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Alert: Spoilers ahead for those who haven’t watched season 2 of Fleabag.
It wasn’t until episode 3 of Fleabag’s much-awaited second season that the magnitude of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s brilliant writing hit me in the face. Our protagonist Fleabag (played by Phoebe), while having impromptu drinks with her elder sister’s colleague Belinda (Kristin Scott Thomas), is told — or rather reminded of — an important truth that comes with being a woman in today’s world:
Kristen Scott’s mic drop speech materialises womanhood like never before, and leaves the audience with a powerful message — Fleabag is not just the story of a woman, but all women on their quest to survive.
A two-part British comedy series written by Phoebe Waller-Bridge (the woman behind BBC’s Killing Eve), Fleabag is the story of a 30-something woman who runs a guinea pig-themed cafe in London. She breaks the fourth wall in the most unprecedented situations, uses her dark, dry-witted humour to get through the maze of life, and shares a bittersweet (mostly bitter) relationship with her family. She struggles with finances, men, self-esteem.
Basically, Fleabag is all of us and so it isn’t much of a surprise that Phoebe chose to not give her character a name.
Throughout the two seasons, Fleabag is candid about many things: sex, loneliness, finances and most importantly, her relationship with her own body. In the beginning of season 1, Fleabag and her elder sister Claire are at a feminist lecture, when the lecturer asks a room full of attendees, “Please raise your hands if you would trade five years of your life for the so-called perfect body.” Funnily enough, Fleabag and Claire are the only ones to raise their hands before quickly realising.
In episode 4 of season 2, Fleabag finds herself in a moment of quiet reflection with The Priest (another nameless character played by Andrew Scott). From deep within her heart comes a revelation you would never expect. “Sometimes I think I wouldn’t be such a feminist if I had bigger tits”, she blurts out to a silent room full of people.
But each day is still a struggle. Whether it’s Claire’s secret miscarriage that she quietly leaves behind in a restaurant washroom, letting Fleabag take the fall for her at the family dinner table or Fleabag’s honest response about using sex to deflect the void inside her — these women are warriors and every moment is a reminder of how much effort goes into trying to reclaim our own bodies.
Claire and Fleabag’s relationship is unusually endearing. Even when it isn’t, you know something is brewing. Connected only by blood and a mutual hatred for family get togethers, the two sisters are nothing alike. Claire is uptight, cold and constantly annoyed by Fleabag’s attitude; Fleabag, on the other hand, is amused by her sister’s grave behaviour. Yet somehow, their relationship is vaguely pregnant with the idea that, at the end of the day, they’re all they’ve got.
It’s during the second season’s finale that the Claire-Fleabag dynamic truly matures.
Despite not speaking for an entire year after the heartwrenching showdown in season 1, Fleabag is suddenly on the receiving end of a frantic phone call from Claire who is still processing a bad haircut. Immediately, we see Fleabag put on a metaphorical sibling cape and go scream at the hairdresser.
Phoebe’s treatment of men in the show is refreshing. Fleabag’s longtime on-and-off boyfriend Harry breaks up with her after discovering porn searches on her laptop; her brother-in-law is a manipulative and abusive adulterer; unable to cope with the death of his wife, Fleabag’s father has completely shut her out.
Every step of the way, we’re reminded that, just like everything else, it’s best to take these men with a pinch of salt and carry on.
Andrew Scott’s character, the Priest, finds Fleabag just when she’s seemingly getting her life together. Just like Fleabag, the Priest too does not have a name and once again, we don’t need him to. In a devastating moment during the season 2 finale, the Priest looks at Fleabag and in a very matter-of-fact way whispers: “It’ll pass”.
Early on in season 1, in a moment of rebellion, Fleabag steals a statue of a headless naked woman from her father’s girlfriend’s study. From there the statue somehow finds its way to Martin (Claire’s husband), back to Fleabag, then Claire and so on.
In a way, it’s a metaphor for the women of Fleabag. All imperfect, struggling, and going where life takes them.
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