Palm to forehead, mouth agape, and wiping away my tears with a blanket, I have never had such a physically emotional response to a television show as the first time I watched Fleabag. The mini-series is a one-two punch: What begins as a comedy about the owner of a guinea pig cafe twists into a meditation on the omnipresence of love.
Put simply, Fleabag is about an alcoholic, bisexual, thirty-something-year-old woman who uses sex and humor to cope with her inability to process grief and sustain deep emotional connections. Named after its protagonist, the title acknowledges Fleabag’s flaws by implying she is an outcast; however, her anonymity also creates a mirror for the viewer to observe themselves. Investigating the protagonist’s flaws reveal broader revelations about human nature.
The series is a BBC adaptation of writer and star Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s one-woman show. Fleabag maintains her storytelling authority on screen by using elements of stage performance including strong lighting, staging, and even direct reference to the audience.
With only 12 episodes, its short form and pre-credit cliffhangers practically beg you to binge it. A cymbal-crashing, non-stop crescendo, not a single joke, line, or glance is wasted.
At face value, Fleabag is a bad person. She uses vices to avoid her problems, lies, steals, has sex with her best friend’s boyfriend, and shuts down when asked to communicate. However, Fleabag’s awkward social interactions, inappropriate jokes, and anxiety make her a terribly relatable and even funny character. Fleabag knows that her choices stem from her past trauma. By slowly revealing the roots of her insecurities, her authenticity and clear emotional turmoil win the audience’s hearts. In its totality, Fleabag begs the question: Are people who are self-aware of their repeated poor behavior actually bad people?
By depicting femininity as capable of untamed trauma-infused destruction, Waller-Bridge shows that female protagonists deserve more complex plotlines than domesticity or feminism. In an article for The i Paper, Waller-Bridge writes, “I wanted to create a character who was trying to convince the audience that she was a true cynic in a bid to hide her broken heart beneath. Jokes were, obviously, essential for this set-up to work.” Waller-Bridge toes the line between comedy and drama to create a character that exceeds the rigid confines of genre.
Some of the most funny and tragic moments of the series are when Waller-Bridge stares down the barrel of the camera lens. Never more than a cheeky glance or crude quip, the repeated fourth-wall breaks create a window to candidly view Fleabag’s brokenness. If only for a fleeting moment, she is able to openly communicate with the audience in ways she cannot with her family or romantic partners. At the end of both seasons, breaking the fourth wall forces Fleabag to acknowledge the consequences of her behavior.
The first season walked so that the second could run. Originally released in 2016, the first installment explores the backstories of Fleabag and her family in the wake of her mother’s death. Other members of the cast are also unnamed, including Fleabag’s father and Godmother (and later, of course, the hot priest). Understandably, Fleabag never calls her parents or the priest by their first names. By leaving their identities anonymous, the audience can imagine the characters (especially Fleabag’s parents) in the context of their own lives. The notable named characters are Fleabag’s sister Claire, Claire’s horrendous husband Martin, and her best friend Boo. Each of these characters are highly flawed. What makes the series heartbreaking is that all of them are stubbornly avoidant in discussing their emotions.
Season two challenges Fleabag's fear of communication. The hot Catholic priest is introduced as the first character capable of seeing through Fleabag’s tough exterior. While he desires to be a voice of reason for her, the priest ultimately becomes enmeshed in Fleabag’s life in ways that make it impossible for her to heal. The series finale remains the best conclusion to a television show I have ever seen. If emotional warfare was a crime, Waller-Bridge would be in prison for life.
Fleabag shows that people are more than their mistakes. With great restraint to avoid spoilers, the roots of Fleabag’s indescribable grief and pain are more complicated than how they manifest. To play devil’s advocate, when people are reduced to the consequences of their internal turmoil, the notion of who is a “bad person” becomes fundamentally subjective (there are, of course, exceptions including psychopaths, murderers, and Ted Cruz). Even so, this does not undermine accountability. To truly transcend the collateral damage of unresolved emotionality and miscommunication first requires feeling worth forgiving.
The subtext of Fleabag is nearly larger than the series itself. An exploration of why she must resort to vices, the series attempts to understand the true nature of “bad people.” At her core, Fleabag is capable of loving and desires to be loved, but her previous trauma obstructs her ability to be vulnerable. When her familial and romantic relationships repeatedly falter, the audience is reminded that one’s ability to love others hinges upon one's ability to confront their own internal battles.
In the final episode, Fleabag’s father says, “I think you know how to love better than any of us. That’s why you find it all so painful.” Beyond its calamities, the true crux of Fleabag is that it is human nature to love and be loved. However, despite love’s inevitability, it is also inevitable to be hurt by those we love. If grief is the absence of love, the source of Fleabag’s emotional suffering, then is it worth the pain?
This question is answered in Fleabag’s concluding scene. In the background, the song “This Feeling” by Alabama Shakes plays. A soulful ballad about acceptance, the song’s lyrics are sung with an indulgent slowness that evokes nostalgia. After weeks of listening to it, I recently noticed an organ synth humming during the third verse that can only be described as a sunrise. Frontwoman Brittany Howard sings overtop: “So, I just kept going / I just kept going and hoping I’m growing near / Well, that’s good and fine / I spent all this time trying to find my way here.” While we may lie, hurt, forget, and be forgotten, the cause of incredible grief and pain is also the antidote. And so, a new dawn rises.
