The Little Foxes

Lillian Hellman's play about the malevolence of human greed, as displayed in the internecine machinations of a wealthy Southern family, now creaks audibly. But you are unlikely ever to see a better version than this, caressed by Gregg Toland's deep focus camerawork, embalmed by Wyler's direction and Goldwyn's sumptuous production values, galvanised by some superlative performances. The sulphurous Davis, her face a livid mask as she dispenses icy venom behind feline purrs, outdoes herself to provide the proceedings with a regally vicious centre; even so, she is in constant danger of being upstaged by Duryea, Dingle and Collinge.