4 STAR RATING
SPOILER ALERT
Baby Reindeer is Netflix's haunting new 8-part series that follows the bizarre and unsettling real-life interactions of obsession between a stalker and comedian, Richard Gadd, whose character is named Donny. Through intimate, beautifully poetic monologues written and spoken by Richard Gadd himself, and unsettling encounters with his stalker Martha, played by Jessica Gunning, it delves deep into the psyche of both predator and prey, leaving me disturbed and captivated. Baby Reindeer reveals the chilling complexities of desire, validation, and obsession, whilst exploring the intricate dynamics of infatuation and manipulation, whether it's platonic, romantic, or professional.
The show begins lighthearted and funny, but then descends into darkness, portraying experiences of grooming, sexual assault and rape. Whilst many scenes were incredibly hard and distressing to watch, others were eye-wateringly honest and open. Hauntingly portrayed is a sort of subconscious coping mechanism, where after the sexual assault, and trauma of being stalked, Donny begins to sexualise his experiences. He starts to reclaim his power and replays the moments of abuse through experimentation with strangers, or masturbation, in a guilt-inducing search for answers, which I have never seen play out in another TV show or film.
Donny's understandably self-destructive aftermath and intense craving for approval, even if from the abuser, only fed his insecurities. The desperate need for validation and the frequent reference to pity is palpable throughout, intertwined with the importance of parental acceptance and support. As the series progresses, it becomes a harrowing tale of two individuals grappling with their own demons and desperately seeking healing amidst a tumultuous journey of obsession and madness.
Donny’s struggle with following his dreams of fame as a comedian is enough to send someone into a spiral, as he faces failure repetitively. This greatly reflects the fluctuation of highs and lows in so-called ‘unconventional careers’. I found the scene where Donny bares his soul in a tearful confession in episode 7 to be very cleverly introduced. In an earlier episode, his comedy sets within the Edinburgh Fringe Festival open with a loud (both in volume and fashion) full of energy entrance, with music, costumes and hip thrusting, he then abruptly stops and leads with “My mum died today”. This style of juxtaposition comedy bled into real life, as in the penultimate episode Donny breaks down on stage sharing all of the awful experiences and stress he has endured. As the crowd sits in an awkward silence, he then plays his jingle about condoms and popadoms on a noisemaker and then leaves the stage. The set became him and swallowed him whole.
Jessica Gunning's ability to unravel on screen was utterly impressive, and I was conflicted with seeing her as the villain when so clearly troubled and unwell. Richard Gadd's genuine vulnerability and bravery within Baby Reindeer is an unforgettable performance, and even more so knowing that these are his life experiences and own words.
In the end, I believe Martha and Donny share many similarities, whether Donny would like to admit it or not. They start out both as dreamers, lost in their imagination and aspirations for the future. They are ceaseless when it comes to something they love and yearn for, for Donny, appreciation and comedy, and for Martha, appreciation and Donny. Martha noticed his pain, which he recognised when he said “Martha saw me the way I wanted to be seen”. And Donny saw hers, even if in the form of offering a free cup of tea. They also relate in their fears, and in their depths of obsession. Her infatuation was infectious, and he too was soon obsessed. Even when in prison, her shadow lingered at the bus stop or in the old answer phone messages which still flooded his ears.
Baby Reindeer is a compelling and thought-provoking exploration of trauma, desire, and the complexities of human connection. In the end, they were just 2 people desperately struggling to heal.
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