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In 2011, radio presenter Kirat Assi was enjoying a night out in Brighton. Across the dancefloor she saw someone she recognised: it was Bobby, a doctor who she’d been messaging on Facebook. They hadn’t met in real life yet, and when Kirat went over to introduce herself, Bobby looked confused, as if he had no idea who she was. Watching Netflix’s documentary Sweet Bobby, based on Tortoise Media’s brilliant podcast, you will find yourself wishing that this strange incident prompted her to write off their friendship, delete the chats and move on so that she could have avoided what was to come. But this was only the start of Kirat and Bobby’s story.
The messages between the two continued. They’d been put in touch by Kirat’s younger cousin, who had previously been dating Bobby’s younger brother, and were both part of a close-knit Sikh community. They kept chatting while Bobby later developed life-threatening health conditions and ended up in witness protection in New York after an apparent shooting in Kenya. Their relationship shifted from platonic to romantic; they started making long overnight Skype audio calls to stay connected while they slept and even discussed wedding plans. Bobby introduced her to his network of friends and family over Facebook, too. All this is laid out in the film through interviews with Kirat, her old voice notes and mock-ups of the couple’s DMs.
Bobby, as you might have guessed, wasn’t who he said he was. The documentary traces a catfish story that is remarkable in its sheer scale and audacity, as well as in the eventual identity of the perpetrator (I won’t reveal that here, in case you’re unfamiliar with the case, because the unmasking is a genuine “WTF” moment). Yet it lacks the near-forensic detail of the original podcast, and suffers from uneven pacing, careering towards the confession without teasing out some of the more baffling intricacies of this case.
The narrative unfolds from Kirat’s perspective; she comes across as a warm, vivacious presence, and it is horrifying to see how this “relationship” decimates her self-confidence, as Bobby becomes controlling and bombards her with accusatory messages. We also hear from the real Bobby, the man whose photos and life details were used to flesh out the catfish’s deception, and there are contributions from Kirat’s family too, which underline how this online relationship impacted her real life (“It was a total takeover,” her aunt says). This emphasises the human cost of this cruel scam; it is especially painful to hear Kirat share her hopes of having children with this digital phantom. There are certain red flags in the case that might seem obvious with hindsight and emotional distance; the documentary manages to highlight them without straying into victim-blaming territory, and treats her testimony with empathy.
But although the story itself is gripping, it’s hard to get around the fact that online narratives like this don’t always lend themselves to a visual re-telling; the Facebook-style imagery and stock footage can feel a bit monotonous. And when the big reveal happens, the film seems to grind to an abrupt halt, rather than spending time unpicking the implications. Kirat has barely asked the heartbreaking question: “Who’ve I been sleeping on the phone with for the last three years?”, before the title cards crowd onto the screen, spelling out what happened next (Kirat brought civil action against the perpetrator, which was settled out of court).
This is a solid, sensitively made introduction to a jaw-dropping tale. But for the most part, it serves as a feature-length trailer for a much more comprehensive – and much more compelling – podcast.
