The more shocking elements in the series have an alluringly mundane presence: episodes three and four diving into discomfort and trauma while severing any sort of sensationalism. Coel clearly doesn't have a thirst for controversy – the content is just rare for television, despite being unutterably common in real life.
For example, even in the most progressives shows and movies, filmmakers shy away from showing periods – falling into an historical, patriarchal habit (even recently: the feminine care brand Libra fell into some controversy for showing red period blood in their adverts). In episode three, Coel hammers that blockade down in one of many uncomfortable sex scenes scattered in the series, which range from awkward to abhorrent.
Image credit: BBC/Various Artists Ltd and FALKNA/Natalie Seery
In episode three, it’s three months before Arabella’s sexual assault. She’s in an opulent Italian flat for a writing retreat, referenced in the opening episodes, where she meets the attractive Biagio (Marouane Zotti). Her hair is shorter, straighter, purpler. She taps on her MacBook in beautiful Roman courtyards; she exists in a delightfully careless state, unhindered by the deafening flashes of her trauma.
With her actor friend Terry (Weruche Opia), Bella takes drugs with her spaghetti and hits the town to find some Molly (MDMA). At night, we track through the various stages of their hard inebriation, the visuals wisping and jittering in a hedonistic haze.
Questions of consent rise in both episodes, tackling the numerous, messy grey areas as well as the coldly clear-cut ones. Continuing her naturalistic style, Coel captures the reality of these moments, confusing as they are.
Episode four returns to the present, seven weeks after Bella’s assault. She attends therapy and she’s reluctant to relate; she can’t stand silence, and holds back her traumas. It’s a classic narrative shortcut – therapy used as the key to the characters’ selves – but Coel moves beyond cliché and examines Bella’s extroverted anxiety with absorbing sincerity.
Image credit: BBC/Various Artists Ltd and FALKNA/Natalie Seery
Loneliness and solitude aren’t optional for Arabella; but, when there's no choice, she chants to herself: ‘there’s a war in Syria, there’s a war in Syria, there’s a war in Syria’. Coel steps head first into the darkness: capturing the staying effects of rape trauma, ignited by seemingly harmless instances, like a laid down drink.
The flash of her assault in the cubicle now comes clearer, like time and reflection and acceptance helped pull focus on the devastating memory. Issues of consent rise again for Bella in the form of a discarded condom – one of the most frustrating scenes of the series so far.
But this is nothing compared to her friend Kwame (Paapa Essiedu), who, in episode four, enjoys the free carnal delights of Grindr – even guiding a nervous, bi-curious guy (Fehinti Balogun) through the whole process. This culminates in a scene so upsetting, so raw, that it burns to watch. Kwame had drifted in and out of the first two episodes; but here, with Arabella, you ache for them both. This critic is almost afraid to watch further episodes, but believes it’s necessary. You can tell Coel’s just getting started.
I May Destroy You continues Mondays and Tuesdays at 10:45pm on BBC One
| What | I May Destroy You episode 3 & 4 review |
| When |
15 Jun 20 – 16 Jun 20, ON BBC ONE |
| Price | £n/a |
| Website |
