Lorna Irvine reviews 'a well-crafted' performance that runs out of steam.
Porn. It's the ultimate four-letter word. Contentious, controversial filth, it spreads its seed through society: arousing and an example of free expression for its champions; damaging and exploitative for its naysayers.
Phoebe Waller Bridge's creation, an unnamed woman who may or not be the titular Fleabag, portrayed by Maddie Rice, has no such concerns. Pornography leaves her "as wet as a beach towel"- she is the kind of woman Ariel Levy warned us about: self-absorbed, shallow and entirely defined by her sexuality. She will fuck at anytime, with anyone and even on her period.
Sexting to exes and current boyfriend, she knows she shouldn't but cannot resist. A cafe job with her friend Boo becomes a symbol of her failings and desires; when Boo dies, the woman is incredibly cavalier about it. The only real tenderness is reserved for her late mother, who has died from breast cancer.
But something is lurking in her psyche, and it's manifesting itself in a pet bought for Boo that just won't die.
A well-crafted, occasionally lyrical monologue, vividly performed by Rice, it does however run out of pep quickly, with a compromised ending which seems to be a flimsy excuse for the woman's behaviour. Bryony Kimmings deals with these issues with more warmth, honesty and inventive flair.
At the Tron until February 18, then at the Traverse February 26-28.
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