Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s “Fleabag” is one of the most influential TV shows to ever grace streaming services. Waller-Bridge based the limited series on her one-woman play of the same name, and after the success of her production, BBC picked up the television show. The show follows an unnamed character referred to as Fleabag, played by Waller-Bridge, as she navigates complicated familial relationships and the death of her best friend. I’m ashamed to admit that I initially watched “Fleabag” from reposted clips on Tiktok and Instagram. But after actually watching the series in its entirety, I’m currently submerged in an emotional frenzy. Shots from scenes throughout the two seasons have lacerated my subconscious. Even following Andrew Scott’s advice to “pull [myself] together, open the curtains, and get outside” hasn’t worked. Touching grass and going for a walk has only increased the emotional strain this show has caused. So, although deeply delayed, I need to discuss this dark-humored show and how Waller-Bridge has permanently rewired my brain.
“Fleabag”’s brilliance comes from its undeniably multidimensional characters. Through their development, the show slowly unfolds the reality of intimate relationships, especially the impact family has on forming meaningful connections and the way we navigate our self perception. Waller-Bridge displays each character sympathetically: they’re vulnerable, self-sabotaging messes. The series’s humor develops complicated but endearing dynamics across the span of it. For example, in Season 1, Fleabag looks behind her shoulder and exchanges seductive eyes with a dog. Undeniably shocking, the scene exposes the viewer to her poorly disguised, deep loneliness. In effect, she hides her vulnerability behind humor. In Season 2, the viewer laughs along with the Priest as Fleabag admits she “worries she wouldn’t be such a feminist if [she] had bigger tits” at a Quaker meeting. However, this moment exposes a deep insecurity over her body image and femininity. In fact, throughout the series Fleabag struggles with her self-perception, often using comedy to soften her pain.Even in the first episode, she admits that she is greedy, perverted, morally bankrupt, and “can’t even call herself a feminist.” This parallel illustrates how obvious her insecurities are. She reveals them plainly, and uses clever jokes to disguise her vulnerability.
Moreover, Fleabag’s first-person perspective reveals her intense isolation and unsettling solitude. By speaking directly to the audience and breaking the fourth wall, Fleabag estranges herself from reality. The show never explains this device, and the audience can only assume that it functions as a sort of dissociation. Given that the series begins right after the traumatic death of her best friend, Boo (Jenny Rainsford), the audience is left to believe that she began this pattern of disassociation as a form of trauma response. After Boo’s passing, Fleabag shields herself by avoiding sharing any vulnerability. Her relationship with the audience is purely superficial and functions as a device to complain, joke, and hide from genuine feelings. After emotionally taxing situations, Fleabag actually ignores us. She rants to her father (Bill Paterson), Boo, Claire (her sister, played by Sian Clifford), and the “Hot Priest” — her words, not mine (Andrew Scott). But never us. We are not her friends. Rather, we are “excuses” that allow her to retreat to a safe space within herself. We help her escape problems and avoid emotional defenselessness.
Additionally, her struggles with vulnerability bleed from her mental to physical relationships. She dissociates during sex with most of her partners (except the Priest), but it remains an integral part of her identity. In a comedic tone, she admits that she “uses [sex] to deflect from the screaming void inside [her] empty heart.” Though we’re aware that she profoundly loved her best friend, she had sex with Boo’s boyfriend. This act ultimately pushes Boo to suicide, and the gaping loss caused by her absence forces Fleabag to reevaluate her toxic relationship with sex. In a state of emotional turmoil and forced self-reflection, she disassociates (i.e. talking to the camera/audience) as a coping mechanism.
However, her pattern of self-isolation slowly deteriorates. By the end of season one, her relationship with her family becomes stronger, only to break down completely in a series of gut-wrenching misunderstandings. Fleabag’s sister, Claire, believes that she tried to kiss her husband, Martin. Claire refuses to hear her sister out, even though, in reality, Fleabag actually denies Martin’s advances. Simultaneously, Fleabag’s dad ignores her in his attempt to “choose his happiness,” as he sees her as a burden on his relationship with his soon-to-be wife, Godmother (Olivia Coleman). Fleabag is truly alone. With no friends and little to no contact with her family, it is hard to understand how she copes with the pain. The audience incredulously listens to her claims of having a “nice life.” But there is still an expectation of a mental breakdown which never comes. Instead, the series makes you sit quietly with Fleabag, intensifying the sadness we feel for her and our hope for change.
Finally, at the beginning of the second season, Fleabag’s situation starts to change. Entering a family dinner, she meets the officiate of her father’s wedding. However, Andrew Scott’s “Hot Priest” is edgy, young, and attractive. In the midst of their riotous dinner, he looks at Fleabag amongst the crowd of voices and truly sees her. He notices her dissociation and forces her to become vulnerable. As the two grow closer throughout the second season, Fleabag pushes the Priest to question his faith, which ultimately makes him feel closer to God. Simultaneously, he challenges her to let down her walls and embrace her vulnerabilities. The two eventually fall in love, but their relationship is unsustainable; they were never meant to end up together. They served specific purposes in each other’s lives. She let the Priest into the most intimate parts of her life, and she will be able to do it again with someone new. As the Priest leaves, a new chapter in Fleabag’s life begins, but this time, the audience doesn’t follow her. The show ends with a new Fleabag, who is finally vulnerable and ready to secure fulfilling relationships.
Honestly, I’m still reeling from the overwhelming impact this show has left on me. I could write on and on, analyzing the Godmother, Claire, Martin … But if I can leave you on a final note, let it be that no matter how intense a situation, emotion, or problem, one thing will always be true — it’ll pass.
