The more I see Benedict Cumberbatch on screen the more I marvel at his talent as an actor. Recently I have watched him in Eric on Netflix, as an unravelling Sesame Street-style puppeteer looking for his abducted son; in old re-runs of smartypants Sherlock Holmes on the BBC; and as a humiliated husband in The Roses with a truly ghastly Olivia Colman.
His latest film, The Thing With Feathers, promises another affecting performance, this time as a bewildered father struggling to look after his two small sons after the sudden death of his wife.
Based on Max Porter’s beautifully written novella Grief Is The Thing With Feathers, Cumberpatch plays Dad, a graphic artist who is unbearably sad, overwhelmed and increasingly untethered. In a film that is part tender human drama and part horror, this grief manifests as a large black crow, menacing but benevolent in its presence as a kind of guardian figure.
