I have a horrible feeling that I’m a greedy, perverted, selfish, apathetic, cynical, depraved, morally bankrupt woman who can’t even call herself a feminist.
You get all that from your mother.
Good one.
Fleabag lets you in right away on what kind of show it’s going to be. The camera is jittery and in very close on Phoebe Waller-Bridge, the creator and star of the show, and she’s breathing heavily. She cuts her eyes at the camera and rips into a monologue. We then get a sex scene and a frank conversation about anal sex in the next two minutes. THEN the title card. At that point, a lot of people are no doubt already changing the channel; on the other hand, I was in. Waller-Bridge is, no question, a true comedic genius. I laughed at this episode more than I’ve laughed at a TV comedy in a long, long time and half the time, it wasn’t even a line, just the way Waller-Bridge would cut her eyes at the camera or give someone a withering look. She’s got an expressive face and she knows how to use it. A solid supporting cast includes Hugh Skinner as a long-suffering boyfriend and Olivia Colman (Goddess-level) as Fleabag’s catty Godmother. They get exactly one scene each, so something like two minutes a piece, but they make the most of it. I’m less sure about Sian Clifford as Fleabag’s pompous sister; we’ll see where that goes. But everything is kind of building toward Waller-Bridge’s final monologue to a weary cab-driver and it’s a knock-out. That scene alone has me hooked. It’s surprising and brilliantly performed by Waller-Bridge, who brings surprising layers to it. I’m on board. 3 ½ stars.
tl;dr – bolstered by a star-making lead performance and sharp writing, Fleabag is off to an often hilarious and surprising start. 3 ½ stars.