Enter Teresa Wright in The Little Foxes 1941 - Behold, tomorrow I will bring locusts… and they shall eat every tree of yours that grows in the field. - The Last Drive In (2024)

“I only ever wanted to be an actress, not a star.”

Teresa Wright may seem lamblike at first glance, but don’t let the soft smile fool you into thinking there isn’t something gutsy within that charming glow. She is one of the most engaging actors, and she shows a resolute luster and independence to take on Hollywood with the same veracity she pursued wicked Uncle Charlie in Shadow of a Doubt.

Wright was not only endearing, but her acting and personal life lacked ceremony and authenticity. She was discovered by Samuel Goldwyn and gained early recognition for her exceptional performances in her first three films. She became the only actor to receive Oscar nominations for each of them. Wright earned an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress and one for Mrs. Miniver.

Teresa Wright and Greer Garson in William Wyler’s Mrs. Miniver (1942).

It stands to reason that Times drama editor Edwin Schallert described Wright’s burgeoning career as “one of the most remarkably brilliant for a young player in Hollywood.”
Despite being a Hollywood star, she remained true to herself and rejected the pretentiousness that came along with being a star. She achieved Hollywood stardom on her own terms, without selling out for the sake of glamour.

Teresa Wright was resolute in her refusal to pose for photographs while wearing bathing suits and to subject herself to superficial interviews in gossipy fan magazines. At first, Goldwyn told her he was not of “the bathing suit school of Hollywood producers.”

Muriel Teresa Wright was born in Harlem, New York City. She discovered a passion for acting while attending the exclusive Rosehaven School in Tenafly, New Jersey, after watching Helen Hayes in “Victoria Regina.” While attending high school in Maplewood, N.J., Wright participated in theatrical productions. Although one teacher advised her to pursue typing instead, a public-speaking teacher mentored her and provided her with plays to read. He also arranged for her to spend two summers at the Wharf Theater in Provincetown.

After receiving a scholarship in the two summers preceding her graduation, she began apprenticing at the Wharf Theatre in Massachusetts, appearing in plays such as The Vinegar Tree and Susan and God.
She performed in school plays and graduated from Columbia High School in Maplewood, New Jersey, in 1938. She then decided to pursue acting professionally and moved to New York.

Wright had to drop her first name when she discovered that another actress named Muriel Wright was already registered with Actors Equity.

In 1938, in her first play, she landed an understudy role in Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town” on Broadway and then toured in the play.

It was a minor role, but it also served as a chance to understudy the lead ingénue character of Emily, actress Dorothy Maguire; however, when Maguire failed to return, Teresa continued in the same role under Martha Scott. Wright eventually replaced Martha Scott when the actress adapted the role of Emily in the film version.

Following her successful stage performances, Wright made her remarkable Broadway debut as Mary in Life With Father in 1939. This caught the attention of playwright Lillian Hellman, who recommended her to Goldwyn for the screen version of Hellman’s The Little Foxes.

Teresa Wright as Alexandra (Zan) Gibbons in Lillian Hellman/William Wyler The Little Foxes (1941).

She gained recognition for her work alongside Bette Davis (who played the cold, calculating mother Regina) and Patricia Collinge who reprised her unparalleled Broadway role as the mercurial Aunt Birdie) in the film.

At that time, she had signed a contract with MGM but refused to do publicity stunts or cheese-cake shots that would turn her into a centerfold:

“ The aforementioned Teresa Wright shall not be required to pose for photographs in a bathing suit unless she is in the water. Neither may she be photographed running on the beach with her hair flying in the wind. Nor may she pose in any of the following situations: In shorts, playing with a co*cker spaniel; digging in a garden; whipping up a meal; attired in firecrackers and holding skyrockets for the Fourth of July; looking insinuatingly at a turkey for Thanksgiving; wearing a bunny cap with long ears for Easter; twinkling on prop snow in a skiing outfit while a fan blows her scarf; assuming an athletic stance while pretending to hit something with a bow and arrow.”

Though she became the unwilling pin-up girl, Teresa Wright became Goldwyn’s biggest overall star during the 1940s.

Teresa Wright and Gary Cooper in Pride of the Yankees (1942) image RKO via Getty Images.

Teresa received Oscar nominations for her roles in Mrs. Miniver (1942), the only movie she made for her studio MGM, and The Pride of the Yankees (1942), winning the Best Supporting Actress trophy for Mrs. Miniver.

In both roles, Teresa Wright gave heartwarming performances as the granddaughter in the sentimental war-era Mrs. Miniver and as baseball icon Lou Gehrig’s kindhearted wife in Pride of the Yankees, starring opposite Gary Cooper. Wright, now one of the most appealing newcomers in Hollywood, garnered two Best Supporting Actress and Best Actress nods in the same year. She holds the record for receiving back-to-back Academy Award nominations in her first three film roles, which still stands today.

Teresa Wright received top billing for Shadow of a Doubt, a film that was her personal favorite and earned every bit of that limelight in Alfred Hitchco*ck’s psychological thriller. The film places Wright as serial killer Joseph Cotten’s unsuspecting niece, Charlie, at the story’s center. Unsuspecting at first…

When Young Charlie (Wright) is over the moon about her favorite Uncle Charlie coming to her sleeping California town for a visit, the whole family celebrates his arrival. Her mother, Emma, Charlie’s older sister (Patricia Collings, who appeared with Wright in The Little Foxes and Casanova Brown), can’t wait to dote on her baby brother. But soon, it comes to light that Charlie might have left strangled wealthy women in his wake, and in fact, maybe The Merry Widow killer.

Teresa Wright gives a nuanced performance as Charlie Newton, who daringly holds her own in a game of cat and mouse with Joseph Cotten. They are tangled up in danger as she carefully draws out his murderous impulses.

But in the shadows beyond the edges, the family is unaware of the two characters diverge – one set on self-preservation with a malignant disgust for fat lazy wives who live off their husbands and the other who seeks out the truth and bends toward humanity. Their same names are where it begins and ends. Wright is a glowing jewel in the blackness of Hitchco*ck’s nightmare.

After marrying screenwriter Niven Busch in 1942 and appearing in the disappointing Casanova Brown 1944, Teresa Wright returned to form as Peggy Stephenson in William Wyler’s The Best Years of Our Lives, featuring the ensemble cast of the Academy Award-winning film in 1946. Wright played the caring daughter of Fredric March and Myrna Loy, who developed a romantic connection with the troubled veteran played by Dana Andrews.

Teresa Wright told friends she was relieved to play an aspiring home wrecker in William Wyler’s post-war drama.

“ I’m going to break that marriage up! I can’t stand it seeing Fred tied to a woman he doesn’t love and who doesn’t love him. Oh, it’s horrible for him. It’s humiliating, and it’s killing his spirit. Somebody’s got to help him.“

At last, she could finally shed her wholesome persona and try to save the man she loved from a no-good tramp (Virginia Mayo as Marie) who barely knew Fred (Dana Andrews). But director Wyler couldn’t even give her credit—calling her “the best cryer in the business.” And Goldwyn continued to cast her as the unworldly, vulnerable lasses.

In 1946, she would star in Lewis Allen’s romantic drama The Imperfect Lady with leading man Ray Milland.

Next, Wright played Thor Callum in her husband’s screenplay for Raoul Walsh’s Pursued 1947 – a western starring Robert Mitchum and Judith Anderson about a young boy plagued by nightmares of his family’s brutal murder who is taken in by a neighboring family. He falls for his kind-hearted adoptive sister, but he faces trouble from his hateful adoptive brother and enigmatic uncle, who wants him dead.

American actors Teresa Wright and Robert Mitchum on the set of Pursued, directed by Raoul Walsh. (Photo by Republic Pictures/Sunset Boulevard/Corbis via Getty Images).

So, In 1948, she was again cast as an innocent waif, Lark Ingoldsby, in the romantic drama Enchantment. While she was unhappy with the picture, the critics sang its praises. Newsweek said she “Glows as the Cinderella who captivated three men.” The New York Timessaid of her performance that she“Plays with that breathless, bright-eyed rapture which she so remarkably commands.”

But Wright had enough of playing Cinderellas, and after refusing to go on a long publicity tour promoting the film, Goldwyn canceled her $5,000-a-week contract and publicly criticized her as “uncooperative.” “I will gladly work for less if by doing so I can retain the common decency without which the most acclaimed job becomes intolerable,” she told The Times during the wildly public brouhaha more than half a century ago.

Teresa Wright starred in three films for studios other than Samuel Goldwyn Productions. Enchantment, opposite David Niven and Farley Granger, would turn out to be her last picture with Goldwyn after she refused to star in the studio’s next film.

In December 1948, after rebelling against the studio system that brought her fame, Teresa Wright had a public falling out with Samuel Goldwyn, which resulted in the cancellation of Wright’s contract with his studio. In a statement published in The New York Times, Goldwyn cited her refusal to publicize the film Enchantment, her being “uncooperative,” and her refusing to “follow reasonable instructions” as reasons.

In her written response, Wright denied Goldwyn’s charges and expressed no regret over losing her $5,000 per week contract.

“I would like to say that I never refused to perform the services required of me; I was unable to perform them because of ill health. I accept Mr. Goldwyn’s termination of my contract without protest—in fact, with relief. The types of contracts standardized in the motion picture industry between players and producers are archaic in form and absurd in concept. I am determined never to set my name to another one … I have worked for Mr. Goldwyn for seven years because I consider him a great producer, and he has paid me well, but in the future, I shall gladly work for less if by doing so I can retain my hold upon the common decencies without which the most glorified job becomes intolerable.”

Even though Wright’s removal resulted in her losing a salary of $125,000, it did not diminish her capability to secure distinguished parts. Despite working on her subsequent film for a significantly lower budget of $20,000, it turned out to be another timeless classic—a post-war era drama released in 1950. Teresa gave a marvelous performance in Fred Zimmerman’s The Men, starring newcomer Marlon Brando.

Teresa Wright and Marlon Brando in Fred Zinneman’s The Men (1950).

Working freelance with other studios, she appeared in several inconsequential pictures that were never critical successes. However, she did star in screenwriter husband’s western thriller Pursued in 1947, starring alongside Robert Mitchum, and another of his, The Capture in 1950, another crime western – starring Lew Ayers.

In 1952, she starred in Something to Live For, directed by George Stevens and starring Ray Milland and Joan Fontaine.

She appeared in California Conquest in 1952, Count the Hours! 1953, a film noir directed by Don Siegel and starring Shadow of a Doubt co-star Macdonald Carey. After that, she starred in Track of the Cat in 1954 and Escapade in Japan in 1957.

In 1952, Teresa Wright made her foray into television with an episode of Robert Montgomery Presents. The show was called And Never Come Back, and two episodes of Betty Crocker Star Matinee.

