Greed is a hell of a thing. Most modern movies treat corporate backstabbing like a sleek, high-tech chess match, but back in 1941, William Wyler showed us that it’s actually more like a swamp. The Little Foxes isn't just a "classic film." It’s a claustrophobic, sweaty, and terrifyingly sharp look at how a family can eat itself alive for a few extra dollars. Honestly, if you think Succession invented the idea of rich people being monsters to each other, you really need to sit down with Bette Davis for two hours.
The movie, adapted from Lillian Hellman’s play, centers on the Hubbard family in the deep South around 1900. These aren't the "Genteel South" types you see in Gone with the Wind. They are the "New South." They’re the hustlers, the exploiters, and the ones who realized that the old aristocracy was ripe for the picking. At the center of it all is Regina Giddens. Bette Davis plays her with this icy, calculated stillness that makes your skin crawl.
Why The Little Foxes Still Hurts to Watch
Most people go into old movies expecting a bit of melodrama. They expect big gestures and swelling violins. But The Little Foxes is different because it’s so quiet. The most horrific moments in the film happen while people are just sitting in chairs. Take the famous staircase scene. No spoilers if you haven't seen it, but the sheer coldness displayed by Regina while her husband, Horace, is in the middle of a medical crisis is one of the most brutal things ever captured on celluloid. It’s not a jump scare. It’s a soul scare.
Wyler used deep focus cinematography—something he and cinematographer Gregg Toland were obsessed with—to make sure you saw everything. Even when someone is in the background, their reaction is crystal clear. You can't escape the tension. You're trapped in that house with them.
The title itself comes from the Song of Solomon: "Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines." It’s a metaphor for the small, nibbling greeds that eventually destroy the whole garden. The Hubbands—Regina and her brothers Ben and Oscar—are those foxes. They don’t care about the vines; they just want the grapes.
Bette Davis vs. Tallulah Bankhead: The Casting Drama
You can't talk about this film without talking about the friction behind the scenes. Tallulah Bankhead had played Regina on Broadway to massive acclaim. She was earthy, she was southern, and she was vulnerable. When Samuel Goldwyn bought the rights, he wanted a "movie star." He wanted Davis.
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Davis was actually hesitant. She respected Bankhead and felt that she couldn't top the stage performance. Wyler, who had a notoriously difficult and perfectionist relationship with Davis (they had worked together on Jezebel and The Letter), pushed her to be even colder than Bankhead. They fought constantly. Davis wanted Regina to be a stylized, Kabuki-like villain with white-powdered skin. Wyler wanted her more human.
Davis won that particular battle. And you know what? It works. Her Regina looks like a ghost haunting her own life. She is a woman who has been denied her own money and her own agency by the patriarchal laws of the time, and she has decided that she is going to get hers, even if it means leaving a trail of bodies.
The Economic Brutality of the Hubbards
Let’s get into the weeds of the plot because it’s surprisingly modern. The brothers, Ben and Oscar, want to build a cotton mill. They need their sister Regina to provide the final third of the investment. Regina doesn't have the money; her sick husband, Horace, does.
Horace, played by Herbert Marshall with a weary, heartbreaking dignity, refuses. He’s seen enough of his in-laws' cruelty. He knows that the mill will only bring more misery to the town. This leads to a three-way standoff between the brothers, the sister, and the husband. It’s basically a high-stakes negotiation where the currency isn't just cash—it’s blackmail and life-saving medicine.
- Ben Hubbard (Charles Dingle): The oldest, the smartest, and the most jovial. He’s the kind of shark that smiles while he bites you.
- Oscar Hubbard (Carl Benton Reid): The cruel one. He likes hitting things—his wife, the birds he hunts, and anyone weaker than him.
- Leo Hubbard (Dan Duryea): The next generation of rot. He’s Oscar’s son, a weak-willed thief who works at the bank.
The dynamic between these three and Regina is a masterclass in screenwriting. They don't love each other. They barely like each other. They are just temporary allies in a war against everyone else.
