This week (and last week too) nobody on the internet could seem to shut up about Baby Reindeer, the tragicomic Richard Gadd miniseries streaming on Netflix. If you’re too busy to have seen the hype (thoughts and prayers for any stylists prepping for the Met Gala), Baby Reindeer is seven short, sharp, frill-free episodes, adapted from Gadd’s prize-winning Edinburg Fringe show, following the Scottish comedian’s increasingly warped relationship with his stalker. (If you don’t like spoilers, why did you click on this article?)
Baby Reindeer is a slow-motion car crash that opens on Martha, a woman with a benign crush, vying for the attention of prop-based comedian and barman Donny. Donny’s comedic rut means he’s on high alert for new material, for peculiar experiences with satisfying punch lines, and there’s a nascent feeling that Martha could make for a fantastic bit. It’s incredible how quickly the relationship deteriorates from politely manageable to she’s outside the house every day to 46 thousand emails from Martha to Donny. Martha soon exists on the periphery of Donny’s existence day in and day out: in the pub, at the bus stop, on his daily commute. Martha infiltrates Donny’s life, she seeps into his safe spaces, and his world begins to collapse.
Episode four—an absolutely harrowing sequence of grooming and sexual assault—is the show’s pinnacle, unpacking Donny’s traumatic relationship with a comedic mentor and contextualizing, to some degree, his initial interest in Martha. He feels he’s been emasculated by the assault, and at first Martha reaffirms his cishet identity.
It’s a testament to Gadd’s writing how expertly the show grapples with Donny’s culpability in encouraging Martha, egging her on, or at least not shutting her down. In a world where we’re encouraged to know and express our boundaries, Donny sets few, enjoying how Martha massages his recovering ego. Yet despite our genuine empathy for him, we’re left to wonder how complicit he is in what’s happening. We also have to examine our own expectations around gender dynamics, our internalized ideas about power between men and women, and what female behaviors a man should be able to handle without help.
Stalking is abhorrent, no exceptions, no notes. What makes Baby Reindeer so endlessly fascinating is the interplay of Donny’s modular parts—his ego, his material, his gender, his trauma—and stalking as a catalyst that unnerves all four. Martha sets off a reaction that reaches back into the foundations of Donny’s sense of self, angrily knotted with the blame and shame that assaults often conjure and his confused and anarchic sexuality in the wake of a traumatic event.
Of course, Donny is not the interlocking rings of a Venn diagram but a perfect circle—a human being like the rest of us, just trying to figure it all out. And Baby Reindeer succeeds, in part, in its relatability, not so much narratively as emotionally. As our culture moves ever further away from hidden traumas and shameful secrets, we’re more likely than ever to speak our truth and embrace a path toward emotional transparency. Despite the excruciating details, despite the understanding of his own accountability, Gadd’s brutal honesty is a reminder that the truth, however painful, will set you free.