Also in 1952, she starred with Joseph Cotton in Andrew L. Stone’s The Steel Trap, an obscure film noir about a Los Angeles bank manager (Cotten) who comes up with a plan to steal money from the bank’s vault and flee to Brazil with unsuspecting wife, Laurie. (Wright) Andrew L. Stone made many off-the-beaten-path noirs like A Blueprint for Murder in 1953, The Night Holds Terror in 1955, and Cry Terror! In 1958.

In 1953, she began taking on character roles; Teresa Wright was cast in The Actress; although she was only in her early 30s, she was cast as Jean Simmons’ mother.

The Actress, directed by George Cukor and written by Ruth Gordon, is an account of the actress/playwright Ruth Gordon’s life. Teresa Wright plays Annie Jones, with Jean Simmons as Ruth Gordon Jones. The film also stars Spencer Tracy, Ian Wolfe, Anthony Perkins, Kay Williams, and Mary Wickes. During a period in which Teresa Wright struggled to find dramatic roles, though immersed in her distinguished career in the theater, she started to do considerable work for television, starting with live dramatic anthology series.

The Golden Age of TV provided another lifeline to active work. She remained the strong actor she was in productions, including a TV adaptation of the beloved holiday classic The Miracle on 34th Street (1955), in which she played the role Maureen O’Hara brought to life.

Wright was keeping very busy on television. She would appear as Mary Todd Lincoln in Love is Eternal installment of General Electric Theater. That same year, in 1955, she appeared on The Elgin Hour, Your Play Time, The Loretta Young Show, three episodes of Lux Video Theatre, The Alcoa Hour, and a TV movie called The Devil’s Disciple. In 1956, she appeared on Screen Directors Playhouse and two episodes of Four Star Playhouse, three episodes of Climax!, Star Stage, The Star and the Story, Celebrity Playhouse, Studio 57, and 2 episodes of The 20th Century-Fox Hour.

Teresa Wright and Vincent Price – Los Angeles CBS Radio’s Screen Guild Players production Dragonwyck – broadcast Jan 20, 1947, rehearsal on stage CBS via Getty.

Between 1952 and 1957, she appeared on several episodes of Schlitz Playhouse and The Ford Television Theatre, as well as an episode of The Web and Playhouse 90 in 1957. Between 1954 and 1962, she made five appearances on The United States Steel Hour.

She also began shifting her focus back on the stage, where she found the dependability her acting craved. She appeared in productions of Salt of the Earth in 1952, Bell, Book and Candle, and The Country Girl in 1953. In 1954, she starred in Henry James’ The Heiress and The Rainmaker. In 1957, she co-starred with Pat Hingle in The Dark at the Top of the Stairs, returning to Broadway.

Louis Hayward and Teresa Wright in The Search for Bridey Murphy (1956).

Throughout her television career, she received three Emmy nominations. The first nomination was for her portrayal of Annie Sullivan in the 1957 CBS adaptation of “The Miracle Worker.” Her second nomination was for her role as the renowned photographer in “The Margaret Bourke-White Story” on NBC in 1960. Lastly, she was nominated for a guest appearance on the short-lived CBS series “Dolphin Cove” in 1989.

She starred as Ruth Simmons in the captivating, low-budget The Search for Bridey Murphy (1956), which tells the story of an American housewife who believed she lived before. In 1958, she appeared in the film noir crime drama The Restless Years with John Saxon and Sandra Dee.

In 1959, she married playwright Robert Anderson, continuing to focus on the stage and working in television.

During the 1960s, Teresa Wright returned to the New York stage, starring in three plays: Mary, Mary (1962) at the Helen Hayes Theatre as Mary McKellaway, I Never Sang for My Father (1968) at the Longacre Theatre as Alice, and Who’s Happy Now? (1969) at the Village South Theatre as Mary Hallen. She also toured across the United States in stage productions of Mary, Mary (1962), Tchin-Tchin (1963) as Pamela Pew-Picket, and The Locksmith (1965) as Katherine Butler Hathaway.

Teresa made numerous television appearances throughout the decade, including on CBS’s The Alfred Hitchco*ck Hour (1964) episode Lonely Place, NBC’s Bonanza (1964), CBS’s The Defenders (1964, 1965), and CBS Playhouse (1969). She would also appear in numerous made-for-TV movies.

Teresa Wright and Bruce Dern in The Alfred Hitchco*ck Hour episode Lonely Place aired Nov. 16, 1964.

In 1968, she appeared as Alice in Anderson’s emotional drama I Never Sang for My Father. The film, which was adapted to the screen in 1970, starred Gene Hackman and Melvyn Douglas. Estelle Parson played Alice, the adult daughter.

Teresa Wright and Jean Simmons in director Richard Brooks’s The Happy Ending (1969).

In 1969, Teresa Wright would be cast as Jean Simmon’s mother, giving the strongest performance in Richard Brook’s bleak drama The Happy Ending, starring Jean Simmons as a disillusioned wife who runs away from her stifling married life in a depressed fugue binging on Casablanca, popping pills and drinking. Wright Was just 11 years older than star Jean Simmons, who played her daughter in The Actress in 1953 and The Happy Ending in 1969.

In 1975, Teresa Wright appeared as Linda Loman opposite George C. Scott in the Broadway revival of Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman. In addition to her previous roles, she depicted the rigid Aunt Lily in a 1975 revival of Eugene O’Neill’s Ah, Wilderness! on Broadway and in “Mornings at Seven” during its Broadway run and subsequent tour.

She found her way into a small but interesting role in 1974 in one of those rare suspense-made-for-TV movies called The Elevator. This little claustrophobic gem, for those of us who drool over this time in television fare, stars Teresa Wright with Roddy McDowall as two of the characters trapped in an elevator.

In 1980, she won a Drama Desk Award as a member of the Outstanding Ensemble Performance for her appearance in the revival of Mornings at Seven.

 During her appearance in Los Angeles for a performance in Mornings at Seven at the Ahmanson Theater, she shared a bit of her wisdom with aspiring actors in a USC class in 1982. “I wouldn’t pursue film, and I didn’t back then. I’d use every angle to try to get into a repertory company.”

Teresa Wright and Ralph Bellamy in The Good Mother 1988.

Teresa Wright, Bette Henritze On Borrowed Time 1991 circle in the square Billy Rose Theater Division.

In 1989, she earned her third Emmy Award nomination for her performance in the CBS drama series Dolphin Cove. Teresa also appeared in Murder, She Wrote in the episode “Mr. Penroy’s Vacation.” Her final television role was in an episode of the CBS drama series Picket Fences in 1996.

Matt Damon and Teresa Wright’s last performance in The Rainmaker (1997).

Teresa Wright’s later film appearances included a major role as Laura Roberts in Somewhere in Time (1980), playing the grandmother in The Good Mother (1988) alongside Diane Keaton, and her last role as Matt Damon’s eccentric landlady Miss Birdie in John Grisham’s The Rainmaker (1997), which was directed by Francis Ford Coppola.

“I’m just not the glamour type. Glamour girls are born, not made. And the real ones can be glamorous even if they don’t wear magnificent clothes. I’ll bet Lana Turner would look glamorous in anything.”

Teresa Wright was a masterful actor, luminous, unflinchingly genuine, and—too—unforgettably resilient and undeniably beautiful.

One of my favorite roles on the smaller screen – is READ MY FEATURE HERE: Alfred Hitchco*ck Hour’s episode Three Wives Too Many alongside Dan Duryea, who plays a fluent bigamist. Her chemistry with the sublime actor is fabulous, as they play off each other. Slowly, his character discovers that she’s been shadowing him on each of his routine rendezvous with the other Mrs. Browns at his three other homes. It’s a brilliant setup. He realizes she’s a killer, and he’s out of three wives.

Teresa Wright reunited with Dan Duryea in The Alfred Hitchco*ck Hour episode Three Wives Too Many, aired Jan 3, 1964

Teresa Wright’s cheeky stroke of genius in this episode is filled with macabre and black humor. She delivers a diabolically composed and humorous resolve as she works her way through each of Dan Duryea’s other wives as casually as a housewife doing chores—a serial murderer housewife, that is.

It is perhaps one of my favorite performances of Wright because of the comical dark side she invokes, quite the departure as Wright greatly envisioned from the ‘best little cryer’ that had been hitched to her in the 1940s and 50s.

But let’s talk about her film debut – and Wyler’s film – The Little Foxes!

Addie: (Jessica Grayson – Tomorrow is Forever 1946, Cass Timberlane 1947, ) Yes, they got mighty well-off cheating the poor. Well, there’s people that eats up the whole Earth and all the people on it. Like in the Bible with the locusts. Then there’s people that stand around and watch them do it. Sometimes I think it ain’t right to stand and watch them do it.

Horace Giddens: There’s something else in the Bible, Addie. Take us the foxes… the little foxes that spoil the vines… for our vines have tender grapes.

Bette Davis, William Wyler, Carl Benton Reid, and Teresa Wright were on the set of The Little Foxes in 1941.

Over his long career, William Wyler directed more than seventy movies and won three Academy Awards as Best Director—for Mrs. Miniver, The Best Years of Our Lives, and his epic Ben-Hur. The director was lauded for his significant contributions, including The Heiress, Roman Holiday, and Funny Girl.

In 1941, Wyler directed The Little Foxes 1941, adapted from Lillian Hellman’s (These Three, which would become The Children’s Hour 1961) biting play, a drama set in the American South at the beginning of the 20th century. The film exposes the dark side of a seemingly respectable family and dissects the greed, bitterness, and resentment poisoning the Southern Hubbard clan.

The Little Foxes (1941), Directed by William Wyler, Shown: Charles Dingle (as Ben Hubbard), Patricia Collinge (as Birdie Hubbard), Carl Benton Reid (as Oscar Hubbard), Bette Davis (as Regina Giddens). With the exception of Patricia Collinge as Birdie Hubbard, these are not very pleasant people.

“These are not very pleasant people, and the world created by Hellman and realized by Wyler is one of hypocrisy and cruelty” (Jeremy Carr – article Close up on William Wyler’s The Little Foxes: Family Drama
Down South).

Wyler brought four of the actors who had appeared in the original stage production of The Little Foxes: Charles Dingle, Carl Benton Reid, Dan Duryea, and Patricia Collinge… all reprising their stage roles.

The Little Foxes’ original cast of the stage play in 1939. Tallulah Bankhead as Regina Giddens, Charles Dingle as Ben Hubbard, Carl Benton Reid as Oscar Hubbard, and Dan Duryea as Leo.

While Bankhead was considered to reprise her role as Regina Giddens in the film adaptation,

“Bankhead was not bankable as the viperish Regina Giddens: her eccentric qualities and often wild mannerisms onstage were frequently impressive, but there was perhaps too much of her muchness.” (Donald Spoto)

Bette Davis was cast instead. Though Bette Davis collaborated with the director on some of her best works (Jezebel 1938 and The Letter 1940), friction arose between director Wyler and Bette Davis over her interpretation of Regina.

In her autobiography, A Lonely Life, Davis gave a different version about having to see Bankhead in the play. “A great admirer of hers, I wanted in no way to be influenced by her work. It was Willie’s intention that I give a different interpretation of the part. I insisted that Tallulah had played it the only way it could be played. Miss Hellman’s Regina was written with such definition that it could only be played one way.”

