The shaky protagonist in "Fleabag," Amazon's deceptively complex new dramedy, likes to talk. A lot. She rambles on inappropriately during a doctor's breast exam, while overcharging customers for cheese sandwiches at her London cafe, and as she puts up with one-night stands she treats with more callousness than Jane Fonda ever did in "Klute." Fleabag is such a chatterbox, real life isn't enough. She often turns to the camera to make quick, brutal asides to the TV audience, treating viewers like co-conspirators in her mission to rid the world of optimism.

So what makes her the fall season's most heartbreaking character?

Fleabag, a nickname only slightly less caustic than Loser, is burdened with guilt and pain triggered by the deaths of her mother and best (only?) friend. How does she cope? She jogs daily through a graveyard and stimulates herself to President Obama on YouTube, even as her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend lies beside her.

The wounds run so deep viewers may not notice them until halfway through the six-part series. Stick with it — and with her. It's a remarkable examination of a lost woman. She makes the characters in "Girls" look like, well, girls.

Phoebe Waller-Bridge, the show's creator and star, is largely unknown outside the London theater scene, but "Fleabag" is sure to earn her admirers in the States.

In addition to cutting dialogue, Waller-Bridge is a master of physical comedy.

The way she uses her goo-goo eyes to flirt, wink and gasp into the lens reminded me of an extra-naughty Claudette Colbert after discovering a sex toy in her makeup kit. In the series' most memorable episode, Fleabag tortures her repressed sisters at a weekend retreat in which words are forbidden. Waller-Bridge doesn't need them, causing mischief with glances that could just as well be rated X.

Later, she tries to shame her heartless stepmother by smashing a trayful of Champagne glasses at the world's most self-indulgent art exhibit. Sound routine? Not in the slippery hands of Waller-Bridge, who drops each flute as if it were a precious figurine and then punctuates her little puppet show with a thunderous crash. She easily could have been a star in the silent-film era.

Of course, Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton never ventured as far into taboo territory as this young talent. Her take on sexual and moral issues might rattle viewers who think British comedy means valets giving each other a hard time in the bowels of "Downton Abbey."

What escapes these spectators is that English comedy has always been darker, and more devious, than anything that ever entered the mind of Charlie Sheen on "Two and a Half Men."

"Fleabag" proudly follows in the tradition of "Fawlty Towers," "Father Ted" and "Absolutely Fabulous."

But the Britcom "Fleabag" most reminds me of is "Nighty Night," the 2004 series about a woman who pretends her husband is dead so she can shag the next-door neighbor. The series made my top 10 list that year, but it didn't exactly make its star and creator, Julia Davis, a household name in the U.S.

Those were different times. Oxygen, the cable outlet that gave that series a chance 12 years ago, wasn't as sturdy a platform as Amazon is today.

"Nighty Night" is available for free at veoh.com, and I strongly encourage you to check it out. But if you want to be first on what's almost certain to become a crowded bandwagon, start with "Fleabag."

Neal Justin • 612-673-7431

njustin@startribune.com

Twitter: @nealjustin