Phenomenal Phoebe Waller-bridge hits the West End
It qualifies as the theatrical event of the autumn, perhaps even the year. As a hot ticket, it’s on a par with Harry Potter, as high on the list as Hamilton.
Fleabag, the phenomenal creation of Phoebe Waller-bridge (and the making of her career) first came into the world as a play. Then it was transformed into two award-winning BBC series that left viewers here and overseas smitten with (or should that be bitten by?) her scabrously funny, achingly sad anti-heroine.
Now in a final gilded goodbye – following a wrenching season two finale in April – Wyndham’s is hosting a 30-performance reprise of the original stage-work. It was the big gala opening last night, duly crammed with fans, friends and so on – including Fiona Shaw and Andrew Scott from the series, and Waller-bridge’s playwright partner Martin Mcdonagh.
The glittering West End is a far cry from the musty Edinburgh fringe venue where in 2013, the then little-known actress first gave full voice to a singular creature – “young, sex-obsessed, angry, dry-witted” – who in her vitality, intelligence and psychological complexity spoke for a generation of women. In going back to square one to give Fleabag her final curtain, Waller-bridge – now 34 and the new queen of British comedy drama – is taking a big risk.
Those lucky enough to have got hold of tickets are likely coming to this back to front – knowing what will happen to the character. The 70-minute spiel (entailing interactions with sundry recorded voices) contains much that fed into the first series. The confessional style – that flirty complicity between Fleabag and her audience – plus many of the winning lines, toe-curling flings and familial flare-ups, with darker baggage besides – wound up in the TV product, helping to make it a triumph.
It was the second season, though, that gave Waller-bridge her claim to artistic greatness as well as fame. Is it worth looking at the acorn when
you’ve marvelled at the oak it gave rise to? The answer is a resounding yes.
Fleabag unplugged (directed as before by Vicky Jones) still has a live-wire energy, attaining freshness despite its age through its bare-bones storytelling. Waller-bridge sits nonchalantly in a high chair, clad in simple reddish sweater and skinny trousers, the eponymous character’s life told in a mosaic of vignettes (as if in flashback during a terrible job interview) that are greater than the sum of their parts, pulling together a profusion of thoughts about guilt, emancipation and self-worth.
In terms of subject matter it’s as if one of Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads monologues has been crossed with Marie Claire – the chat ranges across “slutty pizzas”, outrageous porn and unprintable encounters. What’s striking is how extreme some of the material is compared to the television version: there are jokey asides about sexual molestation and domestic violence against women. The job interview set-up anticipates Metoo, but the flippancy belongs to a less censorious time.
Moving in a heartbeat from a graceful smile to a look of crumpled despair, and using her expressive gangly frame with the punctiliousness of a mime artist (a physical finesse we hardly got to see on-screen), Wallerbridge gives us a panoply of characters – a drunk girl, mouth agape, a man projectile-vomiting on to a stranger, even a guinea-pig (a resident at the themed café she used to run with her deceased best friend Boo) strutting its stuff to rock music. Waller-bridge will work on bigger beasts going forward (the new Bond film included) but this small but perfectly formed little critter of a show – fluffy on the outside but with sharp teeth – is a model of how to achieve theatrical riches on a shoestring.
Fleabag is in cinemas from Sept 12; ntlive.nationaltheatre.org.uk