David Farnor | On 22, Sep 2024

“This is a true story.” Those five words at the beginning of Baby Reindeer are what make Netflix’s series about a man’s relationship with his stalker such an astonishing watch – and one of the most controversial, and distinctive, series of the year.

The show is written by Richard Gadd, adapted from his own autobiographical one-man stage show. That began at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 2019 – but there’s a difference between a small-scale, in-person performance and a programme writ large on a global streaming platform, and somewhere in between the two is where Baby Reindeer is simultaneously problematic and remarkable.

Gadd takes the lead role as Donny Dunn, a comedian who – without any immediate career prospects on the cards – is working at a London pub. One day, a tearful woman walks in seeking solace and company. This is Martha (Jessica Gunning), and Donny taking pity on her and offering her a free cup of tea turns out to be a very big mistake. After some flirtatious banter about her work as a top-flight city lawyer, she begins to email him. Again. And again. And again. Then she starts showing up to his gigs and – when he unwittingly gives her his phone number – sending him text messages. Her nickname for him? Baby reindeer.

What begins as a comedy soon lurches into something much darker that is part-thriller, part-confessional and generally defies categorisation. From an encounter by a canal to him trying to work out where she lives and warn her off, each step that gives their connection any kind of attention only serves as encouragement to Martha’s obsession.

Anyone who has experienced stalking themselves, or even been a relationship where the other person has raced immediately through the emotional stages, will likely find huge amounts of the show triggering – directors Weronika Tofilska and Josephine Bornebusch do an impeccable job of capturing the anxiety, intimidation and fear of unwanted and unhealthy attention. The increasingly intense lighting and disorienting camerawork keep us feeling trapped in Donny’s headspace, while text written out on screen – often with darkly amusing typos – move from entertaining to stomach-churning.

The show’s masterstroke is casting Jessica Gunning in the role of Martha. Gunning is a fantastic screen presence, capable of being spiteful and scary the one second and sweetly benign the next, often with just a slight shift in her facial expressions. She’s also genuinely charming and endearingly tragic – we frequently don’t know whether to pity her or call the cops, which is exactly what Donny is experiencing.

Equally excellent is Nava Mau as Teri, Donny’s new love interest, who can’t understand why he hasn’t gone to the police to report Martha’s stalking. Completing the ensemble is Tom Goodman-Hill, a TV producer who promises to give Donny a leg up on the professional ladder, but has much more malicious motives.

All this would be more than enough to make a compelling drama, but Baby Reindeer takes a surprising, alarming and harrowing turn at its halfway point – when Gadd pauses the story for a flashback that delves into a past trauma. In a painful diversion, we see Donny groomed and abused in a manner that’s rarely been depicted on screen before. The series perches right on the boundary of pure horror and stays that way for what feels like an interminable episode. You’ll either want to have a break afterwards or keep going without stopping so you can process the whole lot sooner.

Gadd’s willingness to confront and relive such an ordeal is undoubtedly brave, and he recreates it with an openness that’s utterly disarming. That unsettling, intimate storytelling becomes an anchor for what unfolds, as the script and Gadd’s performance dig deep into the paradox at the heart of Donny’s character – that, on some level, his self-loathing, traumatised esteem is so low that he finds a form of solace in Martha’s attention and affection, somewhere between shame-filled self-punishment and a hollow craving for unconditional affirmation.

The second half of Baby Reindeer leaves comedy behind to mine that rich vein of moral complexity, twisting our sympathies with a precise handling of genre, expectation and emotion. As we see Donny’s version of events collide with Martha’s warped pespective, the opening statement that this is a “true story” raises all kinds of questions about facts, feelings and perception. It also, unfortunately, has put the show in legal hot water, with a lawsuit following the show’s release – a direct result of both that emphatic declaration and the series’ global reach in a digital age where people love to play armchair detective on social media. Should there have been better protective measures in place, both for the real-life people inspiring the characters and for Gadd himself? Most likely. But that raw honesty and bravery to be so vulnerable also makes Baby Reindeer unlike any other TV show you’ve ever seen. You won’t enjoy watching all of it, but you’ll be glad you did – this is unpredictable, unsettling, heartfelt and funny in a manner that’s totally unique. Six Emmy wins? It’s only surprising it didn’t more.

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