Though it is not clear as to whose decision it was, either Wyler’s or Davis’s, each claiming the other to not mimic Bankhead’s Regina, Davis would interpret the character quite differently. Sparks would fly between Bette, who already won two Oscars, one working under Wyler’s direction.

William Wyler and Bette Davis on the set of The Little Foxes 1941.

Bette Davis, Gregg Toland, and William Wyler on the set of The Little Foxes 1941.

Bette Davis embodies Regina, a schemer with a heart as cold as the stark, white makeup she insisted upon. This “death mask,” consisting of rice powder on her face, as the actress herself requested artist Perc Westmore to create for the character, was her vision, much to the dismay of director Wyler. When he saw her makeup test, the director was livid. He said she looked like “a refugee from the Kabuki theatre. She looks old, harsh, and shabby! She should look wittier, sexier!”

Well, replied the star, “This is how Lillian Hellman wrote the part of Regina, a woman in her forties, not soft but furiously ruthless.”

Yet, the effect was undeniable. It was a mask that hid nothing and revealed everything – a woman of ruthless ambition and chilling indifference.

Wyler envisioned Regina as a nuanced portrait, a woman draped in Southern charm and capable of eliciting sympathy. He yearned for a touch of softness, a stark contrast to the iron fist in a velvet glove interpretation championed by Davis. Ultimately, Davis’ unwavering commitment to her portrayal birthed a character of remarkable complexity, a testament to her mastery of the multifaceted anti-heroine, a role that became her signature.

Though she won for Dangerous 1935 and Jezebel 1938. In her fourth of five consecutive nominations, Bette Davis did not win the award for Best Actress for The Little Foxes; it is as much a mistake as denying her the Oscar for her performance in All About Eve.

Lillian Hellman wrote the screenplay with additional contributions from Hellman’s friend, Dorothy Parker, Parker’s husband, Alan Campbell, and Hellman’s ex-husband, Arthur Kober.

Hellman herself became entangled in a real-life drama during the McCarthy era. The House Un-American Activities Committee, a shadowy force led by Senator Joseph McCarthy, waged a ruthless witch-hunt for suspected communists, with figures like Roy Cohn and Robert Kennedy playing supporting roles. HUAC’s tactics were as insidious as a snake, its hearings designed to root out and blacklist anyone deemed a threat, regardless of evidence.

Regina nee Hubbard/Giddens (Bette Davis) claws will sink deep into the family intrigue, just as Lillian Hellman’s The Little Foxes clawed its way from Broadway to the silver screen in a mere two years, its tale as sharp and unforgiving as a Southern summer. Hellman crafts a story ripe with treachery and dialogue rich with foreshadowing, with a glimpse into America’s burgeoning industrial future and the decaying patriarchal rule of an old Southern clan, a conniving ensemble of second-generation carpetbaggers and cutthroats. It’s the story of the Hubbard and Giddens – two grand old Southern clans who dwell next door to each other and who, truth be told, are not so loved and respected by the town.

Deep in the humid, stifling heart of the South in the early 1900s, a ruthless and scorching narrative surrounds the Hubbard family—a viper’s nest of siblings—brothers who inherited a cotton plantation from the tyrannical iron-fisted patriarch. Like rats in a race, they are scuttering for wealth and a foothold in the hierarchy. The Hubbards’ wealth flows like a polluted river; their opulent home is a monument to avarice and becomes a battleground as they squabble for power and a cut of the family fortune.

The Hubbards gather under a cloud of financial turmoil. Ne’er-do-well Leo’s (Dan Duryea) banking heist and Aunt Birdie’s (Patricia Collinge) speaking to the void or drunken pronouncements of dread create a tense atmosphere. Regina navigates this chaos with a practiced chilling charm; she intends to emerge as the sole beneficiary of the coming profits. While trouble unites them, the prospect of death becomes a perverse windfall: a mere $75,000 investment potentially secures a 75% stake in the family business. This ruthless pursuit of wealth comes at a steep price – a tangled web of betrayals, threats of imprisonment, and a chilling question: will their ruthless ambition leave them with anything of value beyond material gain?

Within this family, a veneer of wealth and sophistication barely conceals their laughter, tinged with a hint of malice, celebrating a bygone era of grandeur built upon unsettling truths. The marriage of first cousins is a testament to their ruthless desire to keep their fortune and dubious legacy within the bloodline. The Little Foxes features wills and inheritances withheld from the rightful people, regardless of gender. There are bitter arguments, emotional humiliation, and despicable tactics to gaslight and strong-arm a dying man. To exploit another’s timely exit.

Furtive glances and cryptic whispers are exchanged as siblings harbor secret agendas, steal and maneuver for their advantage, and each ready to cut the other out of their share of the proverbial pie. Veiled threats of blackmail, the gnawing remorse of drunken nights, and choked-back cries of pain and regret. The most vulnerable bear the brunt of this callous disregard, and their silent suffering is a grim testament to the family’s materialism. All of this fuels the family’s descent into moral decay.

Regina is the lone daughter in the Hubbard clan (except for her own daughter, Alexandra). She is perpetually sidelined by her conniving brothers, bachelor Benjamin, and abusive husband Oscar (Charles Dingle and Carl Benton Reid). They have inherited the Hubbard and Sons family industry, however Regina sees her future built on getting her fair share of the impending mill deal.

With uncanny foresight, Hellman dissects the labor landscape of the 1930s and anticipates its inevitable trajectory. This unsettling glimpse of our future is embraced by Ben, one of the Hubbard siblings, who gleefully declares…

Ben (Charles Dingle): “Until one loses today and wins tomorrow. I say to myself, years of planning, and I get what I want. And then I don’t get it… But I’m not discouraged. The world’s open for people like you and me. There are thousands of us all over the world. We’ll own the country someday. They won’t try to stop us. We’ll get along.”

His words, dripping with avarice, paint a portrait of a nation ripe for exploitation, a land where the wealthy feast on the toil of the downtrodden. Overflowing with imagined insults, this was merely the languid bourgeoisie in veiled hysterics, frothing over perceived slights and fueled by the stale fumes of petty animosities and squabbles. The Hubbards are like foxes in the hen house, ready to pick the bones of the poor fenced-in chickens.

Though a polished period piece, Samuel Goldwyn’s The Little Foxes shocks with its cynicism and delivers a scathing indictment of American capitalism’s curating power, in stark contrast to the pre-WWII era’s naive optimism.

This chilling vision is met with a furious counterpoint later in the story. Horace’s disgust for the vulture-like Hubbards reaching a boiling point explodes with a retort. His words, laced with righteous anger, pierce through the family’s avarice, offering a glimpse of the human cost behind their insatiable hunger for wealth.

“Maybe it’s easy for the dying to be honest. I’m sick of you, sick of this house, sick of my unhappy life with you. … I’m sick of your brothers and their dirty tricks to make a dime. There must be better ways of getting rich than building sweatshops and pounding the bones of the town to make dividends for you to spend. You’ll wreck the town, you and your brothers. You’ll wreck the country, you and your kind, if they let you. But not me; I’ll die my own way, and I’ll do it without making the world worse. I leave that to you.”

Beneath the Magnolias: Race and Representation in The Little Foxes:

The Little Foxes offers a compelling exploration of human nature, but it’s crucial to view it through the lens of its historical context. Beneath the opulent facades and veiled threats lies a complex issue: the portrayal of Black actors in 1940s cinema

Hellman’s script masterfully paints a picture of a society clinging to outdated ideologies. Yet, the film itself becomes a reflection of its time. While the narrative critiques avarice and moral decay, it perpetuates the dominant cinematic representation of Black characters – subservient figures existing solely to cater to their white employers. The hurried anxiety over “cold grits” becomes a microcosm of a larger issue – the silencing and marginalization of Black voices and the racist trope – the glamorized position of the ‘magic negro’ in cinema, television, and literature.

Hollywood’s most highly impactful melodramas struggled to recognize that it was an industry where black actors and their roles were consigned to ‘native girls,’ domestic labor, racial stereotypes, and the prevailing cultural narratives deeply rooted in generations of bigotry. Independent artists were obscured, used as props, and often not credited in their movies.

Birdie’s assertion that ‘we were good to our people’ reeks of self-justification. It’s a desperate attempt to whitewash her family’s history of exploitation, a history undoubtedly witnessed by the observant Addie.

Addie’s evocative comparison to locusts devouring the earth reveals the predatory nature of the Hubbards’ source of wealth. Her comment, ‘Sometimes I think tain’t right to just stand and watch ’em do it,’ transcends mere observation.

Power, Dependence, and Avarice: A Feminist Lens in The Little Foxes:

The film’s central theme of avarice is underscored by a nuanced feminist critique. Bette Davis’ Regina and Patricia Collinge’s Aunt Birdie represent contrasting responses to the societal constraints placed upon women. Regina embodies a ruthless ambition, a desperate attempt to carve out power and independence in a world dominated by men. In contrast, the defeated and powerless Birdie’s dependence and passivity expose the limitations imposed by a patriarchal structure.

Regina: Oscar, don’t you know me by now. I don’t ask for things I don’t think I can get.

or:

Ben: Regina you’re a fool! How many times did Mama tell you, it’s unwise for a good-lookin’ woman to frown?”

or:

Ben Hubbard: How many times have I told you before Regina, you’ll get further with a smile. I’m a soft man for a woman’s smile. That softness and a smile will do more to the hearts of men?

Regina: I’ll do things in my own way, Ben. I know what I’m doing.

Ben: I hope you do, Regina.

Brother Ben (Charles Dingle) constantly harps on Regina’s need to use softness and sweetness to get anything she wants from a man. But she knows what she is doing. In the end, when she finally seizes control, it takes the form of the most vicious incarnation of herself.

“Initially deferential to her brothers, she slyly assumes her more appropriately domineering role by the film’s conclusion. The degree of her spitefulness and the full magnitude of just how distressingly far these people may be willing to go becomes clear toward the end of the picture, in a terrifying scene of passive malice.” (Jeremy Carr – article Close up on William Wyler’s The Little Foxes: Family Drama Down South Feb 2016)

Beaten down, Patricia Collinge reaches deep to uncover Birdie Hubbards pain and alienation.

German expressionist master Gregg Toland, known for his deep-focus cinematography (Citizen Kane), utilized his unique trademark visual language in this film. Deep focus and close-ups bring the story to life, a testament to director Wyler and master cameraman Gregg Toland’s visual power. Even playwright Hellman acknowledged the film’s effectiveness, suggesting it captured the story better than the stage play.

Teresa Wright, Bette Davis, and Gregg Toland on the set of The Little Foxes 1941.

Toland employed his close-ups of the actors’ faces, but the scene composition went beyond mere proximity. He positioned the characters at specific angles, suggesting a visual hierarchy – of dominion, dominance, vulnerability, or passivity that spoke volumes about their power dynamics within the spaces they occupied.

