Fleabag
2016
Original language: English
- comedy
- drama
The story
A portrait into the mind of a dry-witted, sexual, angry, porn-watching, grief-riddled woman, trying to make sense of the world. As she hurls herself headlong at modern living, Fleabag is thrown roughly up against the walls of contemporary London, with all its frenetic energy, late nights, and bright lights.
What it’s like
Sharp, close-up handheld framing that keeps breaking the fourth wall, with the lead glancing straight into the lens while the camera stays tight on her face, so every eyebrow raise lands like a private confession. London here is glossy and lived-in: cramped flats in warm lamplight, bright café windows and grey daytime streets, late-night bars washed in amber and neon, and a cafe-and-office palette of creams, muted teals and dull browns that makes the city feel crowded and a little sticky. The sound is mostly dialogue, quick and bitingly funny, with small musical stings and an occasional sparse piano cue that lets a silence hang. Its vibe is wry, raw and tender at once, the kind of comedy that tips into grief without warning. It suits a late evening alone, a binge over a couple of nights, or a lift in a flat mood. Episodes are short and brisk, with a rhythm that sprints and then stops dead. Its emotional register swings between brittle humour and real sorrow, following a grieving woman slowly learning to face her own mess and let a few people closer. The intensity is frank rather than violent: sexual content and crude talk are frequent and explicit in tone, there is some drinking and arguing, and sadness is raw, but there is no gore and little physical violence. It is for viewers who want sharp, unflinching comedy about loneliness, family and modern dating, and who don't mind swearing and sex jokes.
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