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The Little Foxes review: Just in time for Christmas, a back-stabbing family feud, writes PATRICK MARMION
And here she goes again, at London's Young Vic theatre, only this time as a seemingly downtrodden sister in a wealthy family fighting for control of an Alabama cotton plantation.
Lillian Hellman’s play The Little Foxes, written in 1939, is a bitter domestic melodrama in which one brother Ben (Mark Bonnar) seeks to swindle his sister Regina (Duff) out of a potential multi-million dollar fortune by plotting with another, Oscar (Steffan Rhodri). Lyndsey Turner’s slick production transposes the original 1900 action to the 1960s, with Lizzie Clachan’s peculiarly bland set of beige hessian panels and G Plan furniture arranged around a grand, four-seater green velvet Chesterfield sofa. The cast keep the show moving splendidly through a series of merry musical misadvantures, but the real show-stealers are Marc Parrett’s puppets, including a poo-shooting pig with a head made from a watering can, a gang of ginger weasels as slinky as can be and, best of all, a giant lantern suggesting a luminous whale, in which Pinocchio and his dad are reunited over a lunch of tuna and anchovies.
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