Don't worry, you're not too late to the game, and yes 2016 was so three years ago, but that was Season One, and in true British "take our time" fashion, Season Two is this year fresh. Don't have one of those primo amazon accounts? Good for you, pat yourself hardily on the back. That guy's a jerk, and here's how you can screw him: start your free trial, binge both seasons of Fleabag and promptly cancel your membership. Boom! Don't forget to cancel your membership though, this cannot be stressed enough. Please do not write huffy comments if you fail in this three part process. For feks sake people, it's only three steps: start, binge, stop. Basically a one night tv stand (12 episodes is all), except everyone wins.
Right, so who or what the hell is Fleabag? Besides the greatest show in the history of the earth as we know it? It is the brain and body child of the extraordinary Phoebe Waller-Bridges. She of the sharp nose and sharper tongue. Right from the get-go the fourth wall is not just broken but smashed to smithereens, as Fleabag winks, smirks, eyebrow arches, and quips at us through every moment, even the naughty, intimate ones. And yes, there are plenty of those.
Fleabag deals with her wacky lays, her wacky family, her wacky friend, her wacky self, but all in the grand Brit tradition of furnishing our comedy with healthy doses of misery, despair, trauma, faith, sex and hidden complexity. Even though Fleabag is a torching tornado without filter, it is not just easy to root for her, it is imperative. Her aim is totally true even when she dives head first into tempting minefields, and the perilous, just can't help herself journey is scream along hilarious. Season One one is revelatory funny. Season Two is simply astonishing. A quenching couple of 6-packs that hits the spot.