The set of Benedict Cumberbatch Must Die is as much a shrine to the critically acclaimed and obsessively loved British actor as it is a theatre space. Pictures of Benedict plaster the walls, from red carpet shots to his Julian Assange, and the Cumber Corner boasts posters and cu-Cumber sandwiches.

Here we meet three ‘Cumberbitches’-cum-‘Cumberpeople’: a bossy actor, sex-crazed feminist, and Tumblr-style introvert, played by Frith Horan, Lucy Suttor, and Donna Brookbanks respectively. We are led through their deepest, most vulnerable, belly-laugh inducing Cumberbatch fantasies, the kind of ridiculous drama you would never admit you relate to.

The Cumberpeople are lovable and funny without feeling forced, evidence of a well-crafted script and talented actresses. The characters are caricatures of themselves, each one capturing a different characteristic of consuming fandom: the delusion of mutual respect and admiration, erotic fantasy and socially awkward fanfiction.

Opening night nerves make themselves known with a few breaks from character and slightly laboured transitions. However as the show moves on the atmosphere relaxes, the actresses settling into their characters, drawing us into their obsession enthusiastically. No doubt throughout the week this show will flow seamlessly.

Those well acquainted with Benedict’s back catalogue of work and the tumblr-bred cult following that has become synonymous with his name over the past years can enjoy a treasure trove of in-jokes – otter comparisons; Sherlock references – which may pass by the average fan. If the words “crushed velvet jacket” mean nothing to you, don’t be deterred, Benedict Cumberbatch Must Die draws consistent laughs from fans and plebs alike.

The show is a pleasant, witty, clever and dedicatedly delivered insight into the minds and lives of the wholly obsessed – not at all Cumbersome!
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Fandom culture is fascinating. It’s hysterical, it’s heartfelt, and for those involved, it’s very real. I was an avid Sherlockian as a young teenager. I cried and yelled when Sherlock jumped off that roof. I went to the conventions, I read the blogs. My feelings towards Cumberbatch have moved more towards ambivalence in recent years, as I realised that it was Sherlock I loved, not him. But the nostalgia for that fervid passion remains.

I know how real the pain of loving something to the point of obsession can be. All too often, the passion of young women for celebrities is dismissed and demeaned. But the adoration (and the creativity, friendships, and fun that comes with it) is real.

This is what Benedict Cumberbatch Must Die fails to explore. I expected to relate to this show, and occasionally I did. But throughout most of the play, the three characters remain stereotypes of obsessive fans and we never really learn much more about them. [More] 

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