Fleabag: A Review

Family, friendship, faith, and fucking.

They say life is stranger than fiction, but it is often when the lines are blurred that you feel the most impacted by a piece. Fleabag grabs your attention and holds it until you’ve devoured all 5 hours and leaves you in tears, begging for more, simultaneously wishing you’d never watched it in the first place so you wouldn’t have to say goodbye. It holds up a mirror, locks eyes with your soul, and forces you to face what’s within. It’s so brutally, honestly raw and real that it feels like you’re quite literally a voyeur, peeking into someone’s life. The protagonist remains unnamed throughout the show’s two too-short seasons, because she isn’t a character, not really. She is you and me. She is your absent father and your childhood crush. She is the giggle at a funeral and those fleeting thoughts of flinging yourself into the abyss. She is everything that is difficult about being human but also everything that is so, so wonderful. Fleabag is a tragic, poignant, sinfully funny portrayal of the human experience, with acting so exceptional you’ll find yourself forgetting it’s a show. I first saw the clip below and was moved enough by it that I immediately sought out the full episodes, and I’m so glad I did. You will be, too. Trust me. 


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