For instance, Bette Davis as Regina is often masterfully framed to appear dominant. Whether towering over Horace or the Hubbards from the top of the stairs, the camera placement amplifies her position of authority or potential threat.

Clandestine glances through off-kilter angles, and layered visuals are poised for the backstab, including the nonchalant Hubbard men shaving in the bathroom as they plot to steal bonds from safety deposit boxes. Excellent mirror-on-mirror conversations reflect their duplicity.

Regina casts a long shadow, literally and figuratively. Camera angles frame her reigning from balconies or descending grand staircases, a constant visual reminder of her dominance. At the same time, her brothers are pushed visually to the outer limits of the frame.

The Little Foxes is an extraordinary ensemble piece defined by the sublime performances of its leading stars and supportive cast.

The Cast:

Teresa Wright’s film debut alongside Bette Davis as Regina Giddens was a seamless collaboration. Regina says to her daughter Alexandra, who is unwittingly innocent and angelic, until she can see her mother’s treachery, “Why, Alexandra! You have spirit, after all. I used to think you were all sugar water.”

As chronicled in the New York Times – “One newcomer to the cast is exciting great enthusiasm in the company. She is Teresa Wright. Wyler says she is the most promising young actress he has ever directed.* A reporter from Variety visited the production, too; he later saw a preview screening and reported: “Miss Wright is a newcomer to the screen and is magnificent in a very difficult part. A less talented actress in her place could have ruined the picture.”

Davis’s reputation for having no patience for unprepared colleagues and lazy amateurs was very kind and helpful to Teresa, who was making her debut in a highly demanding role amidst a cast of veteran actors – “Bette was very generous,” Teresa recalled. “I had come through the theatre, as she had, and she welcomed stage actors. She was too much of a pro to steal scenes. She just played her part. She was marvelous to all of us and as helpful as she could be.”

In the play, a key character emerges as Alexandra Giddens, Regina’s seventeen-year-old daughter. Unlike the rapacious vultures circling the family fortune, Alexandra stands as the moral center of the story., the one untarnished soul. It’s she who fiercely protects her dying father from the machinations of her unscrupulous mother and her greedy uncles.

Unable to find a satisfactory Hollywood actress for the role, Goldwyn asked Hellman to scout New York talent. She saw Life With Father, was keen on Teresa, and sent a cable to Goldwyn, who hurried to New York to see for himself.

Stuck finding the perfect actress in Hollywood, Goldwyn turned to playwright Lillian Hellman for help. He figured her keen eye for talent, honed during scriptwriting, could unearth a hidden gem. Hellman, on a hunch, decided to check out the New York theater scene. One night, catching a performance of Life With Father, she was captivated by a young actress named Teresa Wright. Completely sold on Teresa’s potential, Hellman wasted no time firing off a telegram to Goldwyn, urging him to come see Teresa himself. Intrigued by Hellman’s enthusiasm, Goldwyn didn’t hesitate. He made his way to New York, eager to see if this actress could be the missing piece for his film.

Teresa, having read the play and hearing about the impending movie, never thought she had a shot at getting the part. But after Goldwyn came backstage, all that changed.

“I knew she was a great actress before the end of the first act,” he told Time magazine. “Miss Wright was seated at her dressing table when I was introduced, and she looked for all the world like a little girl experimenting with her mother’s cosmetics. I had discovered in her – from the first sight, you might say – an unaffected genuineness and appeal.”

The trap for Teresa Wright in portraying Alexandra Giddens was the potential for a one-dimensional character: a saccharine embodiment of naive vulnerability. It would have been easy enough just to recite Hellman’s lines, yet Wright grasped the character’s arc – a young woman blossoming into awareness. Alexandra’s journey is one of witnessing the chilling grip of family greed and the dark undercurrent and murderous shadow of her cold-blooded mother.

This understanding elevated Wright’s performance, rescuing Alexandra from becoming a victim of cliches and transforming her into a character undergoing a profound moral awakening.

Teresa Wright’s performance as Alexandra Giddens in the 1941 film adaptation of Lillian Hellman’s “The Little Foxes” was widely praised and helped launch her film career. Through her performance, Wright effectively conveyed Alexandra’s strong moral compass and growing disillusionment with her family’s greed. Her subtle expressions and quiet strength resonated with audiences.

“Teresa depended on her understanding, her intuition, and her expressive eyes. She saw herself as Plain Jane; in reality, she radiated a rare kind of direct, unstudied warmth and an appealing freshness that was never cloying or childish, always recognizably honest and candid.” (Donald Spoto)

The movie’s narrative threads a coming-of-age subplot alongside the main story. Zan radiates innocence and an innate kindness reminiscent of her father as she embarks on a journey of self-discovery.

Alexandra starts the film as a sheltered and idealistic young woman. Raised amidst the wealthy Hubbard family, which is consumed by greed and manipulation, she stands out for her kindness and genuine spirit. Throughout the film, she experiences a gradual awakening. Witnessing her family’s schemes firsthand, she begins to understand the true cost of their ambitions. This newfound awareness paves the way for her eventual defiance.

Wright brought a naturalistic charm, youthful innocence, and authenticity to the role. This natural charm contrasted beautifully with the calculating personalities that surrounded Alexandra. Alexandra witnesses the devastating consequences of her family’s self-serving machinations. This experience pushes her towards rebellion. She breaks free from her mother’s control and chooses to leave, defying the Hubbard family’s suffocating legacy. Wright effectively portrays Alexandra’s internal struggle with her love for the family and her disapproval of their actions.

Teresa Wright’s performance earned her an Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actress, a significant achievement for her film debut. This recognition solidified her reputation as a rising star in Hollywood.

Bette Davis, as Regina naturally reigns supreme, is the consummate screen villainess in Orry-Kelly fashions and queen in a tired Southern mansion. Conversations swirled around her, pleas and arguments alike, but she remained a detached observer, often swooping down from the grand staircase or peering down from the second floor. Her gaze, a glacial blue eyes if viewed in technicolor, held a chilling indifference. It wasn’t just the physical height of her puffed shoulders that gave her an air of superiority; it was the aura of icy contempt that radiated from her, a constant reminder that for Regina, human emotions were mere inconveniences to be trampled underfoot in the pursuit of her desires.

Her gaze held a simmering hostility, her voice a monotone devoid of warmth. Every movement was measured, a chilling contrast to the mockery that twisted her lips when amusem*nt flickered briefly. Southern belle Regina Giddens (Bette Davis) will use anyone to orchestrate her climb towards more wealth, including her now wheelchair-bound husband Horace (Herbert Marshall) and their growing daughter Alexandra (Theresa Wright). Regina hates conversation before a hot breakfast and diffuses terse business talks with good port.

Davis flourishes as she fans and fluffs her splendid Orre-Kelly gowns, coaxing forgotten elegance from their folds, regal, elegant period costumes; she cascades flawlessly onto the sofa or adorns the front room like a butterfly in a gilded frame.

Regina: I was lonely when I was young. Not in the way people usually mean. I was lonely for all the things I wasn’t gonna get.

Regina Hubbard Giddens is a gilded predator. She swam in a sea of privilege built on the exploitation of others. In her family’s eyes, business and matrimony were simply different facets of the same ruthless game: the acquisition of assets.

Overlooked in her father’s will, she compensated for this by marrying Horace Giddens (Herbert Marshall), a banker who later started his firm (the Planters Trust) and, while not as independently flush with cash as the Brothers Hubbard, manages to provide for his wife and daughter Alexandra decently.

A facade masks their loveless marriage (separate bedrooms speak volumes), and Horace, harboring a flicker of past affection, will take joy in ruining Regina’s plans. Her response? She confesses her contempt for him. Despising him as weak and resorting to barbed insults that wound his masculinity. This reveals the harsh truth that she has no respect for him for not demanding answers to her lack of intimacy. Regina resents all the men in her life with good reason. They have given her nothing. And it needs to be said that while she ultimately commits the vilest act of virtually ‘doing nothing’ while Horace suffers a heart attack, it’s hard not to understand her animosity toward the world – the bitterness runs deep in her, like a root that chokes out any room for forgiveness. Her father left her no security. Her brothers hold all the power. Horace, who is mild and meager, never aspired to give her all she ever wanted. Women knew nothing other than a world of comforts but no freedom in the face of misogyny.

As time moves along in the film, Regina undergoes subtle transformations. The veneer of civility appears to crack, revealing her steely resolve – a harder edge becomes clearer. A charged moment hangs in the air while arrangements are being made for Horace’s arrival home. Here, a silent exchange unfolds between Regina and her reflection, a stark comparison facilitated by an old photograph. This fleeting scene, devoid of dialogue, tells it all in Davis’ expression about the burden she carries, and it is one of the few moments where there’s a glimmer of humanity.

It’s a rare glimpse into Regina’s burdens, a vulnerability that allows us to connect with this complex character. Here, in the quiet contemplation, the fleeting specter of her own mortality and the fragility of her independence are brought to light. The stark realization dawns: her carefully constructed power structure hinges on a precarious foundation – her husband, her brothers, and a father who failed to provide. Horace’s mortality becomes a potent catalyst, triggering an unspoken anxiety, perhaps explaining her desperate grasp for control and immediate fulfillment while youth allows for celebration. And when Horace tries to talk about his doomed health, she becomes livid. “I have never understood why people have to talk about this kind of thing.”

Regina feels trapped in her claustrophobic Southern town, married to Horace, but his career and his mild ambitions mirror his personality – humble and perceived – insignificant. Undeterred by her family and her stifling marriage, she charts her own ambitious course, a path that would exact a heavy toll.

Patricia Collinge (read my special feature HERE) will be cast in the role of Birdie Hubbard, giving one of the most poignant performances of her career. This role was a recreation of her role in the original Broadway production in 1939, in which she co-starred with Tallulah Bankhead.

Collings and Teresa, in her first movie role, share a remarkably insightful connection. Birdie thought her husband Oscar loved her, but he only loved her family’s plantation, so now she drinks to deaden the pain.

A particularly striking scene unfolds when Birdie passionately implores Zan to forgo even the thought of marrying Leo, her son, whom she despises. She fears that the young woman will wind up like her.

Their performances in The Little Foxes transcend the mere aunt-niece relationship, creating a dynamic that evokes a profound maternal connection. The opportunity to collaborate again in Hitchco*ck’s Shadow of a Doubt would undoubtedly capitalize on the remarkable synergy between the two actresses.

Collinge’s psychologically tortured, neglected, and alcoholic Aunt Birdie is perhaps the most startling and unforgettable performance of the picture. Despite her constant chatter and scatterbrained enthusiasm of a busybody, Birdie is painfully dismissed and ridiculed throughout the film. The scene where she confides in Alexandra, revealing the truth behind her frequent “headaches” as a mask for alcoholism, her quiet suffering.

