This was my first, indeed only, exposure to a phenomenon I had been reading about for months, and, I should stress, virtually all positive reportage so to say I was disappointed is like saying Napoleon was disappointed when he failed in his Russian campaign. I felt not unlike a passionate admirer of Rapunzle stand beneath her window and prevailing upon her to let down her hair only to find that even at full stretch it was still twenty feet beyond my grasp.
Review of National Theatre Live: Fleabag
