A bittersweet 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, in this very modern mix of fatalism and hedonism, sustaining a merry-go-round of broken dreamers. By turns hilarious and heartbreaking, this is the thoroughly disarming confessional of a woman so totally detached, she’s utterly lost, and ultimately wondering what the hell she ought to be doing in life. Much like the rest of us.
8.7
