Unencumberbatched

I don't normally read reviews of plays before writing my own, but this time I just had to check, and frankly, there is something of the elephant in the room about them all. And elephant is really not the kindest word here. Let's just put it out there (he did).

I SAW BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH'S PENIS LAST NIGHT. NOT JUST BRIEFLY. IT WAS FLAPPING AROUND FOR ABOUT TEN TO FIFTEEN MINUTES.

Anyone who DOESN'T begin their review of the Danny Boyle-directed Frankenstein (National Theatre) exactly like that either:
a) saw the play on a night when Johnny Lee Miller was playing the creature rather than Benedict (the two actors alternate the main parts), and should therefore have started their write-up by saying 'I saw Johnny Lee Miller's penis last night.' (Block capitals optional.)

Or alternatively:
b) they are UTTER PONCES.

I've skim-read several reviews and NONE of them have mentioned Mr Beefy McManStick (thanks to this website for the excellent list of euphemi). Yes, I am 33 with a degree in English Literature, and yes, I have several other things to say about the two hour play, but if we've evolved to a stage where remarking upon a prime viewing of celebrity tackle has become taboo, then mister, pull the cord and stop this train, because I want to get off.

So. On with the trouser snake review: I know the rubbish they tell men to make them feel better - that willies are all sorts of sizes when flaccid, but tend to grow to a fairly standard length and girth when erect - but even if this were true, clearly it is still preferable to have a big One-Eyed Nightcrawler even when flaccid. Unfortunately, Benedict Cumberbatch's organ is not big. It isn't even medium. I'm afraid it is small and tapered, like a baby carrot. To make matters worse, his buttocks are surprisingly curved and fleshy, like a woman's.

But hey, Benedict, if you're reading, fear not - because I thought your acting was, like, TOTALLY AMAZING! Once I'd stopped judging the lunchbox, I could get on with enjoying his performance. The creature is born from a weird, taut, circular womb in a spellbinding opening scene. He flails, jerks and grunts, making an utterly convincing transition from homo foetus to homo erectus over ten or fifteen captivating minutes, Cumberbatch's extraordinary voice put to brilliant animalistic use, the vulnerabilities of his character illustrated perfectly, setting up the audience for an empathy that continues throughout the play, helping us root for him even once he's behaved in the inevitable montrous fashion.

Sadly, there's another reason we long for Benedict's creature to succeed and remain on stage: basically everyone else in the play is pretty much totally crap. I think it's probably down to a really lameass script which suffers from squeezing a plot that lasts several years into an interval-less two hour rush, but the singsong West Country accent of the fat maid is like something out of a GCSE Shakespeare production, the farmer's wife is sub-panto, Frankenstein's dad was wooden, his fiancée's naive optimism was reminiscent of Playschool-era Floella Benjamin, and the many hammy one-line roles set the scene well enough but ended up feeling really token. At the other extreme, some of the sets are so good that they feel embarrassing - early on, a blinding locomotive enters centre stage to banging Underworld beats, ridden by steampunk-goggled actors yelling and singing unintelligible songs among jets of sparks and waves of dry ice. The creature rolls past the engine and has a seconds-long encounter with one girl - but then, after only a couple of minutes on stage, the train retreats, never to be seen again. So much work, so much money, so little payoff.

But still, go if you can get tickets (I think it's sold out 'til April). Benedict is truly amazing, bringing pathos and even humour to a brutish, violent creature. There are some interesting ideas about loneliness, the need for parental love and acceptance, and the role of man on earth. And I even learned an important life maxim - having become convinced that Frankenstein would be a much better role than the monster, I'd wanted to see the play on a night when Ben was the scientist and Johnny was the creature. Thus, when the former flopped out of the womb, I thought (and may even have whispered) 'Bollocks.' But then it unfolded that a) had I had things my way, I would have seen Johnny's penis, not Ben's (I'd far rather have seen Ben's); b) the creature is a MUCH bigger part than Frankenstein even though I'm pretty sure that he does not have a bigger 'part' than Frankenstein (ahem) and c) Benedict, I'm convinced, will make a much better creature than Johnny. So I didn't get what I'd thought I wanted, but what I ended up getting was even better than I'd imagined what I'd wanted was going to be. Lesson: SHUT UP.