Later, forced to conceal the domestic abuse she endures from Oscar, Birdie fabricates a story about a twisted ankle to explain a blow from her husband. Relegated to the periphery of the scenes, often positioned in a corner, her diminished physical presence mirrors her emotional marginalization. When she is acknowledged at all, the laughter and dismissal are captured not just by sound but by the deliberate exclusion of her from the frame’s center of focus. This visual alienation powerfully underscores the tragedy of her isolation. The long view that Toland captures, as it reduces her to a small figure in the shot, and yet we can still see the expression of erasure on Collinge’s face – is nothing short of shattering.

Despite her aristocratic background and her connection to her grand past, societal expectations compel her to silence herself and apologize for a minor inconvenience caused to her husband, who only married her for her money and status. This dynamic underscores the power imbalances within their relationship. Birdie’s reminiscences, imbued with sentimentality, often elicit impatient sighs from even the well-meaning members of her circle. The narrative, however, rarely delves into the reasons behind her moments of being easily flustered and withdrawn and her need for the emotional release of being heard. Instead, she’s abruptly silenced.

Carl Benton Reid, as Oscar Hubbard, brings his original stage presence of the opportunistic brother to the screen and seamlessly transitions from charm to calculation. He spins a tale of his family’s rich cotton heritage to impress the potential business partner. However, beneath the surface lurks a ruthless streak. With a harsh tone, he bullies his wife and feigns camaraderie with his brother-in-law, Horace, while harboring plans to exploit him for personal gain.

Oscar Hubbard: The ones that are rich enough to give are smart enough to want.

Older brother Benjamin Hubbard (Charles Dingle – Lady of Burlesque 1943, Edge of Darkness 1943,The Song of Bernadette 1943, The Beast with Five Fingers 1946, Duel in the Sun 1946, ) is a confirmed bachelor. He’s every bit as cold-blooded as Oscar…only he can conceal it with a smile and a certain sebaceous charm. One might be tempted to write off Brother Ben’s penchant for witty retorts in the face of obstacles were it not for the unsettling undercurrent of menace that laces his wisdom with pronouncements like – “That’s cynical. But cynicism is an unpleasant way of telling the truth.”

Herbert Marshall gives a suitable performance as Bette Davis’s beleaguered husband, Horace, who projects a nuanced exploration of a kind yet beaten-down man possessing a suffering virtue. He endures a cruel existence with his scornful wife and is riddled with knowing that death is at his door, highlighting his surrender of desire for material gain. Furthermore, the recurring visual motif of Horace’s subordinate posture on his throne – with his weak and sickly presence reinforces his disinterest in exploiting others for financial benefit.

Duryea is no stranger to playing cads. Consider his ruthless, opportunistic, lazy, and physically abusive Johnny in Fritz Lang’s Scarlett Street 1945. In 1948, he would portray Oscar Hubbard in the Lillian Hellman prequel Another Part of the Forest.

Hellman added David’s character to the screenplay. He patiently awaits Alexandra’s growing up and adds a sense of right and wrong that counterbalances the amoral goings-on of the scheming Hubbards. He lovingly tries to guide Alexandra toward opening her eyes and growing up.

David Hewitt: (Richard Carlson) ” I’ll tell you what… you could do if you went away. Zan, if you could find someplace where they pay wages for talkin’ silly, you could make a fortune.”

He is one of the only benevolent men in her life besides her father. And he is not afraid to speak his mind.

The Story:

It’s the story of a nest of greedy vipers – the Hubbards, brothers Ben and Oscar, and their sister Regina, who is married to Horace Giddens. Regina’s teenage daughter, the young Alexandra, nicknamed Zan, ultimately carries the story to its end point—where tradition meets rebellion.

The Deep South during the 1900s. A borrowed fragment of the verse from The Song of Solomon establishes the narrative: it’s a time when carriage wheels turn under the canopy of ancient oaks draped in curtains of Spanish moss, and the gentility of elaborate hats, pretty faces, and impeccable high-wasted dresses set the mood. A land steeped in sordid and sullied tradition, where the 20th century had arrived with a hesitant courtesy.

Zan and Addie, the Gidden’s cherished housekeeper and the grounding force and voice of reason along the unfolding plotline, are out in a carriage heading for home. The carriage stops to greet David Hewitt, who exchanges a few playful words with Zan about petticoats and…

Zan – You don’t like anybody in my family.

David Oh yes, I do. There’s one person I’m mighty fond of.

Zan Yes?

David – It’s your Papa! (Addie laughs)

Zan – Don’t you laugh at him, Addie. It’s beneath notice.

Drawn in by shouts from windows that float across the street, a few of the characters introduce themselves with theatrical flourishes—echoes of a stage play. Leaning out the window, Aunt Birdie calls down to Zan, who is eager to learn the new piano piece. Next, Uncle Ben appears at the window, awakened by the piano. He is greeted by his sister, Regina.

Ben Hubbard: [From his balcony] Mornin’, Regina.

Regina Giddens: Really, Ben! You look very silly in your nightgown. You shouldn’t show yourself.

Ben Hubbard: That’s why I never got married. I shall dress and come over for breakfast with you and Alexandra.

Regina Giddens: No, don’t. I hate conversation before I’ve had something hot.

The Hubbards, with Oscar and Leo, join the film for the first time; they are having breakfast with their wife and mother, Birdie, whose innocent chatter finds herself ignored, offering a glimpse into their dynamic. Meanwhile, across town, David confides his distaste for the Hubbard siblings to his mother.

While Addie washes Zan’s hair, the young ingénue asks if she’ll ever be pretty enough to have a man love her. Regina assures her daughter that one day, she’ll have everything she wants, implying that her own dreams are unfulfilled. Dreams she had desired at the same age.

Ben Hubbard (Charles Dingle), the silver-tongued brother, and Oscar (Carl Benton Reid), the iron fist, have ambitions that simmer far beyond the town limits.

Oscar and Ben hatch a plan to secure a vital business deal. They invite prominent Chicago Industrialist William Marshall (Russell Hicks) to Regina’s home under the guise of offering him a taste of Southern hospitably; the brothers hope to enter into a partnership to establish a cotton mill in their small town.

The successful Marshall caught their eye as a potential key to unlocking a future brighter than the cotton that already is the source of the family fortune they covet. A cotton mill, a partnership, and a shared ambition—a recipe for vast wealth.

Ben tells Birdie under his breath to stop talking.

Russell Hicks, as industrialist William Marshall sits at the dinner table just having watched Carl Benton Reid as Oscar shut down his wife Birdie.

A glint of avarice lights up the Hubbard brothers’ eyes as this potential golden goose strolls into their quaint parlor: the wealthy William Marshall is dripping with investment opportunities, offering them visions of a new mill, an extra grasping limb to the body of the greedy Hubbard family that will continue to exploit the cheap labor of the townspeople.

However, Regina sees a different kind of squeeze—one that will not leave her relegated to the sidelines by the men in her family line. Sensing an opportunity in Marshall’s invitation to come to Chicago, she uses it as a weapon, a veiled threat to her brother’s cash grab if they don’t cut her a significant slice of the ill-gotten pie.

Oscar berates Birdie: Oscar – “What’s the matter with you. First, you chatter like a magpie, and now you’re sulking like a schoolgirl.” Birdie – What am I doing? I haven’t done anything?” ” You’ve had too much wine! Get yourself together and stop acting like a fool.”

Regina is the embodiment of Southern entitlement. Her family perched atop the town’s social hierarchy, a life of luxury unimaginable to the threadbare folks who scurried below. Yet, Regina craves a summit far higher. A place where she will have the freedom on her own terms, to attain everything she’s always wanted. This hunger is a constant undercurrent, simmering beneath even the most charming facade. When Mr. Marshall, the Chicagoan lynchpin to their dreams of a fortune-ready cotton mill, graced them with his presence, Regina donned a mask of graciousness, transformed into the picture of Southern hospitality, and greeted Marshall with a practiced smile that played on her lips. Still, a flicker of disdain lingered beneath it. A venomous sweetness that hinted at Machiavellian wiles. Regina does smile often, but it often hides the venom.

At the dinner table, Oscar once again harshly shuts up his wife, Birdie; this does not go unnoticed by Mr. Marshall. When he bids them all goodnight, he makes a particular point of showing kindness to her, in stark contrast to the hostile Oscar, who berates his wife for having too much wine. He also makes Regina promise, once again, to come to Chicago. She promises, and the golden goose exits.

Now, in the absence of their prospective investor, the mask slipped readily. Regina’s patience was a rare commodity, and her smoldering contempt for the lack of those unfulfilled dreams was like a fiery creature perpetually straining at the leash. She was all laughter and smiles, but it was gazing into her future – an opulent life in Chicago.

Ben knew her true nature; the warmth in her eyes never reached the corners. Ever the pragmatist, Ben met her with a matched performance, the same chilling, calculated cruelty for self-satisfaction.

Since Regina’s father has left all his money to his sons, she lacks control over the family coffers and has no money of her own to invest in this business scheme.

Regina, hungry for affluence, announces her grand plans. With her cut of the spoils, she’ll conquer the Windy City, Alexandra in tow. Chicago, a glittering promise on the horizon, beckoned with the allure of high society and a life beyond the suffocating confines of their small town. Marshall asked her to promise she’d come twice. Regina would weave a new tapestry for her daughter, a life spun from silk and ambition, far removed from the dusty threads of their current existence. She will move to Chicago with Alexandra so her daughter can have a chance to “Meet the right people” and have “everything I didn’t.”

Regina’s dreams of Chicago, however, were strung on a fragile thread—a cool $75,000. This hefty sum resided not in her grasp but in the control of her ailing husband, Horace (Herbert Marshall), a seasoned banker she relies on for money.

Husband Horace is currently absent from their home, as his heart is a ticking time bomb. He stays tucked away in a Baltimore sanatorium, seeking solace for his worn-out and fragile heart. The city is a world away from the sultry, dewy daydreams of the family plantation. After the dinner party, they settle in the parlor to talk of wishes.

Ben – When he lifted his glass I saw the bricks going into place.

Regina – Did you? Well, I saw a lot more than that. I’m gonna leave you and Oscar to count the bricks. I’m going to Chicago.

Oscar – Oh, did you?

Regina – And I’m going to take Alexandra with me. I’ll give big parties for her and see that she meets the right people and the best young men too. And later on, I’ll take trips to New York and Paris and have what I want—everything I want. You should come to Chicago to visit us. Not too often, of course. And Ben, you won’t have to learn to be subtle. You’ll be very rich, and the rich can be as eccentric as they like.

Ben – So you want to live in Chicago, Eh?

Regina – Yes, Let’s all say what we want when we’re very rich. What do you want, Oscar?

Oscar – It might take a few trips here and there. Birdie, it might do you some good.

With a barely tolerated presence, Birdie answers him, “Yes, Oscar, I’d like that.” (she continues to try and speak, but Oscar talks over her and is ignored; she attempts to interject while WE, too, are being relentlessly barraged by the other three’s fluid conversation. He is discussing the enterprise of getting rich with Regina and Ben. It is a painfully awkward scene as he dismisses her, yet she keeps trying to be heard.

