Fleabag was the first play I went to see at
the Fringe this year, my playwright friend Lisa bought the tickets after
hearing it was good. She also bought us tickets for something SO awful that we
had to walk out of it, it was totally dire, something from the Royal Court’s
writing program about a post-apocolyptic hotel where everyone spoke in insipid
cliches, Christ it was terrible. We were not the only walkouts but for some
reason the thing still got good reviews. The lesson is you can’t trust reviews
at Fringe time.
HOWEVER. Fleabag, a one woman monologue
written and performed by Phoebe Waller-Bridge, was just a wonderful first play
to see in Edinburgh this summer, made me think it was totally worth it giving
up those tickets to see DanRads who would probably be rubbish anyway (turned
out he was amazing, boo!). She was an excellent story-teller, the performance
and delivery was so good when I remember it I remember the specific scenes, the
café, the train journey, the characters, the outfits she was wearing, yet
Waller-Bridge was sitting on a stool dressed in black for the whole
performance. This is talent.
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