Photo courtesy of CHANNEL 4

This article contains spoilers for Crashing and Fleabag.

Crashing (2016) is decidedly not a horror series, but the feeling of needing to scream stayed in my throat for the show’s entire 2.5-hour runtime. Viewers of Fleabag (2016-2019) will well be aware of writer Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s fast-paced, heart-wrenching style; but this was something different. You need to scream, but there is no time to scream. There is so much information to be absorbed, so much to be expecting at any given moment, that it feels somehow disrespectful or unlawful to even take a breath.

Lulu (Waller-Bridge) is the protagonist of this underrated comedy, but to call her as such is meaningless. Her arrival to the disused hospital (set in an abandoned building of the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel) drives one arc of the plot, which the three or four other developing couples couldn’t care less about. This isn’t to say the story is disconnected — the most climactic moments are when the subplots all come crashing down on each other — but each character, each couple, is worth rooting for in their own right.

This is coming from someone who basically only binged the whole show from start to finish so I could see for myself the goddamn gay love triangle being resolved. I noticed, though, that I didn’t mind the wait in between those scenes. At times (often (a lot)), I actively enjoyed it. Whether intentionally or not, Waller-Bridge has a knack for writing straight characters that are enjoyable to queer audiences: the dramatic French artist with the nervous divorcee; the outrageously incompatible fiancées; and of course, Lulu with … everyone, besides Fred (Amit Shah), who is gay. All of them have redeeming qualities that weren't being some perfect, conventionally attractive romantic, and it makes the chemistry when two characters do come together that much more enticing.

Before Crashing, Fleabag was my only exposure with Waller-Bridge’s writing; the forbidden heterosexual romance central to the show’s second season was a slap and a punch and kick in the face (in the best way possible, if that is even possible), and I knew I could expect something similar at least for other heterosexual romances she would write. But her eloquence in writing queer romance took me by surprise — hence why I stayed, despite admittedly not caring too much for rom-coms with straight people.

Photo courtesy of CHANNEL 4

By his very nature, Sam (Jonathan Bailey) dominates this queer lens; he is rowdy, sex-obsessed, often entitled and manipulative, and won’t shut the fuck up. (Bailey is better known for his role in Bridgerton (2020-present).) But he was likable all the same. Midway, I asked myself why. Because he’s attractive? Sure; he had the confidence to boot. But deeper than that, it was this undeniable feeling that he was gay — in spite of, or rather exactly because of, his insistence that he wasnt — and specifically for Fred, whose completely antithetic personality made their dynamic one worth cheering for.

For a while, I blindly assumed that Sam’s over-the-top flirting with Fred was a power play, part of his routine macho exaggerated-masculine personality, but at some point a switch flipped. Queer people understand this switch, and Waller-Bridge does too. When it flips, Sam’s chavness becomes flamboyance, and his flirtations become desperate and vulnerable grabs for attention. His insistence on telling Fred, “You’re so gay,” is just him projecting. His rejection of Fred’s advances in the second episode (“Fred. This ain’t never gonna happen.”) becomes a denial of his own feelings, a refusal to accept his queerness despite its obvious existence.

Waller-Bridge makes this painfully obvious later on, with the phony call Sam makes to Will (Lockie Chapman) at his work in Samaritans. But queer viewers, and perhaps some bright-eyed straight viewers as well, have known it from the start. A part of us knows it to be true, and another part wants it to be true. The boundary separating the two is indiscernible.

Wanting Sam x Fred to be true made their triangle with Will all the more unbearable. Even in the lightest of comedies, Waller-Bridge delights in her trademark psychological torture. We are made to writhe in pain as Sam's arrogance and denial tear Fred apart. But finally we get what we want — kind of. We get the classic Sleeping Beauty first kiss at the hospital, and then it’s over. And then it’s not over, and everyone is waiting for breakfast on the couch, and we get one last moment, and then it’s really over. The happily ever after is left to the imagination.

While wildly different in specific subject matter, Fleabag and Crashing share that same feeling of emptiness, uncertainty, and longing after their respective endings. We are reminded that we have been offered a brief glimpse of their lives, and that now we must go. Fleabag had more freedom in this regard, thanks to its fourth-wall breaks; we saw Fleabag leave the camera behind for the first time, never to return or to look back.

Photo courtesy of AMAZON PRIME VIDEO

Crashing can’t be so poetically direct, but nonetheless it does its best. With the group’s eviction now imminent, the hardly reassuring knowledge that Sam and Fred’s relationship is just beginning to take root, and an ominous statement from Kate that she knows of Lulu and Anthony’s (Damien Molony) affair, the sixth and final episode cuts to black, then to the credits.

For breaking my heart without breaking my heart, I give Crashing four and a half out of five stars. ■

Crashing originally aired on Channel 4 in 2016. It is now available for streaming on Netflix.