With an unwavering resolve, her voice struggles to break free. The scene unfolds with palpable tension, a testament to his dismissiveness and her unwavering resolve to be heard.
It was a three-way conversation conducted at auctioneer speed, launching fragments of sentences into the fray. With each overlapping utterance, the dialogue dissolves into a cloud of unintelligible sounds. The scene becomes a masterclass in failed discourse, a tangled mess of words stripped of coherence.

Finally, she stands. “I do think we could all be happy.” He interrupts her

Oscar – What are you chattering about?

There begins a chaos of dialogue as all four characters begin to interweave their conversations until it is utterly indiscernible what each is saying.

Ben interjects – I’m waiting for you and Birdie to finish. Four conversations are three too many!

Ben – Naturally you’re our sister we want you to benefit from anything we do

Regina: And, in addition to your concern for me, you do not want control to go out of the family. That right, Ben?

Seeing their sister Regina’s involvement in the scheme as key to keeping the cotton mill deal within the family, Ben and Oscar try to bring her on board. However, Regina drives a hard bargain. She dangles Horace’s fortune like a sacrificial lamb to bargain for a seat at the table.

She knows all too well that her brothers, one unctuous and the other callous, depend on her husband’s participation in the endeavor.

While they propose a one-third share for her and Horace in exchange for their $75,000 investment, Regina counters with a demand for a much bigger slice of the pecan pie—a full 40%.

Birdie is escorted to the screen’s lost space by her family’s dismissal and the camera’s keen eye on her alienation.

This is where Regina’s teenage daughter Alexandra (Teresa Wright) enters the picture as she becomes a pawn in the game—Alexandra’s purpose—to retrieve her ailing father from the Baltimore sanatorium and bring him home so they can put their claws into him for the money. He’ll want to come home once he hears that she misses him very much.

Ben says, ” I admire you, Regina.”

Regina, ” But before he comes home, what’s he gonna get?”

Ben says to Regina – You’re holding us up, and that’s not pretty. But I’m a peaceful man.

Reluctant to honor Regina’s terms, the brothers concede to her demands. Knowing Horace’s deep affection for their daughter, Alexandra, Regina orchestrates the young girl’s trip to Baltimore to bring him home. Horace has been undergoing treatment for a serious heart condition. This strategic move on Regina’s part will ensure Horace’s presence despite the lingering tension between them.

Alexandra is dispatched north. Yet her trip is not to revel in debutante balls but to secure her mother and uncle’s gilded future. The weight of this responsibility, heavier than any social season, settled upon Alexandra’s young, unwitting shoulders.

Regina, the cunning puppeteer, dangling the promise of a better life for her daughter might be a genuine maternal concern or a shrewd justification for her own grasping ambition remained a tantalizing question. Perhaps it was a bit of both – the murky blend of a mother’s desires and or reflection on her child’s potential to have the things she did not have at that age. Regardless, Alexandra became an unsuspecting player in Regina’s ruthless game, just like Horace before her. Sending the girl north to fetch him was a masterstroke: a delegation of innocence deflecting suspicion while securing the financial linchpin of their ambitions.

Ben, Oscar, and Leo, his son, weren’t playing the game with a loaded deck. They were $75,000 deeper in the hole than they let on to Regina.

The Hubbard siblings were a coiled snake of self-interest. Ben and Oscar, as adept at manipulation as Regina, had no qualms about exploiting their own blood.

Ben and Oscar literally and figuratively behind Regina’s back.

Oscar harbored yet another cunning plan of his own, a plot involving Regina and her daughter, Alexandra. He envisioned a future where she would be yoked to his dimwitted, nasty son, Leo. Leo, admittedly, lacked both wit and charm, but his lineage was undeniable.

Oscar, having married and abused the fragile and broken Birdie to acquire her family’s plantation and cotton fields, now has ambitions to consolidate the family wealth further by marrying off his son to Alexandra. Oscar cannot help but remind Regina of what a handsome couple Zan and Leo would make, much to Regina’s vexation.

In Oscar’s scheming mind, this marriage would be the ultimate power play – a consolidation of the Hubbard fortune for his own bloodline. Ben, the unmarried and childless brother, was a mere footnote in his calculations; his wealth was a preordained inheritance for Leo. However, the prospect of this grotesque union was a wrinkle in their otherwise meticulously crafted plan. Would Alexandra, a spirited young woman with dreams of reaching beyond their small town’s confines, be willing to bend to familial greed? Or would Regina’s ambitions collide with Oscar’s, fracturing the already brittle Hubbard unity?

Regina: [about a possible marriage between Alexandra and Leo] There are a lot of things to consider. After all, they are first cousins.
Oscar: Well, that isn’t unusual; our grandfather and grandmother were first cousins!
Regina: Yes, and look at us. [she laughs]

After the siblings hash out the details of their brewing scheme, Birdie grabs Alexandra and desperately warns her not to marry her son Leo.

Blessed by her naive heart, Alexandra dismisses the suggestion of marrying Leo with a tinkling laugh. “Oh, Aunt Birdie,” she chirps, “ You worry too much! I’m not a child anymore; no one can tell me what to do.” Her youthful innocence is as endearing as it is misplaced. The predatory glare in her mother’s eyes, the calculating silence of her uncles—these details are lost on Alexandra, blind to the true machinations of the Hubbard family.

Birdie, however, sees right through the facade. Years of observing their ruthless games have etched lines of worry on her face, a stark contrast to Alexandra’s carefree smile. Birdie knows the darkness that lurks beneath the surface, a darkness that threatens to engulf the girl’s bright future.

Birdie – He’s my son, my own son, but you’re more to me, more to me than my own child,” she tells Alexandra. “You’re not going to marry Leo. Oh, Zan, I couldn’t even stand to think of such a thing. Don’t you understand? They’ll make you. They’ll make you.

Regina’s not crazy about the idea, either, but Birdie is the one Oscar slaps later. When Oscar hears Birdie try to ruin his plans, the most sinister of the three siblings, he slaps her; it’s quite jolting, hard enough that it brings Alexandra out of her room to see what the noise is. When she looks down from the top of the stairs and questions her Aunt Birdie, all she can do is look straight forward into the distance no one else can see, insisting she has twisted her ankle.

David (Richard Carlson), young newspaperman who writes things the newspaper won’t print and the son of Mrs. Hewitt (Virginia Brissac), the local dressmaker, and the Giddens’s family friend, is waiting to see Zan off to the station. He runs out in his nightshirt to the shock of Addie and Zan. When Addie tells Cal to hurry away, David jumps into the carriage. He has already mischievously implied that the only family member he can tolerate is her papa. Alexandra cannot understand this sentiment, and it irks her to no end.

Addie, the eternal fount of wisdom and nurturing, prepares Zan for her trip to Baltimore.

At the station, he pokes his head in Zan’s compartment window and tells her, “Walk around. Talk to people. “ Addie says, ” But I just been tellin’ her not to talk to nobody.”
He continues his pep talk, “You talk to people, go to the coaches, talk to everybody. It’ll do ya good.” He tells her to find out about people.
“I just found out one thing, David. I’m gonna miss you.”

As the train departs, bidding farewell to their small town and Alexandra’s impending journey to Baltimore,
David tries to impart to Alexandra that she should reach beyond her comforts and see things as they truly are—not through rose-colored glasses and not remain blissfully unaware of the churning undercurrents in the seemingly placid waters of her family life. While on this trip, he tells her to peek behind the curtain and talk to people outside her social circle—to see the world from a different perspective. There’s a whole world to explore that doesn’t revolve around her family’s machinations.

During an unplanned overnight stay in Mobile, due to Horace feeling poorly, Horace and Alexandra spend quality time together. This delay unveils a surprising truth: despite his frequent absences, he has always been the one who shaped her gentle nature and strong character. At the Hotel desk, Zan’s voice takes a sharp edge as she demands a better room for her father. When she walks away, he comments, ” Well, she’s turning out to be her mother’s daughter.” Unaware to Alexandra, David is staying at the same Hotel.

Jealousy flares when Alexandra sees David having dinner with a polished woman. A woman ‘with powder on her nose.’ He tries to introduce them, but Alexandra is rude by her unwillingness to acknowledge her. She storms away. Horace compels her to apologize. This act reveals the respect and values he likely instilled in Alexandra.

Zan – Now for all his fine talk he’s out there in the dining room with one of those girls.

Horace – “One of what girls?

Zan – Well, she’s got powder on her nose.And he’s with her.

Horace – Does it concern you? Course it doesn’t You can just bet it doesn’t. Then Why not forget about it?

Zan still fuming … Then he dare introduce her to me.

Horace – Did he?

Zan – I didn’t say a word to her(proud of herself) I just looked. Then I walked away.

Horace – Did you Zan that was very virtuous of you.

Zan – Wasn’t that right Papa?

Horace – Zannie who then’s been teaching you to hurt the feelings of other people? I didn’t think about it that way.

Zan –What should I do papa?

Horace – You’ll have to decide for yourself Zan.

She apologizes to David’s friend, and David walks Zan back to her room and tells her it was a nice thing she did. Horace’s positive influence becomes clear in Mobile.

What follows is a scene where father Oscar and son Leo share time in the bathroom getting ready for the day. Oscar tells Leo that Horace has plenty of money to invest in their venture. This he informs his son while shaving his throat with a sharp razor. Wyler and Toland’s use of symbolism suggests the blade imparts the cutthroat nature of the man.

With a string of co*cky asides, Leo keeps muttering about Horace’s safety deposit box. All he had to do, he proclaimed, was open the box. “Easy as pie.” the box’s contents tickle him. Nestled within aside from the expected stack of bonds. It held an old baby shoe, likely Zan’s from a bygone era, a cheap and outdated cameo, a solitary piece of a violin—not even the complete instrument—and a poem, presumably penned by his mother in a forgotten moment of sentimentality. Oscar begins to concentrate on his son’s observations. ” How do you know what’s in the box, son?” Leo looks uneasy, believing his father is angry; however, Oscar assures him, ” Sometimes a fella deserves credit for lookin’ around and seein’ what’s goin’ on.”

Horace and Zan arrive home. Regina will greet him in his room.

Horace: I want to know why Zan came to fetch me.

Addie: I don’t know, Mr. Horace. All I know is, big things is goin’ on. Everybody gonna be high-toned rich. You too. All ’cause smoke gonna start from a building that ain’t even up yet. And Miss Zan is going to marry Mr. Leo in a little while. That’s right there’s gonna be a wedding… Over my dead body they is.”

Horace’s arrival offered a brief respite, but the vultures were circling. Regina and her brothers shower Horace with exaggerated concern. However, their facade cracks when clearly sensing there’s more to his homecoming than meets the eye. Horace pushes them for the real reason he’s been summoned home.

Regina finally comes in to talk to Horace, just the two of them. He tells her that time away gave him time to think about things. She comments, “ Oh, you liked there so much you didn’t want to come home.” He tells her that’s not the way to put it. “It sounds more like a holiday. And here I was thinking you were in pain.”
He tells her, “I was in pain.” Regina, “Instead, you were having a holiday. A holiday of thinking.” Horace, “I was thinking about us.” Regina was curious, “ About us?” About you and me? After all these years. Well, you should tell me everything you thought… Someday.”

