He may have one of the most whimsical names in showbiz, but Benedict Cumberbatch is very much the man of the moment. His repertoire so far has been more than diverse; he’s put a bratty, modern spin on a Victorian super sleuth and given an inspiring performance as a brilliant WWII code cracker. Plus he’s pulled off the role of sci-fi superhuman space baddie in Star Trek Into Darkness, dabbled in Victorian gothic horror with Frankenstein and even voiced a fire breathing dragon in The Hobbit series. While he’s certainly no stranger to the camera, following a performance as Hamlet at the Barbican Theatre earlier this week, he politely asked those who had been in the audience to spread the word: no more filming. Personally, I can’t blame him.
While I can’t rely on experience to support his claim of it being ‘mortifying’ for the performer on stage, I can vouch for it being pretty infuriating for other people in the audience. For me, live performances of any kind should be an event and filming them subtracts from that. Some might say I’m just being old fashioned. Is Cumberbatch just refusing to adapt to the 21st century? I certainly don’t think so, but even if he is, that’s his prerogative as a performer– if he feels that it’s inhibiting his performance, he has every right – continuing would mean he walks offstage feeling as though he’s given half a performance while the audience walk away having not quite got what they wanted.
The first time it really got to me was seeing Arctic Monkeys on the AM tour. I’d already listened to the album to death. Tickets for the tour were rarer than rocking horse excrement. I had elbows in my ribs, my spine, the back of my head but none of that mattered. I was there – and as the lights went down, the expectation in the room hit fever pitch. But just as quickly as the neon ‘AM’ sign had flickered into life at the back of the stage, it vanished again. Not due to any kind of technical failure, oh no. It had vanished behind tangle of arms, raised aloft like pylons, each one clutching a camera or a smartphone. If I wanted to watch the gig on a screen, surely I’d just wait until they released a DVD of the tour?
I’m afraid that’s not the only time I’ve come to blows with snap-happy pillocks. When I saw Courteeners on their Concrete Love tour, I was even asked to stop moving altogether because I was blocking someone’s shot of the stage. I couldn’t even muster a response. When my view of Noel Gallagher at T in the Park was almost entirely eclipsed by some muppet dangling a selfie stick in the air, I was livid.
On the other hand, you can argue that it’s inevitable; for our generation, removing a mobile phone from your grip is like a surgical extraction. And don’t get me wrong, I totally see why people might want to take the odd photo at a gig. I’ve done it before. It’s like a souvenir – something for you to treasure in years to come. If you’re in close enough proximity of, say, Serge from Kasabian, that you can practically see your reflection in the tiny beads of sweat on his face, that’s a disgustingly beautiful moment you’d want to treasure for the rest of your life. But frankly, when the only way I can watch a performance I’ve paid £40 to be at is through a jigsaw of images on iPhones, I feel as though my being irked is pretty justified. What’s the point in paying to only watch about 20% of the gig because you’re furiously scrolling to find an appropriate Instagram filter?
Try and see it from Cumberbatch’s perspective. By all means, if the performer’s happy enough, take a few snaps, be the envy of your friends. But don’t let it take over the performance – by trying to capture the moment forever, you might jut miss out on experiencing it in the first place .
By Thomas Johnston