‘Lady’ review: ‘Fleabag’ star Sian Clifford anchors bold, surreal mockumentary satire

Dir: Samuel Abrahams. UK. 2025. 97mins

Initially playing like a now-familiar eat the rich satire, Samuel Abrahams’ debut feature slowly evolves into something unexpected and far more interesting. Featuring a memorable central performance from Fleabag star Sian Clifford as the eccentric aristocratic subject of a fly-on-the wall documentary, the film blends outlandish comedy with deeper themes of identity and fear to strong, surprising results. It won’t be for everyone, but audiences prepared to follow its lead – and particularly that of a phenomenal Clifford – will be rewarded.

Clifford and Kynaston serve up energetic chemistry 

Premiering in London’s Dare strand, Lady marks a confident step up for Abrahams, who started off directing observational television documentaries before moving into fictional shorts; his first, 2010’s Connect, was nominated for a Bafta. The presence of Clifford, who also recently appeared in The Ballad Of Wallace Island, should help raise the profile of a film which deserves to find an audience; streaming may, however, provide its best chance of making a mark.

When filmmaker Sam (Laurie Kynaston) turns up at Ravenhyde Hall (actually Somerleyton Hall in Suffolk), the sprawling country pile owned by 40-something Lady Isabella, he thinks he knows what to expect: a narcissistic toff desperate for the limelight. And that’s exactly what he seems to find; there are serious shades of Saltburn as Isabella prances around in search of an ice bucket, condescends cook Becky (Juliet Cowan) and flirts ferociously with Sam. Sam (clearly modelled on Abrahams himself) erroneously thinks he’s been hired by Netflix, and so swallows his discomfort and keeps his eye firmly on the prize – namely a project that will finally net him a Bafta win – and the cameras keep rolling.

The mockumentary format largely works well, save for some contrived moments where it’s difficult to believe the crew would have been filming. And with that crew staying quiet behind the camera, Lady plays as, essentially, a two-handed chamber piece with Clifford and Kynaston serving up an energetic chemistry as this oddest of odd couples. In the early part of the film, Clifford steals the show, her flamboyant quirkiness – garish outfits, mannered speech, gross self-absorption – overshadowing everything in her wake. Kynaston is excellent as the shell-shocked straight man, driven by his own desire to finally make a statement with his filmmaking.

As things progress, however, the dynamic starts to shift, and both characters begin to shed the artifice and reveal their true selves. An early swerve into magical surrealism comes out of left-field but slowly earns its place as the screenplay, by Abrahams and his partner Miranda Campbell Bowlin, strips back the superficial layers to explore deeper ideas of identity, loss and loneliness.

As Isabella’s tragic back story emerges, her character comes into focus – even as she finds herself literally disappearing – and Clifford brings a rawness and vulnerability that cuts through the more outlandish aspects of her character. (And there are certainly many of these, particularly when Isabella decides she wants to put together a dance/art fusion performance and compete in her own ‘Stately Stars’ talent show for disadvantaged children.) Similarly, Kynaston confidently shepherds Sam through his own journey of discovery, as he realises he, too, is driven by his own deeply buried demons, and is forced to confront the fact that he hasn’t been operating under the most authentic of creative intentions.

Well-curated production design from Agnieszka Dębska turns this opulent country estate into something of a gilded cage, while Korsshan Schlauer’s agile cinematography grows less frantic and more intimate the closer Sam and Isabella become. The intense score, from Jonny Woodley, is an arresting, immersive blend of human voices (which at points is reminiscent of the theme to recent Jilly Cooper TV adaptation Rivals) and dramatic tones that underscore both the farce and the pathos of the piece. Lady is an awful lot of fun but, underneath the excess, it proves to be wry skewering of our obsession with reality TV stars and influencers that tell us nothing honest about ourselves, and a poignant study of our very human need to be seen.