He asks her about Zan and Leo’s marriage, and she tells him she has no intention of letting that happen. He tells her to set Oscar straight right away. Regina tells him, “There’s no need to talk about it now.” He insists, “There’s no need to talk about it ever. Not as long as I live.”

Horace tells Regina that the doctors must have written to her about him not having long to live. Regina becomes coldly displeased with the direction in which their conversation is going.” I’ll never understand why people have to talk about it.” Horace says, ” You must understand I don’t intend to gossip about my sickness. I thought it only fair to tell you. I was not asking for your sympathy.” When she sees her brothers about to enter the house, she realizes that she must soften up again and finally get to the point of her appearance in his room. To talk about the business deal.

Ben and Oscar descend with a barrage of thinly veiled demands as they reveal their business proposition. While Ben continues to sell their plan, Horace becomes visibly affected, clutches his chest, and reaches for his medicine. His pain goes unnoticed or is a deliberate act of disregard for either way. Regina finally helps Horace get the spoon to his mouth. He tells them he doesn’t want to talk about it now, yet Regina’s insistence is unfathomable. The deal needs to be closed immediately. She’ll take care of everything.

Horace has already developed a healthy aversion to the Hubbards’ brand of suffocating hospitality. With a withering husband and a noose tightening around her ambitions, Regina descends to desperate pleas, begging him to cough up the money she so desperately needs.

Regina, “Can’t you see Horace? We’ve been waiting for months for you to come home.” He says, “I can. I can see that you did want me to come home.” Ben and Oscar leave. Regina once again softens her tone, “Horace, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean that was the reason why.” He says, “I think you did mean it. And that makes me very sad.”

Oscar and Ben have been waiting downstairs. They let Regina know that they will not wait too much longer for Horace to decide whether he’s going to invest in their business venture.

Later, after their guests take their leave from a dinner party, on his way out, the unobservant and uncaring Leo steps on his mother’s dress and rips the hem without a notice in the world. None of the Hubbard men take notice of Birdie unless it’s to criticize and demean her. It’s a sad, funny little moment in the film that captures the essence of Birdie remaining invisible to her son. Zan and David are sitting together outside under the night sky. When Regina goes out to tell Zan to go to bed, she tells her mother not yet. Regina turns up the gaslight to throw light on the two lovebirds. It is clear that Regina does not approve of David as a prospect for her daughter.

This is where David says to Zan, “ Well, that’s the first time you’re mother tells you to do something, and you didn’t hop to do it.” Zan says, “ That’s a funny thing to say,” David, “ You know, you take one step, then you take another, and after a while, you find out you’re walkin’ all by yourself. You don’t understand what I’m talking about, do ya?” Zan tells him, ” There’s a lot of things I don’t understand lately. Things that are happening here.“” David says, ” I could explain ‘em to ya, Zan, but You wouldn’t like me if I did. But you got to find them out for yourself.

Meanwhile, Ben and Oscar pensively await Regina’s attention. They confront her, insisting on knowing where Horace stands on investing his money. They tell her they must know now because Mr. Marshall wants to close the deal tonight. All three go upstairs to seek Horace’s answer.

The money, the coveted $75,000, hung heavy in the air, a suffocating weight on Horace’s frail form. The truth struck him with the force of a Southern gale – Regina’s motives were as transparent as a cheap windowpane. Disillusionment coursed through him. Here he was, a man clinging to life, yet their only concern was lining their pockets with the blood of exploited workers.

Horace will finally give them his answer. Ben’s argument for it. The governor has been bribed. They’ll have free water and cheap labor. No man, black or white, wouldn’t want three silver dollars at the end of the week. Horace comments, ” You bought the water from the Governor? It was his to sell?” – Regina pushes Ben to keep going. Horace is disgusted, “ Well, you’re father said he’d make the thousands, but, you’d boys’d make the millions.”

Regina tries to sell him on the idea, “Millions for us too.” Horace says, “Us. You and Me? I don’t think so. You’ve got enough money, Regina You just sit by and watch the boys grow rich.”

She doesn’t hold back anymore. ” Does this mean you’re finally turning us down? Is it possible that’s what you mean?”

He says quietly, yet forcefully, ” I don’t want any part of it, Regina. I’ve been trying to tell you that ever since I came home. “ She insists, ” I want to know your reasons now. We’ve been waiting for you like children.” He tells her, ” Yes, to nag and hammer at me to invest my money. I know you’re disappointed, Regina, but I must do what I think is best.”

Ben and Oscar are frustrated, furious, and finished with it. But Horace is, too. Regina sends her brothers downstairs to wait. Horace tells her, “I’m sick of talking about it, and that is all.” Regina says, “I think we’ll have to talk about it, Horace, just you and me.” Her slow, burning anger was now about to be unleashed

Outraged by the Hubbard’s unscrupulous and underhanded business practices, Horace has made it clear he’s already washed his hands clean of the venture. The thought of a cotton mill profiting from exploited labor and public water obtained through bribing the governor left him seething.

Against investing in the cotton mill, Horace’s face hardens like granite, yet strained with his physical and mental pain, as Regina lays it all out. Once laced with charm, her words now have a mercenary, transactional edge. Their argument descends the stairs as a muffled storm brewing overhead. Downstairs, the brothers hatch a desperate plan. Ben, ” I never did believe he was going in with us.” Leo is staring at himself in the mirror, a fool smoking a cigar. Oscar says to Ben, ” You’ve done your almighty best. Maybe there’s something I can do. Or better yet, there’s something Leo can do.”

In the shadows, Leo can feel it coming. His father is going to push him to steal Horace’s bonds from the safe deposit box.

With the initial strategy for the cotton mill deal dissolving faster than a sugar cube in sweet tea, threatened by Horace’s moral compass, Ben Oscar and Leo are faced with a new plan. Leo, who has a nose for trouble, is an employee at Horace’s bank and whispers a juicy secret, which he murmurs to his father and uncle. A forgotten fortune of $90,000 in railroad bonds is languishing in Horace’s safety deposit box. With a quick squeeze and a well-paced threat, Leo is pressured into nabbing the bonds so they can finance the deal with Marshall.

When Zan comes home, she hears her mother arguing with her father. She panics and begs Uncle Ben to stop it.

Zan panics, “ She can’t do that to Papa.” He reeks of sarcasm, “Why, Alexandra, you have a tender heart.” Just as she is about to go, to stop it. It becomes quiet. Suddenly, Regina comes out of the room and stands at the top of the iconographic staircase. Zan is furious. “ How can you treat Papa like this. He’s sick, he’s very sick,” Regina says, “ Mind your business, Zan.” Zan is becoming more awakened to the ills that are afflicting her family, and she tells her mother, “ This is my business. It’s my business to stop what’s wrong.” Regina tells her, “Don’t you dare speak to me like this.”

Oscar leaves, and Ben is with Regina now. Regina assures him that she can still get Horace to change his mind. “I could wait a few days. But I can’t wait a few days. Could… can’t could can’t,” he plays with her. He’s a slippery eel.

Then Ben reveals that Oscar is going to Chicago the following night to deliver the money to Marshall. “ You’re lying. You’re trying to scare me,” he laughs, and she repeats herself, ” You’re trying to scare me. You haven’t got the money. How can he go to Chicago? Did a ghost arrive with it? Ben, come back here. I want to talk to you!” He laughs some more, ” You’re gettin’ out of hand, Regina.”
All the while, he’s been pleased with himself. He’s glad they’re able to cut her out of the deal. “Since when do I take orders from you?”

Horace looks down from the top of the staircase railing. “ It’s a great day when you and Ben cross swords. I’ve been waiting for it for years. So they found out they don’t need you. So you’ll not have your millions after all.” Regina says, “ You hate to see anybody live now, don’t you? You hate to think that I’m gonna be alive and have what I want. “ He says, “You’d think that was my reason.” She tells him, “Yes. Because you’re going to die. And you know you’re going to die!”

He recites his soliloquy – Maybe it’s easy for the dying to be honest. I’m sick of you, sick of this house, sick of my unhappy life with you … I’m sick of your brothers and their dirty tricks to make a dime. There must be better ways of getting rich than building sweatshops and pounding the bones of the town to make dividends for you to spend. You’ll wreck the town, you and your brothers. You’ll wreck the country, you and your kind, if they let you. But not me; I’ll die my own way, and I’ll do it without making the world worse. I leave that to you.

Regina’s words are a death sentence in the way they are weilded – I hope you die. I hope you die soon. I’ll be waiting for you to die.

Zan hears what her mother has said: ” Mama, don’t DON’T!!!! Oh, papa, don’t listen.” She holds him close to her as she sobs. As this happens, a shadow is about to enter the bank at night. Fade to black.

The tables now turn on Regina as the conniving brothers hatch their viperish scheme. Oscar’s son, Leo, a viper in his own right, slithers into action, poised to exploit his position as a bank teller. He ‘borrows’ Horace’s Union Pacific bonds, gleaming like golden tickets, which were tantalizingly close. They are the key to Regina’s high-stakes gamble—the very symbol of her financial might. Morality and family loyalty were quaint notions to these Hubbards.

Ben and Oscar will use them as security for the construction, returning them long before they are discovered before the theft’s echo can even reach Horace’s ears.

Meanwhile, Zan spends more time with David, who has forged a friendship with Horace. The two men play cribbage together. As Horace’s health gets worse, the three siblings begin to act out of panic and desperation.

Regina, Oscar, and Ben are noticeably absent during a languid family gathering in the garden.

Horace, Zan, Birdie, David, and Addie (Jessica Grayson) are spending a pleasant afternoon. Both Zan and Birdie learn Regina hasn’t come back yet. Their faces relax, and the characters all begin to talk freely. Addie speaks of the people who eat up the whole earth like locusts, then there are the people who stand around and watch them, ” Sometimes I think it ain’t right to just stand around and watch ‘em do it.” and Horace quotes the Bible verse about the little foxes that spoil the vines. Birdie says, “ I like people to be kind. Don’t you, Horace, don’t you like people to be kind?”

However, Birdie shatters the tense cheer, telling stories about her hiccups that turn into remembering why her mother hated the Hubbards for cheating poor people and black folks on what they bought.

She begins to chuckle when she confesses that she doesn’t like Leo, her son. She’s a sweet soul, a fragile woman as warm and comforting as a sun-drenched porch swing.

Her quaint memories turn into heart-wrenching sobs. Collinge’s poignant acting agility sharply turns into a glimpse of Tennessee Williams’s world. Her laughter holds a desperate edge, a hint, no, a revelation about her past she’s kept buried, revealing deeply personal and painful truths.

