After seeing a lot of chatter about the Netflix show Baby Reindeer, I thought I’d watch the first five minutes and get a sample of what it’s like. Big mistake; I stayed up all night binging on its seven compelling, often upsetting episodes.
Baby Reindeer starts with a simple-enough premise: A London bartender in his late 20s gives a free cup of tea to a sad, quiet 40-something woman, and this kind gesture leads to a nightmare scenario in which the woman stalks and harrasses him for several years. Though that sounds like the basis for a Fatal Attraction-style thriller, Baby Reindeer goes in unexpected directions, and those so inclined should consider watching it without any spoilers, if possible.
Opening titles tell us “this is a true story,” based on writer/actor Richard Gadd’s actual experience with a stalker, beginning around 2014. As with most such “true” productions, the plot has been structured for limited-series high points. These had been previously filtered through a confessional monologue the Scottish comedian developed on stage.
The opening episode lays out the scenario quickly: The woman becomes fixated on Gadd and shows up at the bar every day, just to sit across from him and flirt. Fictionalized as “Martha Scott,” she’s a rather diminutive, pudgy sort (performed with intense, on-a-dime fluctuation by Jessica Gunning) with a squealing blurt of a laugh. Martha has no filters about making raunchy sexual passes at the object of her desire, whom the story refers to as “Donny Dunn,” Gadd’s fictional alter-ego.
Donny immediately identifies Martha as an unhinged fabulist, well outside of his zone of romantic interest, but he’s fascinated by (and secretly empathizes with) her brokenness. He also enjoys her onslaught of positive attention. Donny doesn’t lead Martha on, but he doesn’t push her away either, and soon she’s texting, emailing, and voicemail-messaging him hundreds of times a day. Searching her name on the internet, Donny discovers Martha has faced legal action for previous stalking cases. Rather than take decisive action, Donny goes into limbo-like denial, hoping she’ll eventually give up and move on.
Baby Reindeer tells its stalker story in a grounded way that makes noirish Fatal Attraction type movies seem childish. (Nonetheless, I still have a soft spot for the cleverly edited He Loves Me… He Loves Me Not.) It’s perhaps a fool’s errand to try making sense of extreme-stalker psychology, which combines erotomania, misguided hope, and stubborn defiance of rejection. Though Baby Raindeer delves into Martha’s antagonistic psyche a bit, ultimately the story fixates on Donny’s (and Gadd’s) inner life.
As Martha baits-and-switches from innocuously quirky to dangerously obsessive, Baby Reindeer baits-and-switches to a series of revelations about Donny’s own self-destructive character. There’s eventually another bait-and-switch in the story, involving a betrayal of trust that mirrors stories from the MeToo movement. The overarching theme, though, is how past pains and insecurities undermine a person’s sensibilities going forward.
This shifting, evolving nature of the tale somewhat reminded me of The Crying Game, a 1992 thriller that takes a hard turn into uncharted sexual territory. When Baby Reindeer eventually touches on complex issues of non-normative sexuality and trauma, its narrative stakes feel raised due to the previously established sense of danger from the stalker ordeal. The show’s willingness to become upsetting also reminded me of Netflix’s 2017 suicide drama 13 Reasons Why.
Like that show, later episodes of Baby Reindeer begin with disclaimers and end with crisis-center information. If Baby Reindeer weren’t so good, one might dismiss it as voyeuristic exploitation, but Gadd’s refined storytelling transcends the binge-viewing tactics he has deployed.
Additionally eye-opening is Donny’s relationship with a transgender woman, Teri. Portrayed impressively by Nava Mau, Teri (who appears to be post-operative) is living her best life as a confident woman and career therapist. Donny pursues Teri as the result of a psychological domino effect the show reveals in careful increments.
One fault with Baby Reindeer is how heavily it leans on Richard Gadd’s stage monologue through ongoing narration. Often we’ll see Donny doing something while a voice-over says “I don’t know why I did this,” as if apologizing for exposition or shock tactics. At one point Donny confesses to using a snapshot of his stalker, in her underwear, as masturbation material. Though the scene underscores Donny’s confused attempts to reclaim his sexual self, it’s on the razor’s edge of gratuitous.
Baby Reindeer feels least genuine in its depiction of Donny as a failed stand-up comedian. We often see Donny not only bombing on stage, but doing so with almost no comic timing or presence. In real life, Gadd’s performances were strong enough to earn him this Netflix show, and YouTube clips of his early work (such as at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe) show audiences receptive to his meta-style anti-comedy. This hapless version of Donny provides a black-comedy take on the character’s unworthiness, but it’s so blatantly fudged that it casts doubt on other aspects of the “true story” we’re encouraged to take at face value.
Especially since there’s so much good take-away. Careful as it is not to victim-blame, Baby Reindeer is an adept treatise on how being in an emotionally low place feeds further victimization. People who feel they don’t deserve good things will subconsciously lower their guard, fail to stand up for themselves, and take unnecessary risks. This casts new light on the opening scene when Donny gives Martha the free cup of tea. She’s not necessarily seeing him as a kind person (like the cherished stuffed-reindeer toy of her childhood) so much as a potential pushover (baby reindeer as easy prey).
Another of the show’s take-aways is something I recall from the deeply upsetting documentary Dear Zachary, which recounts an obsessive stalker-like scenario that turned fatal. In one of the documentary’s interviews, a friend says he wishes the victim had known how and when to be “a son of a bitch,” ruthlessly shutting down his antagonist’s unwanted attention. At some point in Baby Reindeer the main character’s empathy, divorced from self-protectiveness and situational awareness, becomes his enemy; if only Donny knew how to be a son-of-a-bitch.
Throughout, Gadd acknowledges his experience is a statistical anomaly compared to cases where women are on the receiving end of unwanted and more physically intimidating attention. (The show’s release coincides with a viral ‘Man or Bear?‘ hypothetical about this very subject.) He then explores how men’s comparative safety, their fear of feeling feminized, and their “go it alone” ethic can make them more insecure when they do become victims.
Among Baby Reindeer‘s most affecting scenes are when Donny finally realizes that other people (including his cagey ex-girlfriend, and his gruff father) are capable of accepting him, without judgment, for what he’s been through. After spending a long time feeling abused and alienated, the loyalty and decency of people can seem like a revelation. Not everybody is so lucky.
Considering that Baby Reindeer was made on a low budget, with at times too-obvious closeups and song cues (such as Roxy Music’s “Love Is the Drug”), it is a remarkably rewarding Roman à clef (or rather, Netflix à clef). As of this writing, there are signs of the show becoming a victim of its own success: Internet sleuths have uncovered the identity of Gadd’s stalker (who’s allegedly preparing to take legal action) and speculating about identity of the TV writer who victimized him, to the point where Gadd has asked people to stop playing detective. It might be best to see Baby Reindeer before the show’s messy drama is dwarfed by the real world’s even messier one.