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The Tragedy of Birdie
If Regina is the iron in the film, Birdie is the porcelain. Birdie, played by Patricia Collinge (who also played the role on Broadway), is Oscar’s wife. She’s from the old "Lionnet" plantation family—the aristocratic world the Hubbards devoured.
Birdie is an alcoholic, but not in a "funny movie" way. She drinks because her husband beats her and her in-laws mock her. Her monologue about why she drinks is one of the most devastating scenes in cinema history. She warns Regina’s daughter, Alexandra, not to end up like her. It’s the one moment of genuine, unselfish love in the entire movie, and it stands out like a candle in a dark room.
The Cinematography of a Trap
Gregg Toland is the guy who shot Citizen Kane. If you look at The Little Foxes, you can see the same DNA. He uses shadows to dwarf the characters. He uses the architecture of the house to frame them like they're in cages.
There's a specific shot where the three Hubbard siblings are reflected in a mirror. It’s not just a cool visual; it’s a statement. They are all reflections of the same greed. They are inseparable and interchangeable in their malice. Wyler and Toland didn't just want to show you the story; they wanted you to feel the physical weight of that Victorian house. The heavy drapes, the dark wood, the stifling heat—you can almost smell the dust and the digitalis.
Why We Still Care
Why watch a black-and-white movie about cotton mills in 1900?
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Because the Hubbards never went away. They just changed their clothes. Today, they’d be running a hedge fund or a predatory tech startup. The core conflict—the choice between being a "fox" who eats or one of the "vines" that gets eaten—is still the central anxiety of modern capitalism.
Regina is also a surprisingly complex figure for 1941. It’s hard not to feel a tiny bit of sympathy for her at the start. She’s smarter than her brothers, but because she’s a woman, she’s dependent on a husband who doesn't like her and brothers who want to cheat her. She’s a monster, yes. But she’s a monster created by a system that gave her no other way to be powerful.
The ending of the film is chillingly ambiguous. Alexandra, the daughter, finally grows a backbone and leaves. Regina is left alone in that big house. She has all the money now. She won. But the look on her face as she watches her daughter walk away isn't one of triumph. It’s the look of someone who realized they've finally finished eating everything in the room and there's nothing left for tomorrow.
How to Appreciate The Little Foxes Today
If you're going to watch it, do yourself a favor and don't look at your phone. This isn't a "background" movie. You need to watch the eyes.
- Watch the background. Wyler hides a lot of character development in the way people stand or move when they aren't the focus of the scene.
- Listen to the silence. The movie uses very little music compared to other films of that era. The silence makes the dialogue hit harder.
- Compare it to modern shows. Think about how Regina Giddens paved the way for characters like Cersei Lannister or Shiv Roy. The lineage is direct.
The Little Foxes is a reminder that the scariest villains don't wear masks or carry chainsaws. They sit across from you at the dinner table, smiling, waiting for you to cough so they can steal your stocks. It’s a cynical, brilliant, and perfectly executed piece of filmmaking that has lost none of its bite.
Actionable Next Steps for Film Buffs
To truly get the most out of this cinematic milestone, take these specific steps to deepen your understanding of the "Wyler touch" and the Southern Gothic genre:
- Compare the Play: Read Lillian Hellman’s original 1939 play. Notice how the ending was slightly softened for the film to satisfy the Hays Code, yet still remains incredibly dark.
- The Deep Focus Double Feature: Watch The Little Foxes back-to-back with Citizen Kane. Focus specifically on how Gregg Toland uses the ceiling and the floors to create a sense of entrapment in both films.
- Track the "Horace" Archetype: Look at other 1940s films to see how the "principled but weak" husband was used as a foil for the "femme fatale" or "ambitious wife" archetype.
- Research the 1900 South: Look into the real-world shift from the agrarian "Old South" to the industrial "New South." It provides the necessary context for why the Hubbard brothers were so desperate to build that mill.