Net curtains veil suburban secrets

Caroline Mann in A Lady of Letters. Photo by Simon Raynor.

Talking Heads by Alan Bennett at the Albany Theatre on 23 October 2025. The Plays the Thing Theatre Company present A Lady of Letters and Soldering On.

Review by Amanda Burden

Net curtains and lace doilies can conceal a multitude of suburban secrets – but Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads monologues never shies away from laying them bare with poignancy, humour and sometimes heartbreak. This double vignette, by theatre company The Play's The Thing at the Albany Theatre, thrusts us into Bennett’s world of compulsive curtain twitchers, gypsy cream biscuits and Jacob's crackers. But amid all the hallmarks of British traditions, it’s easy to forget what a trailblazer Bennett was in the 80s, giving a voice to older female actors, so often invisible in life and neglected on stage.

I first fell in love with Talking Heads on television in my twenties, when an army of formidable grand dames led by Thora Hird captivated the nation with the 45-minute monologues. Now I’m on the wrong side of middle age, the characters resonate even more deeply. The pieces selected by The Play's The Thing were two of my personal favourites: A Lady Of Letters, originally starring Patricia Routledge; and Stephanie Cole’s incredible Soldiering On. Stepping into the shoes of Routledge is no mean feat, but Caroline Mann, steps up to the challenge with aplomb, bringing lonely spinster Irene Ruddock to life adeptly.

Sue Whyte in Soldering On. Photo by Simon Raynor.

Following close behind was Sue Whyte, as Soldiering On's upper-middle class Muriel, whose comfortable Jilly Cooper-esque country set life is plunged into chaos after the death of her husband Ralph. Bennett’s genius lies in the gimlet detail of his scripts: he subtly drip-feeds  nuggets of information that reveal these stalwarts of the community, WI members, and self-styled battleaxes are never quite what they seem. Loneliness, pride, humour and stoicism bump up in a quiet yet devastatingly human collision.

That said, it’s not just the brilliance of the dialogue at play here. Mann and Whyte command the stage alone for just short of an hour, never missing a line. Holding an audience’s attention solo for 45 minutes must be a daunting prospect for the most experienced of actors, but the duo pull it off perfectly, carving up Bennet’s slices of life to reveal loss and pain beneath the veneer of respectability. Much like biting into one of Bennett’s beloved gypsy creams only to find a bitter filling, these performances iced cloying nostalgia with sharp and often shocking social criticism.

Discover more at the Albany Theatre: https://www.albanytheatre.co.uk/whats-on