Flicker opens with a bang, and you get the gist pretty early – neurotic English woman, sexual content, breaking the fourth wall in random and expositional asides, absurd situations; your mind goes directly to Fleabag. To say you know what you’re in for would be disingenuous, but Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s shadow looms over this one to such an extent that it feels at times derivative. That’s not to say that Fleabag has a monopoly in shows of this kind, but so much of it, from the coarse wit, the scatterbrained protagonist to the confused romantic relationships, is cut from the Fleabag cloth.
It’s handled well, however, and the quite absurd plot, and all of its characters, develop in such a way that its suspense is palpable; you can’t help but watch from the edge of your seat. The way it offers breadcrumbs of exposition throughout, putting you on the hook and slowly reeling you in, building up to a shocking revelation is artfully done. That revelation, when it finally comes, leaves you feeling so queasy that it’s tempting you say it’s a bit much; but it does the job, a shocking outcome to a sneakily suspenseful story – and an interesting exploration of OCD.
However, the humour can feel a bit on the nose, verging too far on the coarse side rather than the witty, and can take you out of the plot somewhat. The hopeful conclusion that’s constructed also feels slightly rushed after such a harsh reveal. But it still feels authentic; it’s just a shame that Flicker’s influences are telegraphed so plainly, as it takes away from an artfully told story.
Flicker, 12.10, Pleasance, until August 26
