Skip to main content

For "Fleabag" Fans (II)

1. What a major coup at the Emmy Awards. Nominations not just for the four actresses we would expect--but a fifth nomination, for Fiona Shaw, as well!

2. The second season establishes three love triangles and resolves them all in the final episode.

Dad: torn between family and crazed girlfriend. Claire: torn between husband and Finnish lover. Hot Priest: torn between Fleabag and God.

NPR--often irksome in its hyper-sensitivity w/r/t political correctness--*is* correct in its response to the Hot Priest subplot. Hot Priest abuses his power and then prances off scot-free--and this is especially galling given the many evils the Catholic Church has been responsible for. It's also frustrating to see Fleabag in such a passive role in the final episode. I think Andrew Scott--overlooked by the Emmys, despite giving a performance that surely surpasses Fiona Shaw's--has been weirdly punished for the writing. I think if the Hot Priest plot had been handled more confidently--in the revisions room--Scott would take home some awards this year.

3. What I loved throughout this show: the touches of absurdity. The lustful stepson with the bassoon (who seems to come from Sondheim's "A Little Night Music"). The glamorous friends Olivia Colman has collected, as if they were trophies: "She is a surrogate! He is Iranian AND deaf!" The twisty history of the tiny chesty sculpture. The trajectory of Claire's hairstyles.

4. What a treat--as well--to discover that Olivia Colman doesn't know Dad's name, and that Dad copes with his marital ambivalence by means of a mouse: "I set up this friendly trap in the attic and I had to check to see if a mouse had been detained here. I didn't want a mouse slowly dying, because then the friendly trap isn't so friendly..." Of course, Dad is speaking both about the mouse *and* about his marital situation. A little detail so odd and surprising that it seems to have been taken directly from life.

5. You can't expect perfection at all times, but "Fleabag" came close. How exciting it is to imagine what Phoebe Waller-Bridge might do next in the world!
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...
1 comment
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more