“Oh, so sorry, beg your pardon, sir.” “No, absolutely, very sorry.”
“Yes, sorry.”
“So you’re new here, are you?” “Yes.”
“Splendid. William Shakespeare – pleasure.” “THE William Shakespeare?”
“Yes yes, I get that a lot up here. Christ, you should have heard Kenneth yesterday.”
“Oh no, it is such an honour to meet you, sir. May I be so blunt as to introduce my humble self? Benedict Cumberbatch, a huge fan of yours!”
“Ah…one of them, are you? One of these so-called actors.”
“But Sir, watch this…” BC pulls out his iPhone and shows WS a scene from his 2015 production of Hamlet. “This is from my first big Shakespeare production on stage. Hamlet; it was a huge success in London!”
WS begins to grow angry. “Yeah, I remember that shambles. A huge success, true. But why? I tell you why – because of you! Your stupid cumberbitches unleashed the dogs of war on good taste.”
“But, Sir, don’t judge me by my fans, judge me by my acting.”
“Shut up boy! You know what the fucking problem is with you and your generation? You couldn’t write a decent play for shit. You can act out and re-invent my plays all you want, but I’m sorry sunshine, setting it in fucking Bosnia again isn’t gonna to do the bloody trick.”
“I’m not sure what to say, sir.”
“Yes, it’s not your fault, I know, I know…” He pauses and calms down from his rage, then continues: “So tell me, Mr Cumberbatch, why are you up here anyway?”
“I got this certificate, wait…” He pulls out a piece of parchment and reads out: “‘A place in heaven for Benedict Cumberbatch for giving humanity the greatest TV series ever.’”
“The greatest what? TV series? What on earth is that supposed to be?”
“It’s the future, sir, and it does the bloody trick.”
