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Pheobe Waller-Bridge

Maybe Watch ‘Killing Eve’ Without Your Man Friend

There’s a secret world of women-stuff most heterosexual men have no idea about. But Killing Eve incorporates (and takes seriously) secret nods only women understand, mixing them with the James Bond-esque type of globe-trotting intrigue you might be accustomed to sharing with a dude. But like watching sex scenes with your parents, let me recommend avoiding the awkward and watching Killing Eve’s third season (out Sunday!) without your (straight) male isolation partner.

I mean, aren’t some things better left between us ladies? Take the plotline in Killing Eve’s first season where Villanelle steals Eve’s suitcase and sends it back with beautiful, sumptuous clothes that compliment Eve’s body and express her personality better than anything she owns. It manages to be the ultimate flex, compliment, and shade all at once. Villanelle is showing off her wealth and good taste, she’s demonstrating to Eve not just that she really sees and understands her but that Eve’s selling herself short. It’s a complicated message and it sets the stage for the intimate and nuanced connection that women crave and fantasize about. I don’t know any hetero relationships where such a thing would be even vaguely possible (for the woman, men get this sort of care all the time). Do you really want to have to explain why those clothes are so seductive? So dangerous? So hot?

And it’s not just the clothes (or the makeup — the razor in the lipstick was another beautifully nuanced symbol). It’s also in the way Killing Eve explores and uses food. In season two, Villanelle goes undercover as Billie to spy on tech billionaire Aaron who might be killing those in the way of his data empire (spoiler: he is!). Along the way, he develops a fascination with Villanelle but maintains his distance, treating her to several elegant meals. The catch? He sits with her and watches her eat pappardelle and more, but never so much as gets a plate himself. It’s a clear sign that he’s an evil neurotic and it says just as much about Villanelle as it does about him. What kind of woman would eat those meals by herself? Flaunt all the conventions around gender and food? And with such gusto? A psychopath!

Food may often be used as a metaphor for sex (remember those Carl’s Jr. ads?) but Killing Eve pushes the envelope by focusing on the female side of desire. Villanelle isn’t just hungry, she wants a certain kind of dining experience and she gets it without the traditional and overplayed phallic symbol. And while Villanelle’s obvious allure may seem like something you’d rather not to discuss with your man-sexy-times-person, it’s really Eve’s choices that make the whole thing unbearable awkward. She has what’s supposed to make us heterosexual women happy — a loving husband (who cooks no less) and a nice home. But all that domesticity is boring as hell when the allure of a beautiful, dangerous love object is clearly within reach. Eve tries to have both, shielding Nico from the bloody details (the stabbing) but trying to bring some of the excitement home (remember when they have sex while Eve is thinking of Villanelle and Eve thinks it’s great but Nico hates it? Yikes!). So are you ready to have a frank conversation about how marriage is a trap for most women? How most of us don’t find our fulfillment in doing the dishes and boosting a man’s ego? Yes or no?

And the list goes on from there. It’s the food, the fashion, the sex, even the violence reads differently with women as the aggressors and only sometimes the victims. We women are conditioned to see ourselves as potential victims, learning all sorts of ways to avoid male aggression. But on Killing Eve we see both feminine power unrestrained (Villanelle) and female invisibility (The Ghost) resulting in violence and the experience is… freeing? Watching Killing Eve is both scary and tantalizing at the same time. Created by Phoebe Waller-Bridge (of Fleabag fame) and led by a different woman writer each season, the show mines women’s experiences, methods of communication, and worldviews to create something new and sexy and seductive. So maybe let your male partner watch it. But be prepared to have him understand you better in ways that might not be totally comfortable.

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Sleeping with Your Priest: From “Fleabag” to “El Crimen del Padre Amaro”

Pheobe Waller-Bridge created something rare and amazing with Fleabag — a show that completely inhabits a complicated (some may say “damaged”) woman’s perspective and finds humor and humanity. The second season won all the awards, and rightfully so, for its depiction of the relationship between our troubled protagonist and a Hot Priest.

Watching it, I was conflicted. Am I supposed to root for the relationship or want Fleabag to get the hell out of there? On one hand, the Hot Priest is in fact hot. He’s also adorable (see the thing with foxes) and really sees Fleabag (he’s the only one who notices her asides). But on the other hand, he’s not available! I mean, the man has taken a vow of celibacy. And he likes being a priest so it’s not exactly a surprise (spoiler coming!) that he picks God over Fleabag (although it’s not out of the realm of possibility that one might choose Pheobe Waller-Bridge’s incredible magnetism over the Catholic God).

No matter what side you fall on though, Fleabag is notable for how it takes you through the relationship from the (white) woman’s perspective. We are with her as she first meets the Hot Priest, checks out his congregation, learns a bit about the Bible, and eventually, even, has sex with him. From Fleabag’s perspective, we see the pain and the pleasure of another manifestation of her self-destructive behavior. Only this time, it’s more poignant because she finally manages to forge a real connection, even if it’s doomed from the start.

Catholicism is harmless, horny, and hilarious when seen through Fleabag’s eyes

In her relationship with the Hot Priest, Fleabag’s happiness is at stake and we want her to have it. To her, the Catholic church is an oddity, a quirk of her family. It didn’t help commit genocide against her ancestors, destroying their sacred places and building churches on top of them. It doesn’t still influence the politics, economies, and culture of her homeland, providing social services in failed states while also upholding patriarchal anti-abortion laws. It holds no greater power than to thwart her love life.

Obviously, that’s not true for many of us. So when the story of transgressing the vow of celibacy is told from the Latino perspective, it looks really different. Take the 2002 sensation, El Crimen del Padre Amaro. It also features a hot priest (who didn’t/doesn’t have a crush on Gael Garcia Bernal?) who breaks his vow, this time with Ana Claudia Talancón’s Amelia. This Spanish-language film won all sorts of awards too, even becoming one of nine films from Mexico ever to get nominated for Oscar’s Best Foreign Language Film.

But while the set up’s and critical responses are the same, pretty much everything else is different. For one, El Crimen is told from the priest’s perspective. We don’t learn much about Amelia, other than that she masturbates to Jesus (¡Dios mio!). And even that tidbit is meant to just make her more desirable for Padre Amaro. She’s the early aughts version of a priest thirst trap, a Bible-thumping virgin who Amaro literally dresses up as La Virgin. And of course, things don’t go well for her. She gets pregnant, gets a back alley abortion with Amaro’s help, and dies.

Male gaze much? Amelia as the perfect priest-sex-object in El Crimen del Padre Amaro

So while the stakes for Amelia are life and death, they exist only to illustrate how far Amaro has fallen. The young father starts out good but his ambitions get the better of him as he forsakes his moral code for career advancement, betraying Amelia, his mentor, and his broader community. Meanwhile, we see the Church supporting cartels, curtailing free speech, and ex-communicating the only priest who puts the well-being of his congregation first. As Padre Amaro falls from grace so does the church, making the whole movie a critique of the church as a power-hungry hypocrite without a moral compass.

It may be worth noting here that El Crimen del Padre Amaro set the box office record when it premiered in Mexico.

Hot priests sell. Rewatching the film in 2019, I couldn’t help but wonder how different it would be from the woman’s point of view. Fleabag only half-answers that question, flipping the gender perspective but also transporting us to the colonial power. Certainly, a Latina would tell the story differently. But our stories are so rarely told — we still struggle to keep critically acclaimed, feel-good family sitcoms (cough One Day At A Time cough) on air, let alone transgressive sexual narratives that risk angering the Catholic Church. So I may just be waiting a long time.

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