The series stars creator and writer Richard Gadd as an extension of his one-man Edinburgh Fringe show from 2016. In the TV version, Gadd plays a fictionalized version of himself named Donny Dunn, who is harassed by a female stalker for years while disentangling the ordeal from a sexual assault years prior. It evokes the transfixing storytelling and precision of “Fleabag” (another Fringe darling) and “I May Destroy You” (another complex piece processing sexual assault and subsequent self destruction). The title “Baby Reindeer” references a bizarre nickname he receives from stalker Martha (Jessica Gunning) — among many others.

So why is everyone talking about “Baby Reindeer?” On the surface, the series is short and simple and British and bingeable — streaming catnip at seven episodes (though Episode 4 clocks in closer to 45 and demands a break after the flashback to Donny’s assault). But as soon as it takes off, it pulls in the viewer with a mesmerizing story. The logline looks heavy, but “Baby Reindeer” measures out its dramatic developments, guided by Gadd’s adept pacing and captivating narration. “It’s a patronizing, arrogant feeling, feeling sorry for someone you’ve just laid eyes on,” he explains not two minutes into Episode 1 — a line so breathtakingly accurate as to hook the audience instantly, followed by the transfixing vigor of Gunning’s performance. As it touches upon boundaries of consent and crime, drug use, mental health, and queer identities and relationships, “Baby Reindeer” inadvertently wins the voracious TV producer’s Bingo, but with a formula that can’t possibly be replicated. It strikes the right tone and balance with attention and empathy, not because Gadd set out to check items off a list, but because he experienced this storm of circumstances firsthand.

And with that, “Baby Reindeer” relates to viewers who may have shared some or none or all of Gadd’s remarkable experiences; that painful, persistent feeling of “Why me?” that isolates a person in distress because no one has shared their specific trauma. Why is the survivor of an assault now facing the volatile attention of a stalker? Why is he discovering his queerness intertwined with shame and fear? Why does the stalking unlock his libido, and how will he ever know what led to what?

With these implied questions, “Baby Reindeer” taps into the raw, pervasive feeling of being emotionally overwhelmed — one that speaks to almost any audience. Even if the circumstances are utterly unique, Gadd’s Donny follows every hero’s journey as he yearns, faces adversity, and eventually faces the crushing possibility that he fucked everything up.

Then of course, there’s the true story of it all, one which internet sleuths have latched onto in the hopes of tracking down Gadd’s stalker and abuser (despite what he says were extensive efforts to sufficiently obscure both). It’s a tendency more inherent to the true crime genre, where shocking stories inspire armchair detective work to bring closure to invested viewers. But unlike those stories, Gadd seems to have made peace with the events that inspired “Baby Reindeer,” including the stalker with whose mental illness he sympathizes. It’s still early for Emmys and accolades, but “Baby Reindeer” has already achieved what so many TV shows only dare to dream of: to mesmerize and audience through honesty and excellence, and to stay with them from the first scene until the last frame.

“Baby Reindeer” is now streaming on Netflix.