By Elena Hijazi | Staff Writer
Will I be the first or the last person to discuss the sheer televised perfection that is
Fleabag? No, especially not with Phoebe Waller-Bridge running the one-woman theatrical
production as the writer, creator, and star of the show. From the fragments of her brilliant
mind, a gem was formed amongst the haze of creative minds that exists nowadays, shadowed
with another treasure – the critically acclaimed show, ‘Killing Eve’. Trust me, I’m not saying
this lightly: She is an overdue breath of fresh air in a money and power-driven industry,
prioritizing artistic expression and detailed and thoughtful storytelling over anything else.
This is evident in her choice to end the wildly popular and critically acclaimed show at the
second season as she originally intended, rather than milk it dry to make more money,
choosing to fulfil her artistic vision rather than achieve any capitalistic gain she could have
made from extending the show further.
Fleabag is one of those shows that leave you wanting more, something not often said
about most shows nowadays. The medium of show business is saturated to the point of
exhaustion. Once a show is popular, expect it to have multiple seasons to a point that renders
the audience confused as to what the show was originally about. Few people take the writing
process to heart, value the importance of coherence, intention, and sensitivity to the craft, and
most importantly, realize when a show has reached its ending. Fleabag, on the other hand, is
not one of those shows. It is 12 episodes of absolute mastery. Think of it as the difference
between a joke that immediately ended after the delivery of its punchline, leaving the crowd
with a Will-Ferrell-sized laughing experience, and a joke that went on for so long you forgot
what the punchline even was in the first place, leaving the audience confused and, quite
honestly, a little sleepy. Fleabag is definitely the former, and well, Riverdale is an example of
the latter.
I love it when a show values the audience’s attention and does not undermine their
level of intelligence with obvious plot-holes and overused cliche tropes. Fleabag is unlike any
show I have ever seen before. It sometimes goes as far as starting a joke in one episode and
delivering its punchline a few episodes later. It breaks the fourth wall in a seamless way that
makes the audience feel like the best friend of the main character. It is neither cringey, nor
overdone. It has, dare I say it, a perfect mixture of comedy and drama. In Phoebe’s words, “It
disarms you with comedy and then shoots you with drama.” Laced with dark comedy and real
emotions, you’ll find yourself split between laughing one minute and tearing up the other.
Fleabag is supposed to be, well, a fleabag. A fleabag is, according to the Oxford
Dictionary, “a dirty or shabby person or animal, typically one infested with fleas.” In a world
where characters are classified as either black or white, a ‘fleabag’ person is infused with
black. We are not supposed to glorify her or think of her as a good person, or a good feminist,
or a good sister, or daughter, or girlfriend. She’s much more than those titles can ever give
her – an honest, flawed woman in this modern world, tinged with the colors of a morally gray
character. Her jokes, often directed at the audience and the people around her, are a cracked
armor through which her vulnerability shines through. The traumatic discography of her life
has rendered her emotionally distanced and stunted until, that is, she fell in love with a priest.
Perhaps, this article has raised some questions, a tad of curiosity, or complete
disinterest. And yet, I plead my case; watch the show! Many things have passed, but the love
I have for this show remains still. That love may well be passed on to you. This is my take on
Fleabag. I bestow it upon you with an open mind and heart.