Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator
If you've got a soft spot for 1930s British musical-comedies that move at the pace of a slow Sunday, you'll be fine. It’s light, it’s airy, and it’s completely forgettable. But if you hate musical numbers that feel like they were tacked onto the script with a stapler, stay away. This isn't exactly The Wise Little Hen in terms of tight storytelling.
The whole thing feels like a stage play that someone accidentally left the cameras running on. There’s a lot of walking into rooms, saying a funny line, and then waiting for someone else to walk into the room to say their line. It’s very polite filmmaking.
Wendy Barrie is doing a lot of the heavy lifting here. She has this way of looking at the camera that suggests she knows the script is a bit thin. It’s charming, honestly. It reminded me a bit of the way people act in The Chauffeur—everyone is trying so hard to keep the energy up, even when the dialogue is just filler.
There's a scene near the middle where a song starts, and for about thirty seconds, I genuinely forgot why they were singing. The camera just kind of sits there. It feels like the director went for lunch and told the actors to keep going until they got back.
It doesn't have the grit of The Strange Boarder, and it doesn't try to. It just wants to exist. And it does. It exists just fine.
Is it a masterpiece? No. Is it a disaster? Also no. It’s just a movie that exists in that weird, grey space of 1930s entertainment where people say 'I say!' a lot and everyone is constantly confused about who is engaged to whom. You can feel the studio pressure to make it 'breezy' and 'fun.' Sometimes it works. Sometimes it just feels like everyone is running in place.
I found myself wishing it would just stop trying to be a musical for five minutes. The comedy bits are actually not half bad. But then, *poof*, someone starts singing and the momentum dies immediately. It’s a shame.

Year
1934
IMDb Rating
—

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Deciphering the legacy of transgressive cult cinema.
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