I like going to the theatre to see a play I know nothing about. It is a very special kind of experience, sitting in the audience without any expectation of what might happen next. Which is why I was thrilled with the opening scene of Little Foxes – I had to quickly assess the various characters being introduced at pace and my mind was racing to figure out what the plot might have in store. The energy was infectious.

But having no idea about what happens next can also have its draw backs. In the case of Little Foxes, I was thrown by the imbalance in the duration of the parts before and after the interval. When the lights went out to signal the end of the show, I felt somewhat cheated. I had been expecting at least another 20 minutes worth of content, some further exploration of emotion or maybe even a twist?

On reflection, it is hard to say to what extent this feeling was down to my inherent assumption that there would symmetry between the two halves, to the weakness in the plot or to something fundamentally flawed in the sentiment evoked by the actors in the way the characters were portrayed.

Most notably in the portrayal of Regina – whom the play is centred around. Anne-Marie Duff stomps around the stage without much nuance and most certainly without any grace. There is no whiff of a Southern Belle to her and no vulnerability under the harsh façade of a woman scorned. At an intellectual level I do of course understand that she was born in a period and place seeped in patriarchy and misogyny. She was denied an equal right to her family’s fortune leading to a seething resentment of her brothers. It is difficult to hold against her that she sees her husband as nothing more than a means to an end.

But it is also difficult to muster any positive feelings towards her. I did not admire her strength or determination; I did not have empathy for the unfairness of her life. I found her nothing but an angry, selfish woman filled with avarice; frankly no better than her greedy, scheming brothers.

This was clearly exacerbated by how her husband was portrayed. Not a weak, indecisive man who did not live up to his wife’s expectations, but a somewhat rather wonderful person – full of kindness towards his black servants, doting on his daughter, a selfless invalid with a big heart. We are not meant to focus too much on the obvious point – if he had known for three days about the theft of the bonds, why had he failed to act promptly? But rather we are meant to feel fondly of him and be distracted from realising that this inert and passive man must have been a dreadful drag on Regina’s ambition.

But what makes it most difficult to look at Regina as a victim of the times and feel compassion towards her is Birdie. Playing with so much tenderness, Anna Madly depicts this battered, bullied woman perfectly, only hinting at how alcohol is necessary to prop up her existence. She is caring, she is delicate, she is the one who is tragic. In fact, in my opinion, it is the opening scene of the play dominated by Birdie that is standout of the entire performance. And the second half would have been much better if Birdie had had a bigger presence.

It is this juxtaposition between Regina, her husband and Birdie that makes the ending somewhat difficult to embrace. Regina collapses into sobs – she gets the financial wealth that will allow her to realise her dreams, but at the price of having lost her husband, alienated her daughter and forgone any chance at a happy relationship with her brothers. But it does not really stack up. At no point do we see her as a mother who cares, as a wife who loves, or as a sister yearning for a relationship with her brothers. She observes her husband’s deadly heart attack with the cool demeanour of a psychopath. Psychopaths tend not to sob unless there is an audience they are trying to deceive. Her character is so one-dimensional that I had expected her to swiftly get up, dry her eyes, pat down her dress and promptly bring out a bottle of bubbly whilst penning a message to her lover in Chicago, informing him that there was nothing left standing in their way. Can you blame me for expecting that something more was in store, something other than curtains down?