The Complete Talking Heads

Alan Bennett's award-winning series of solo pieces is a classic of contemporary drama, universally hailed for its combination of razor-sharp wit and deeply felt humanity. In Bed Among the Lentils, a vicar's wife discovers a semblance of happiness with an Indian shop owner. In A Chip in the Sugar, a man's life begins to unravel when he discovers his aging mother has rekindled an old flame. In A Lady of Letters, a busybody pays a price for interfering in her neighbor's life.

First produced for BBC television in 1988 to great critical acclaim, the Talking Heads monologues also appeared on the West End Stage in London in 1992 and 1998. In 2002, seven of the pieces were performed at the Tiffany Theater in Los Angeles for a highly praised brief engagement, and in 2003 a selection of the monologues premiered in New York at the Minetta Lane Theatre. These extraordinary portraits of ordinary people confirm Alan Bennett's place as one of the most gifted, versatile, and important writers in the English Language.

I was lucky enough to see the original broadcasts of these mini-plays in the UK in early 1989, and I found a copy of the telescripts at Foyle's and snapped if up. For the uninitiated, these pieces aren't just monologues, they're little separate worlds, each peopled by one character who tells his/her story. In "Her Big Chance", Leslie (a sparklingly ditzy, yet deeply innocent Julie Walters) tells us how exciting and "really interesting" it's been, working on a big film (as "Topless Girl #2, it turns out). "Are we on cans, Roger, I said, because if we are, I'd just like some direction..." Deluded but optomistic, she sits, all dolled up and thrilled, waiting for the call to stardom that will never come, while the crew is out on the bay filming "establishing shots".

In "A Cream Cracker Under the Setee", an elderly woman who's fallen and can't get up, muses on her now-dead husband, and conceives of the notion--as plain to us as her predicament--that she tidied herself out of a marriage.

My favorite, "Soldiering On", is told in the jaunty, bucked-up words of a comfortable Home Counties matron whose husband's just died, and whose son, Giles, has kindly taken over the finances: "No can do, mummy, we must tighten our belts!" A year later, in a boarding house, she admits, sheepishly, that "I suppose Giles has been a bit of a scamp--". Meanwhile Margaret, her lumpish, virtually catatonic daughter, has for some reason blossomed after her father's death. Then the other shoe drops...

"How do I feel? Sorry for her, of course. Sorry for HIM, too, come to that..."

And then, holding up a Walkman: "This is my new toy! I get tapes from the lending library in the High Street. And I'll listen to anything. No fear....Fan!"

And then: "I wouldn't want you to thing I'm a tragic woman. I'm not the type..."

Maybe I've quoted Bennett wrong--my copy's still packed away from the last move. There are several other "stories"--some funny, some apalling, but all laced through with gentle pathos, and a very BRITISH knowledge of some very universal foibles. And that's why Alan Bennett is still the best, as David Sedaris is here. Each man knows us all to be both the victims and instigators of our own fates.

Alan Bennett has been called England's National Teddy Bear, so beloved is his work and person. It's a sweet moniker, but misleading to those who may not have yet read Bennett. Insightful and compassionate with a wit so sharp it effectively amputates sentimentality, this is a Teddy Bear with laser eyes and sharp claws that are only just retracted.

Bennett's character sketches in Talking Heads are devastating. The grown man whose safe little existence begins to unravel as he discovers his dear old mum has taken a lover, the vigilent, upright busybody who ends up in prison for invading her neighbor's privacy, the widow of "Soldiering On" whose emptiness of purpose is revealed through her inability to grieve--each uncomprehending character Bennett has created in these astonishing soliloquies is undone by his or her brave and steadfast unwillingness to acknowledge the bare-knuckled truth of human emotion.

Bennett is not cruel in revealing the weaknesses of his characters, but he is uncompromising in revealing those weaknesses. This is the Teddy Bear who brings to the picnic the sharp knives that cut through the bread and fat prepared and packaged by his companions.

Also recommended are Bennett's Writing Home, The Clothes They Stood Up In, and any and all of his other plays, particularly The Old Country; and, for those who just must have the soft and fuzzy version of the Teddy Bear, listen to Bennett's reading of Winnie the Pooh, or go see his stageplay of The Wind in the Willows.

Honestly I thought the story was quite dull he tells us about the dull part of their lives, I'm surprised I didn't sleep reading it. It's the worst book I've ever read. You probably won't put this on display on the computer, but you asked what I thought of it and I told you the truth, I'm sure many others agree with me that the story was boring. . Thankyou

I have been studying Alan Bennett and like many others find it highly amusing. It works remarkably well as a television series and not just on the page. The personalisation and connection to the viewer draws you in and makes it appear that each character is actually talking to you. Excellent work

I suppose I am a bit biased because I grew up in the same town as Alan Bennett (Leeds, Yorkshire) but this book is truly remarkable. The characters are a mixture of people we all know. A chip in the sugar is the man who lives down the street, A lady of Letters is always in the post office (usually in front of me !). All these people exist, what Alan Bennett does is drag them out of their lives and our heads and put them there in front of us. We may read about them and dismiss them as characters in fiction but they all exist and in most cases there's bits of them inside each of us. Thanks Alan Bennett for entertaining us and teaching us at the same time.