THE OLD LADIES
Finborough Theatre
â â â ½
“not a comfortable watch, but itâs a quietly unsettling one that refuses to loosen its grip”
âThank goodness I shall never be a womanâ, said critic Harris Deans upon seeing the original production of The Old Ladies. I am a woman, so I couldnât make the same exclamation, but as I left the theatre 90 years after he did, I did join him in thanking goodness that I would never be an old woman in 1935.
The Finborough Theatre never presents work thatâs had a full run in London during the last 25 years, so theyâre experts at mining up forgotten favourites and genuinely neglected works from the 19th and 20th centuries. The Old Ladies was written by playwright Rodney Ackland (who went on to work with Alfred Hitchcock), adapted from Hugh Walpoleâs 1924 novel of the same name. Three aging women live in uncomfortable proximity to each other with nothing much to report on, and plenty of waiting to do – a combination that breeds nosiness and distrust.
The morbid atmosphere hung heavy in the auditorium before the lights even came up, thanks to the dark drapes flanking the stage filled with fussy furniture desperate to trip you up. Juliette Demoulinâs design keeps the drama contained by the domestic, pointing the finger at the systems that force these women into the same place. It doesnât surprise me that Ackland envisaged adapting his work as an early film noir, as the sense of dread builds stealthily once the women begin to interact.
Initially, there is warmth and humour as the peculiarity and frankness of those in old age is made apparent, but the play quickly descends into a depressing and claustrophobic compression. May (Catherine Cusack) is nauseatingly frightful, and Lucy (Julia Watson) is pitiably optimistic given her sonâs unexplained absence. Abigail Thawâs Agatha is disconcertingly intense, and director Brigid Lamourâs decision to have her dozing in the background of scenes she didnât feature in made the audience as nervous as poor Lucy. All three had me torn between wanting to shake them or to run a mile from them, so itâs safe to say the character portrayals were absurdly affecting. Carla Joy Evansâ costume design enhanced the three women’s attempts to hold on to lasting identities while still maintaining the monochromatic feel. Mark Dymockâs lighting was most notable for successfully making the actors look much older and more weary than they did at curtain call.
Max Pappenheimâs subtle sound design tracked the route from ordinariness to intensity, as we watched this story of poverty become something much more grim. The direction and performances collectively pace this turn from domestic tale to psychological drama carefully, leaving the audience in a twilight zone of uncertainty for much of the action, as they are left unsure which it truly is. The eeriness does pay off in the final scenes, but it feels like more of a relief than a satisfaction.
Itâs rare that a play makes me so thankful I live in the present time period, given that many of them were written and set a long time ago, and suffer from the cursed rose tinted glasses of nostalgia. But this production is quite unyielding in its bleakness. It doesn’t take too much of a stretch to see The Old Ladies as a warning, as it points its finger harshly at the potential consequences of a limited life – be that economic or social limits – and warns us how grim old age can really get. Itâs not a comfortable watch, but itâs a quietly unsettling one that refuses to loosen its grip.
THE OLD LADIES
Finborough Theatre
Reviewed on 26th March 2026
by Jessica Hayes
Photography by Carla Joy Evans
