Fleabag (Phoebe Waller-Bridge) is a woman in her twenties in London who drinks a lot, hurts those around her and is barely coping with her strange café. Essentially, she’s a mess. But she’s a pretty lovable mess, and the reasons for it gradually become clear.
I love an unreliable narrator, and it’s so rare to see such a wonderfully unreliable narrator outside of a novel. As she is telling us and herself that she is fine, so much is showing us that she’s not. And what is even real… and what is her perspective of what is real, and… even just thinking back over it, the cleverness of the writing and the way it has been put together just keeps revealing itself.
And then there’s the second season. When this came out, everyone was talking about Hot Priest. I love seeing Andrew Scott in anything, he’s just wonderful. It just kept getting better and better. So wonderful.
ireckonthat 