their own virility under all and any given circumstance. It reduces their sexuality to a barren, caricaturesque form that is empty at the core- superficial, callous, and anesthetized to any emotion. Thus, the male gaze, in a way (albeit not as direct and vilifying as it is on women), objectifies the male viewer too, only allowing him to engage in the cinematic landscape through, for the lack of a better phrase, the phallus. In effect, the male gaze levies deleterious gendered stereotypes on men too; it dissuades them from exploring their sexuality beyond the phallus. Beyond the need to perform their gendered part as a man.
This is where shows like Fleabag present a counternarrative in the cinematic canon. Through her masterful characterization of the Hot Priest, Bridge portrays how men too, can be unrestrained, tantrum-throwing, and vulnerable in their dispositions, especially when it comes to love (shocker, I know). This further subverts gender expectations, portraying a side of masculinity that is severely underrepresented in media. This is perhaps, the magic that ensues when we simply, let women tell stories. The “Oh fuck off, I know!” scene (as I like to call it) of S2E5, captures this sensitivity, this unobstructed, tender rawness that goes unnoticed behind stereotypical portrayals of masculinity, perfectly.
Almost hilariously, after much tug and pull from both ends, Fleabag and the Hot Priest find themselves at that “to fuck or not to fuck” crossroads on the opportune, overcast night that creates the backdrop for this impeccably comedic, yet, profoundly vulnerable sequence (one of my favorites, really). They exchange a witty back and forth (if they don’t, is it even Fleabag?), which builds up to him melting down into an inadvertent confession. Despite being maybe around 5 minutes long, this scene is conceivably the climax (as it were) of the rollercoaster-ride-like second season.
In true Fleabag style, the scene starts with Fleabag directly addressing the audience, breaking the fourth wall, and thus disrupting the notion of the male gaze. It reminds the viewers that instead of being observed, Fleabag, a female protagonist, actively engages with them instead, providing thorough insight into her thoughts and feelings. This perforation is coupled with witty voiceovers, a powerful tool that not only provides commentary (read comic relief) but also guides the audience into her mind as she is interacting with the Priest (women can be funny too, you know). Consequentially, the show’s subjective narrative challenges the objectifying nature of the male gaze; it gives Fleabag absolute contextual control. She can actually tell her own story.
Therefore, this scene is a perfect example of the significance of diametric, egalitarian storytelling in cinema that balances the positions of both the man and the woman, applying a lens that does not commodify them as empty vessels for furthering the scopophilic gaze. Instead, a congruous landscape like this acts to humanize their sexualities, accounting for the myriad of humane intricacies that are braided into experiencing sexual freedom and expression.
Firstly, the cinematography in this scene positions Fleabag and the Priest right across each other, spanning from one to the other as they engage in conversation. There is symmetry in the gaze or dialogue; both are taking up space physically and in conversation. Allowing the audience to see him through Fleabag’s eyes emphasizes her agency in interpreting and engaging with him as a complex individual. While the hot priest is the subject of Fleabag’s gaze here, he is not being overtly sexualized. The air is rife with longing (they’re gonna have sex!) that is lingering on both ends. Neither of them are just objects of their counterpart’s desire — they want each other because of the very human connection that they have. This simultaneously acts to reverse the expectations of gendered archetypes on the protagonists — here, Fleabag, a lady, is the one expressing her sexual desires, whereas the Priest, a man, is trying the hardest to repress his. This struggle, paired with his ability to be candidly open with Fleabag, contests the presumption that masculinity should be synonymous with dominance and emotional suppression.
However, while priests might not burst into flames if they have sex, they surely can (and do) fall in love. The intersectionality of love and lust in these couple of minutes builds this pivotal scene. Throughout the season, we witness both the Priest and Fleabag fumble in front of each other, embracing their most vulnerable (and funniest) selves in each other’s presence. These are awkward, yet, heartwarming instances that allow them to slowly peel through each other’s layers (it’s called trauma bonding). And this scene is almost like a grand manifestation of all that they have shouldered together, the good and the bad. From the very moment the Priest walks into Fleabag’s apartment, we can witness how he’s fidgety, nervous, and contemplative. He is veering on his edges, ready to come completely undone in front of the woman he loves. He is there to tell her that he can’t forego the life he has so willfully chosen, for her. But with every passing minute, both his sanity and his determination to distance himself from her, weans in her presence. His eyes are bewitchingly emotive in this scene, capturing his inner turmoil succinctly. Therefore, his mannerisms in this scene stand out as a radical departure from the traditional stoicism often attributed to male characters. He is far from being fueled by some carnal, animalistic need to please the phallus. Rather, sex with Fleabag will give him the emotional fulfillment of being with someone who understands him, regardless of how difficult of a predicament it puts him in.
Here, the work of another prolific art critic, John Berger, adds to the conversation about Fleabag’s ingenuity, especially in assembling the Priest’s character and its effortless fourth wall breaks. It aligns with Berger’s call for a more participatory and critical approach to art. Berger deeply emphasizes the need to perceive art beyond the superficial and use it as a tool for meaning-making and defying societal norms.
And Fleabag agrees. Despite utilizing the female gaze on the Priest, the show doesn’t reduce him to a mere object of desire or to someone who only desires — it presents him as a character dealing with issues of faith, loneliness, and personal struggles that include his conflicts with loving Fleabag. The hot priest’s vulnerability and internal struggle in the scene contribute to the emerging umbrella of challenging traditional stereotypes of masculinity. This nuanced characterization fosters a more empathetic understanding of male characters in media, offering a more human and holistic exhibition of male sexuality. The sex that follows this scene is curt, diverging from the sensationalized depictions of sex in mainstream media; rather than fixating on the “juicy” details, the show prioritizes the moments that led to it. This layer of complexity adds body to his character and is consistent with Berger’s reiterations of developing an understanding of art beyond surface-level impressions and the societal norms that shape it. By making the Priest a character who openly expresses a spectrum of sentiments like uncertainty, fear, and tenderness, Fleabag defies the one-dimensional, “men think with their dicks” narrative that is often perpetuated by the male gaze. Fleabag takes this a step further by breaking the fourth wall, with the main character directly addressing the audience and therefore, having us perceive the Hot Priest through her eyes.
Ultimately, this scene encapsulates the essence of the show’s genius — its ability to break free from conventional norms and deliver a narrative that humanizes characters beyond the constraints of the male gaze. Fleabag masterfully challenges conventional beliefs and gendered expectations around sex, exploring how it can be an avenue for fostering emotional connection rather than being a purely physical act. It shows that even the phallus, can be sentimental.
