So, when completely ignored by awards ceremonies like the Golden Globes, it seems not only emblematic of the kind of narratives Hollywood is ready – or willing – to hear, but also illustrative of who they are ready to hear them from.
#Golden globes i may destroy you series
What’s interesting is that Michaela Coel’s series goes further into examining the intricacies of consent than Promising Young Woman.
This year, Promising Young Woman rightfully earned itself four nods, for Best Drama Motion Picture, Best Actress in a Drama Motion Picture, Best Director and Best Screenplay of a Motion Picture.
#Golden globes i may destroy you tv
In 2020, Fleabag’s second season won two of its three nominations: one for Phoebe Waller-Bridge as Best Actress in a Comedy/Musical, and the show itself won Best Musical/Comedy TV Series. Chiefly, I was upset that I May Destroy You – and by extension Michaela Coel – did not get a single nod from the Hollywood Foreign Press in this year’s nominations. So I was disappointed when the 2021 Golden Globe nominees were revealed – for a number of reasons. It’s imperative that I don’t give too much of the film’s plot away – the movie's efficacy lies in the element of surprise. Promising Young Woman is a relentless revenge thriller, one that places the actions of every character under a microscope for nearly two straight hours. Then, she lets the penny drop, revealing that she has been stone cold sober the whole time.įlipping the victim/attacker narrative on its head can be a dangerous tactic that runs the risk of creating viewer apathy on both sides, but it works in Promising Young Woman and I May Destroy You, posing a question rather than providing an answer. She allows him to lead her to his home, where she sits unresponsive, making feeble protests, while he essentially force feeds her drugs and alcohol and tells her everything’s going to be alright. Promising Young Woman, the fantastic directorial debut of writer-director-actor Emerald Fennell (known for her recent turn as Camilla Parker-Bowles in The Crown), follows Cassandra (played perfectly by Carey Mulligan) as she goes to clubs and bars, feigning intoxication to the point of falling over, lying in wait for the first man who assumes he can take advantage. But Coel’s untethered revenge fantasies in the final hour of I May Destroy You – quite different to the heart wrenching last moments of Fleabag’s second season – were hauntingly similar to another 2021 film. The journey undertaken by both women from their respective pilot episodes to their finales is about personal growth. Fleabag may not delve as deeply into the subject as I May Destroy You, but you get the sense that, if their protagonists met in a certain guinea pig-themed café for a chat, they might both have a laugh and a cry about that particular set of shared experiences. While Fleabag is a lost, upper-middle class white woman whose main trauma stems from the death of her best friend, the two share experiences of sexual assault. Both characters make horrible mistakes many times over, causing audiences to question who we’re rooting for in nearly every episode. More inclusive and certainly more sardonic than Fleabag (to which it is often compared), I May Destroy You painstakingly follows its heroine as she pieces together the events leading up to her own rape – and the audience is left to watch her deal with the immediate and lingering aftermath of her trauma.įleabag and Arabella, though they come from different parts of London and have distinctly different backgrounds, share some similarities. The show spends its time meticulously unpacking the vicious ins-and-outs of consent and sexual assault in the Internet age.
The HBO dramedy about working-class black writer Arabella Essiedu (played in the series by Coel) is brilliant. It felt like the floor had fallen out from under me. Then I saw Michaela Coel’s I May Destroy You. One moment is flooded with poignancy, the next with cheeky and exquisitely timed to-camera glances. Waller-Bridge engages in a brilliantly choreographed dance between the poetic moments of the script and her knack for sharp comedy. Finally, a nuanced discussion of the woes of modern dating from a complex, completely unreliable female narrator, who was wittier than I could ever dream of being and more deeply flawed than I’d ever admit to being. Six months ago, I didn’t think I could ever be as in awe of a television series as I was of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag. Well, the Golden Globes have done it again.
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