Comedy
Dead Boy Detectives
Dead Boy Detectives targets teens in style and story. But it comes with very adult, problematic content.
We at Focus on the Family think the world of family. You might say we focus on it. We love moms. We love dads. We love kids. We love second cousins twice removed. We love family, and we believe that healthy families offer just myriad benefits to those lucky enough to have one. And for those families that aren’t perfect—that is, all of our families—we also offer advice to help them get a little bit better.
Which is why I think that the British family from Fleabag might want to give us a jingle.
Fleabag refers to a person, by the way—not a hotel, not a grimy, vermin-infected purse, but a woman who owns a guinea pig-themed café. It’s an affectionate nickname, if you will, or would be if anyone in her family was affectionate.
Admittedly Fleabag isn’t exactly the most put-together individual out there. She’s been known to deal with her problems and insecurities through sex and liquor and, if at all possible, more sex. In fact, Fleabag believes that her best friend/business partner, Boo, is dead because of her: Boo wandered into London traffic in Season 1 after Fleabag slept with Boo’s beau. Now, in Season 2, Fleabag is trying to move on and—shocker—to become a better person.
Not that she’s impressed her father just yet.
To be fair, Dad’s never known exactly what to do with Fleabag and her older sister, Claire. Not since their mother died, anyway. When they were children, Dad would show his love by shipping the girls off to feminist lectures—which, incidentally, he still does. But he spends far more of his attention on his daughters’ godmother and his newish fiancée, an artist who specializes in erotica and has mastered the art of passive-aggression. In the show’s opening episode, Fleabag described her soon-to-be-stepmother (played by Oscar-winner Olivia Colman) thusly: “To be fair, she is not an evil stepmother.” What she is, Fleabag then declares, is actually a word we’re not going to print.
Fleabag’s relationship with sister Claire is equally rocky, especially after Claire’s husband, Martin, accused Fleabag of making a pass at him. (In truth, the alcoholic buffoon tried to smooch her.)
Fleabag is the creation of its star, Phoebe Waller-Bridge. It began its existence as a 10-minute stand-up routine, then blossomed to an award-winning one-woman play. The series—broadcast on BBC Three in the UK and Amazon Prime in the States—has been equally well-received, with The Daily Telegraph calling it a “near perfect work of art.”
Which leaves Plugged In to offer the obligatory, “Yes, but …”
Yes, the show is sharp and beguilingly layered. At first, it feels like a madcap dark comedy filled with cleverly caricatured characters. But give it time, and the characters grow deeper, darker, and more desperate. They’re all, in a way, starving—for attention, for respect, for love. But each, in his or her own way, is either unable to show love or incapable of accepting it. Or both. Funny? Yes. But deep down, Fleabag may be one of the saddest shows on television.
And then, of course, there’s the sex.
Fleabag is described as a sex addict, and many of the characters here are defined by their level of sexual activity (or lack thereof). Everyone seems deeply preoccupied by both the subject and act, and we see more of both than we’d care to. Infidelity is both a constant threat and reliable plot point: Same-sex relations and other forms of intimate attraction can be in the offing, too. And in Season 2, at least two characters seem to be attracted to an ostensibly celibate Catholic priest.
Blood and violence can be a part of the story as well—unusual for a half-hour “sitcom.” Language and alcohol use are pervasive. In short, pretty much everything we track here at Plugged In is an issue in this show, save perhaps deep spiritual messages.
Fleabag is bright, engaging, utterly devastating and morally impaired. It’s the lionfish of streaming shows: ISure, it’s both beautiful and grotesque, each augmenting the other. And man, the quills can hurt something awful.
A family dinner at a restaurant goes horrifically wrong, leading to several people getting literally punched in the nose. Indeed, the episode opens with Fleabag wiping away the blood pouring from her nose—then handing some facial tissue to a waitress who also got slugged.
The chaos was precipitated after Claire miscarried in the restaurant bathroom. No one knew she was pregnant until Fleabag comes in and discovers her: Claire refuses help and pushes Fleabag away. “Get your hand off my miscarriage!” She says. “It’s mine! It’s mine!” She does promise Fleabag that they’ll go to the hospital, but after she flushes the embryo down the toilet and returns to the table, she pours herself a glass of wine and refuses to leave (and doesn’t tell anyone, in fact, that she has just miscarried). Fleabag lies, saying that the miscarriage was hers instead—an effort to get Claire to the hospital somehow—to which Martin, Claire’s husband, says it was all for the best. “It’s the kid’s choice if it wants to jump ship, right?” he tells her. (Fleabag coldcocks him in the face thereafter, and he hits her in return.)
A Catholic priest is part of the dinner party, as he’ll be officiating at Dad’s and Godmother’s wedding. He utters a fair number of the episode’s 25 or so f-words, but he also seems sincere in his vocation. Godmother, for her part, makes several snide references to religion, saying she’s always been suspicious of it (while acknowledging how “chic” it might be in certain circumstances), gently mocking the idea of a “calling” and telling the priest she believes prayer is like “talking to yourself in the dark.” Martin crassly notes the physical difficulties of celibacy and marvels (including a reference to masturbation). The priest mentions that his parents were both lawyers and alcoholics (Godmother chirps that one was a lesbian, too), and the rest of his family was “crawling with nuns.” He also adds that he doesn’t talk with his brother much: He’s a pedophile, the priest admits. “I’m aware of the irony of that,” he says. Claire and Fleabag both remark later on about how “hot” the priest was.
Fleabag’s dress is quite revealing. Godmother talks at length about her sex-themed art show in Japan, as well as how open other cultures are to her work. Dad gives Fleabag a gift certificate for therapy sessions, which she opens (against his wishes) at the dinner table. He wanted it to be a “bedroom present”—that is, one that someone opens in the sanctity of the bedroom. “All my presents are bedroom presents, aren’t they?” Godmother suggestively tells him.
People drink a lot during dinner. Martin (an alcoholic) and Claire (because of her secret pregnancy) abstain at first, but both drink readily (and in Martin’s case, secretly) later. Godmother asks if she can go to hell for owning a fur handbag. (The priest says as long as she confesses, she’ll be fine.) The priest and Fleabag smoke. In addition to the show’s two-dozen f-words, we hear “s—,” “h—” and “p-ss.” God’s name is misused a half dozen times, and Jesus’ name is abused once.
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
Dead Boy Detectives targets teens in style and story. But it comes with very adult, problematic content.
An elf mage contemplates on connection and regret as she watches her human friends grow old and pass away.
