‘Fleabag’, the newest addition to the newly revamped BBC Three, will be judged as a continuation the genre of ‘girls’ comedy. A genre that’s led by what’s, sadly, still only small number of engaging female leads who deal candidly with sex (or, in Miranda Hart’s case, talk hysterically to camera about not being able to talk about sex.) What is refreshing about ‘Fleabag’, however, is its cuttingly clever exploration of character.  Pheobe Waller-Bridge’s protagonist (nicknamed Fleabag) is really more of an antagonist. She’s self-destructive, manipulative, but equally, she is witty, vulnerable and has her striking moments of kindness.  In episode one for instance, she helps a drunk woman who’s fallen out of her clothes and into the road, calls her a cab and then in a confused expression of loneliness asks if she wants to go home with her.  She will, perhaps, prove to be the intelligent female anti-hero Caitlin Moran once demanded in a list of things women were waiting for to know they had gained equality (“a female hero who is as complex, odd and sometimes unlikeable as Batman, Sherlock Homes, or Holden Caulfield.”)  Whilst offering the meme-etic ‘that awkward moment when’ crisis failure humour to which ‘millenials’ have become inured. ‘Fleabag’ does it with more intelligence and pathos than say, ‘New Girl’s’ cutsey, Zooey Deschanel who is just so weird and kooky in a way that’s just so safe, clean and daytime friendly that it feels like staring into a cultural abyss and makes one lose the will to watch.

‘Fleabag’ gains strength from its theatrical origin.  It’s direct mode of address gives it its confessional style. That’s something that has indeed been done before, but in it Waller-Bridge retains the core of Fleabag’s original form – the Edinburgh Fringe monologue that was initially adapted from a ten minute debut at her friend’s storytelling group.  This theatrical, storytelling element gives ‘Fleabag’ the psychological depth which can easily fail in sitcoms where character development suffers at the expense of plot.  This feels more like getting to know someone through the anecdotes she tells rather than the tired problem–miscommunication-resolution  form which holds so many potentially good programmes in the chains of a formula as successful as it is stultifying.

The timing is also what makes a comedic representation of a ‘millenial’s problem’s’ smooth where it could easily have been cringe-worthy, clunky and doomed to rely on hackneyed character types.  Although some of these ‘types’ do appear, they are funny – such as the vacuous solipsist she meets on a bus.  You can almost feel yourself scrolling past his crap Instragram posts as he enlightens the viewer with ‘browns are really my colour at the moment.’  And the timing is what holds ‘Fleabag’ together and makes her character so interesting; this is a woman dealing with multiple tragedies, yet her humour rarely loses its poise.  Waller-Bridge’s ability to convey cruel observations, with such wry wit that her audience remain captivated and invested in her makes her like a modern Austen, albeit one who questions if she has “an enormous arsehole.”

A group of five girls at a sleepover find the host’s mother’s box of objects which, they hope, contains some clues as to what ‘gender’ is. Finding a pink dummy, one says, ‘This is to shut you up from the moment you’re born’. There is, then, anger in this show, emerging from feminist, transgender and gay rights perspectives in each of the sketches. Not finding any further clues as to what ‘gender’ is, they then proceed to chant the word as a mantra while searching for it somewhere in the crowd.

It is more a collection of politically charged sketches than one extended play with a linear plot. As a result, the transitions can sometimes seem jarring between shockingly personal anecdotes to savagely ironic humour. It commences with an example of the latter, the five actors acting as five members of a Parent-Teacher Association attempting to tackle the rising tide of ‘lesbianism’ as if it were an infection. Yet this sense of irony is tempered with moments of beauty, such as the opening harmony singing – all coming together to form an all-round unusual experience of disparate yet fused elements.

Personal experiences form the backbone to the content of the play, with each member of the highly talented cast drawing on their own experiences of the issues portrayed to create a unique and unforgettable tapestry of the feminine experience. Each performance night is different from the last, with different stories in different forms making it – yet fundamentally, each night aims to create a similar picture; though different, always showing the notions of ‘gender’ in all their complexities.

So it becomes clear from the outset to the viewer (watching from within metres of the performance) that you will be watching a play with roots in satire. Yet also the play does not descend into purely becoming a comedy, the more emotive sections have left an indelible mark in my mind.Notably, they ask themselves (and ask the audience, reading the responses the audience wrote from the night before) ‘when was the last time you felt powerful?’

This simple question throws up so many of the issues regarding gender and sexuality that the play attempts to address. Many of the responses refer to odd, individual moments that appear to border on the mundane, others state simply that they do not recall the last time they felt powerful, or indeed, that they simply have never felt powerful. The pink dummy from the box comes to my mind when I imagine this – feeling trapped, and disempowered, by preconceived notions of what it means to be a woman.

Yet what this play attempts to show, through humour and deeply personal stories, is that the notion of empowerment is so intertwined with a self-definition of gender. It is a reminder of the adage that ‘one is not born, but rather becomes a woman’. And as such, I recommend those not lucky enough to see it at the Manchester Fringe, to see it at the Edinburgh Fringe if they can. It is an unmissable experience.