The revelation hangs heavy, a truth sharp enough to cut. It was Birdie’s family name and prestige, not Birdie herself, that had first captivated Oscar. Ben Hubbard wanted her family’s cotton, and Oscar married it/her for him. Oscar used to smile at her then. He hasn’t smiled at her since. With more urgency to share her pain, she tells them that she’s never had a headache in her life; it’s a lie they tell about her to explain away her drinking.

Birdie hides her sorrow by drinking away the pain alone in her room. Trapped in an abusive and loveless marriage, she hides Oscar’s cruelty from everyone, especially Zan. She relates these facts with a sigh and a wistful tremor in her voice. A flicker of self-deprecating bitterness dances in her usually gentle eyes. Years and a lifetime of observing the Hubbards’ ruthless pragmatism have stripped away any illusions.

It is very difficult to watch Birdie relieve herself of her burden, and she begins to remind Zan not to make the same mistakes. This triggers a thoughtful reaction in Horace.

Horace seeks to protect his daughter and goes to the bank to change his will.

Later, finds the contents of the safety deposit box in the bank missing. When the ever-opportunistic Regina learns of her brother’s duplicity, taking the bonds, she threatens the brothers and nephews unless they give her 75% of the new Mill’s profits. Upon returning home, he wastes no time sending for his lawyer.

Orre-Kelly’s fashions are always an exquisite reflection of vogue art. Still, Davis’s hat is something else—it is the unfortunate target of a large feathered bird that has sacrificed its life to adorn the top.

He wastes no time telling Regina about the theft. She finds him sitting in the parlor and reminds him not to come down and sit in her part of the house. He’s to stay in his room and leave that room. Not to come down again.

Fueled by this discovery, Regina uses it as leverage to blackmail Ben and Oscar for a bigger cut of the cotton mill deal. In a tense confrontation, Horace plots to thwart Regina’s scheming. He has something else in mind. He plans to rewrite his will, leaving everything in his estate to Alexandra, except for the bonds. In a codicil, Horace will claim he loaned the bonds to her brothers; she’d only receive repayments, not a share of the profits, making Regina’s blackmail attempt moot.

He tells her about the bonds being stolen. He didn’t invest the money and learned that she didn’t know that the $75,000 bonds were missing. Come and look. They’re gone. Negotiable as money. For a moment, he had thought she’d taken them. She’s outraged and can’t believe they’re gone where are they? Where did they go? He tells her to Chicago. He has guessed that the brothers stole them. He knows Leo, too. “ This fine gentleman with whom you were willing to wed your daughter.” After he explains his theory.

Regina: [having learned what her brothers and cousin Leo have been up to, laughing] Well, this’ll make a fine little scandal.

Horace: Couldn’t it?

Regina: A fine little scandal to hold over their heads. Ha ha! How could they be such fools?

Horace informs her, “ But I’m not going to hold it over their heads.” She asks, “ What do you mean?” He tells her, “I’m gonna let them keep the bonds as a loan from you. A loan, Regina, not an investment. An investment would mean a share in the profits. A loan is simply returned. “ Regina always in control, “Oh, I see. You’re punishing me I won’t let you punish me. If you won’t do anything about it, I will. “ He tells her, “ You won’t do anything because you can’t. You can’t go on saying anything. Cause I’ll say, I lent him the bonds.” She tells him, “ You would do that?” He says, “Yes, for once in your life, I’m tying your hands, and there’s nothing for you to do.

He tells her he’s making a new will. He’s leaving her the bonds. The rest will go to Zan.“And there’s nothing you can do to them, and there’s nothing you can do to me.”

Regina spews her hatred for her husband, saying she’s never loved him and has felt only contempt for him, not challenging her rejection of his affections.

She wonders, ” You must hate me very, very much.” He wonders, ” Why did you marry me?”
She says, “ Because I was lonely and I was young. Lonely, not in the way people usually mean. I was lonely for all the things I was never gonna get. Everybody was so busy at home; there was so little place for what I wanted. Then Papa died, Ben and Oscar had all the money.”He says, ” So you married me.”
She answers, ” Yes. I thought you’d get the world for me. You were a small-town clerk then. You haven’t changed.”
He says, ” That wasn’t what you wanted?” She tells him, ” No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t what I wanted. But it didn’t take me long to find out my mistake. Then, it was just as if I couldn’t stand the sight of you. I couldn’t bear to have you touch me. I thought you were such a soft, weak fool. You were so kind and understanding that I didn’t want you near me. The lies and excuses I used to make to you, and you believed them. That was when I began to despise you.” Horace: [starts looking agitated] Why didn’t you leave me?”
Regina: ” Where was I to go? What money did I have? I didn’t think about it much; if I had, I’d have known you’d die before I did. But I couldn’t have guessed you’d get heart trouble so early and so bad. I’m lucky Horace.I’ve always been lucky. I’ll be lucky again.” [Horace drops his emergency medicine] Horace barely gets the words out: ” The other bottle. Please, upstairs in my room, in the drawer.”

The prospect of a mere $75,000 from the mill deal runs hot through Regina’s cold veins. But during the quarrel, Horace suffers a heart attack.

Confined to a wheelchair most of the time, his only hope of surviving the attack is to climb the insurmountable staircase to reach his life-saving medicine. He pleads with Regina to run and fetch it upstairs.

Horace denied his medication, collapses on the stairs, a victim of his failing heart. With cruel swiftness, Regina sits unmovable, watching him suffer without coming to his aid. Her inaction is monstrous.

The Hubbards, hearing about Horace’s attack, arrive at the house – what does this mean to their venture, or their going to jail for the theft of his bonds?

Hubbard men panic they will be going to jail since Horace has discovered the theft. Ben backs away from that whole deal.

Meanwhile, waiting to hear how Mr. Giddens is doing, the only people aside from Alexandra who are truly worried about the man are David Hewitt and the people who work in his house and take good care of the family.

The heart of humanity… and the art of the cold stare.

Soon after, Horace dies.

Much like a stage play, Toland shoots Marshall’s death scene without many cuts, much like the entire film, When Zan is bending over Horace as he takes his last breath. We see his death reflected on Wright’s face. Through her profound expression, we understand what is happening because her face begins as a flicker of something raw in her eyes, and then it bends toward her heartache.

Regina makes a decisive move. She now has the leverage to force her brothers into giving up 75% of the business’s ownership. Desperate to salvage the deal, the brothers find themselves cornered. Now that Horace has died without having a chance to chance his will, Regina’s blackmail remains potent, and the specter of jail looms large. She negotiates her 75% share of the cotton mill. Ben tells her, “Lady, you’re a greedy girl. You want so much for everything.”

While Regina, Ben, and Oscar engage in their conflict, Zan overhears the whole exchange. She asks, ” Did you love him, Uncle Oscar? Did you love him, Uncle Ben? And you, Mama, did you love him too?” she also asks the key question, “ What was Papa doing on the staircase?” She doesn’t get an answer.

She tells the brothers they’re sort of working for her now. After Oscar leaves, Ben stays behind for a few moments.

Regina: You’re a good loser, Ben. I like that.

Ben: Well, I say to myself, what’s the good? You and I aren’t like Oscar. We’re not sour people. I think that comes from good digestion.
[Regina giggles]

Ben: Until one loses today and wins tomorrow. I say to myself, years of planning, and I get what I want. And then I don’t get it… But I’m not discouraged. The world’s open for people like you and me. There are thousands of us all over the world. We’ll own the country someday. They won’t try to stop us. We’ll get along.

Regina: [Amused] I think so.

Ben, philosophical as usual, accepts his fate, though he assures her that things might change down the road. For instance, pushing for an answer as to why a man in a wheelchair would be attempting to climb a staircase. A baffled Alexandra is there to witness their exchange.

Ben always ready with a clever remark, I say to myself years of planning and I get what I want. Then I don’t get it. But I’m not discouraged. The worlds open for people like you and me. There’s thousands of us all over the world. We’ll own this country some day. They won’t try to stop us. We’ll get along. Well, I say to myself things may change. I agree with Alexandra. What was a man in a wheelchair doin’ on a staircase? I ask myself that.

Regina asks, And what do you answer?
He says, I have no answer. Maybe someday I will. Maybe never. But maybe someday. When I do I’ll let you know.
She says, When you do you write me. I’ll be in Chicago.

He leaves, but not before he says, “Goodnight Alexandra. You’re turning out to be a right interesting girl.”

Ben leaves. Regina focuses on her daughter and compares her mood to Aunt Birdie, “Alexandra, don’t sit there staring so much you’re getting to be just like her.

She says, “ That’s what Aunt Birdie said. Yes, I might have been just like her (She rises up )

For the final moments of the picture, a confrontation between Alexandra and Regina, Wyler placed the two actresses on a winding staircase, an arrangement he often favored in his films.

Looking down from the landing – her fortress she delivers her final lines.

Teresa remains below:

Regina says, ” You must have expected this to come. You knew how sick he was.”
She says, ” Yes mama, we all knew how sick he was.” She looks up at her understanding that Regina must have brought on his heart attack.

Regina: Don’t grieve too much. You’ll be better once we get to Chicago. I’m going to get you the world I always wanted.

Alexandra: I don’t want the world, Mama. I’m not going to Chicago with you.

Regina: You’re upset, Alexandra. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.

Alexandra: There’s nothing to talk about. I’m going away from you— because I want to. Because I know Papa would want me to.

Regina: You know your Papa would want you to go away from me?

Alexandra: Yes.

Regina: And if I say no?

Alexandra: Say it, Mama- say it and see what happens.

Regina: You’re serious about this, aren’t you? Well, you’ll change your mind in a couple of days. [pause] Alexandra, I’ve come to the end of my rope! Somewhere there’s got to be what I want, too. Life goes too fast. You can go where you want, do what you want, be what you want. I’d like to keep you with me, but I won’t make you stay. No, I won’t make you stay.

Alexandra: You couldn’t, Mama, because I don’t want to stay with you—because I’m beginning to understand about things. Addie said there were people who ate the Earth and people who stood around and watched them do it. And just now, Uncle Ben said the same thing, really the same thing. Well, tell him for me, Mama, that I’m not going to watch you do it. Tell him I’ll be fighting as hard as he is, someplace where people don’t just stand around and watch.

Regina: Why, Alexandra-you have spirit, after all. I used to think you were all sugar water. [pause] We don’t have to be bad friends, Zan— I don’t want us to be bad friends. [She continues her slow ascent, glancing toward the door behind which lies the body of her husband, who has just died from her deliberate failure to provide medicine. Then, slowly, sadly:] Would you like to talk with me, Alexandra? Would you like to sleep in my room tonight?

Alexandra: Why, Mama? Are you afraid?

Regina looks out the rainy window and watches her daughter Alexandra leave for good.

Teresa’s final words in The Little Foxes, softly uttered like a sorrowful prayer, hold a quiet pain. In practically a whisper, her voice is tinged with grief but also a hint of feeling sorry for her mother’s rotten soul. Teresa Wright delivers the film’s closing line. It is one of those films that ends on such a tranquil note and a triumph of the spirit.

This has been part of the CMBA Spring Blogathon 2024: Screen Debuts & Last Hurrahs!