User Reviews

Another connection to Hitler is that he was Austrian and went to Germany to make it an "Aryan" stronghold, and Gow is clearly English and wants to get elected on a Scotland for the Scots platform. (His meeting with the other mucky mucks, in matching Highland garb with incredibly frilly shirts, and the massive mural behind him on his broadcast, shows what a piece of theater the whole thing is. His cohorts are so anglicized he has to remind them to say Scottish not Scotch.)

Harrison's character goes right to the heart of it asking if this were "Berlin or Moscow." And making a speech that the British will put up with anything but bullying or cruelty. Considering the fact that there was an anti-cruelty society for animals before there was one for children there, centering the movie around the welfare of a dog had particular resonance.

There are a lot of funny bits--such as a mansion full of dogs of all sorts and a reference to the BBC as encouraging wildness in society, and much British character--such as the treating of Irish servants as less than human by the upper class of that time, and the use of song to make a mocking protest and laughter to bring down the mighty.

I believe in Britain, even back then, as here it is that a woman cannot be FORCED to give evidence against her husband not that she cannot if she wants to testify against him, such as in a divorce case or if he were a criminal and she wanted to see him put away.

Gow reminds me strongly of David Horton in the Vicar of Dibley. Both were forced to change although one has to wonder to what extent.

Cecil Parker is already the blowhard he was to perfect in later movies. He's the Provost of a Scottish village called Beike, pronounced something like "Beakie." He's running for a higher post and gives speeches promoting the value of "a stern hand at the helm." (Is this supposed to be a snap at Hitler?)

The poor, matronly, pitifully broke Irish lady, Sarah Algood, sells fast food from a cart and is unable to pay for her dog, Patsy's, license. Driven by Parker, the authorities reluctantly take poor Patsy and condemn her to death by injection. Sure and the dog is nae but a wee mongrel and Parker has bigger things on his mind, making up to the stuffy aristocrats who will back his candidacy.

It's a big mistake on Parker's part to ignore that dog. It's always a mistake in the movies to treat a dog with disrespect. You always pay for it in the end.

A new reporter for the local newspaper shows up. That's Rex Harrison, full of his usual charming insouciance regarding the social folkways. He writes a piece about the dog and loses his job. And he falls for Parker's daughter, Vivien Leigh, slender, youthful, radiant. When she raises her eyebrows, only one lifts, the one on her right. The left eyebrow remains comfortably in its accustomed place. She's torn between her duty to her father and her love for Harrison.

Well -- here we have a charming little village full of folk who know everyone else in town, and a bit of conflict over a dog. It's pregnant with possibilities, some bad. The charm could turn cloying but it doesn't. Nor does the film turn into an Ealing comedy with the subtle touch of genius in every other scene.

In fact it's rather dull until about half-way through when the screen explodes and a thousand dogs invade the mansion of Parker while he is entertaining the high muck-a-mucks whose political support is mandatory. It's hilarious. The skinny old men in kilts are dancing awkwardly around, men shouting, dogs barking. The dogs leap on the table and feast on the prepared dinner. They tug at the hems of the kilts. Finally, the elders make their escape from the ruined mansion, shrieking and waving their hands.

What follows is a courtroom farce in which Harrison is tried for one or another crime on charges leveled by Parker. It ends happily. Parker decides it's a better ploy to be a populist than a demagogue. Harrison and Leigh wind up in an old car with "Just Married" on the trunk. Or, pardon me, the boot.

The movie lacks the tranquil assurance of a film like "A Canterbury Tale," which is also about nothing much. And it does have its longueurs but they're redeemed by the dog invasion.

I watched this little gem this morning on TCM. What a delight! I'm a sucker for a dog story, and this little comedy captivated me from the first instant. It was refreshing to watch Vivian Leigh and Rex Harrison together in this early film, full of innocence and warm-hearted charm. Cecil Parker was the man you love to hate as the Provost. Although the ending is perhaps too good to be true, the bullying and the egotism, oblivious to the feelings of his constituents, is a very insightful portrayal of how the hunger for power corrupts, even when money is not the temptation. Add money to the mix, and it's a wonder we all aren't stuck in Nazi Germany by now. The romance between the two principles is very charming, with plenty of chemistry. For this film, the old saw comes readily to mind: "They don't make 'em like dat anymore!"

"Storm in a Teacup" is a good comedy romance and bit of a satire of British politics of the day. Although both Vivien Leigh and Rex Harrison had been in half a dozen films before this, it was Harrison's first leading role. Both do very well here, but the best acting and fun part of this film is by two older hands. Sara Allgood is Honoria Hegarty and Cecil Parker is Provost William Gow. Parker is a hoot as the bombastic and proud aristocrat. Allgood is the focus of much of the mayhem when the authorities take her pet dog from her for not having paid its license.

Harrison's Frank Burdon arrives in Baikie, Scotland, as the new reporter for the local rag. Well, in his first night, he gets the editor's job to put the paper to bed, as the publisher, Horace Skirving (played by Gus McNaughton) is taking his wife to a social function. It just so happens, that as he arrived in town, Frank saw a fracas in which two policemen broke into Honoria's home to "arrest" her dog. After he hears and sees the crowd reaction, he then sees Honoria dismissed and shooed away by the provost when she tries to appeal to him. So, as night editor putting the paper to bed, Frank writes a new front page story - his first night in town.

Gow was running for parliament, and Frank's article leads to mayhem for the rest of the film. In the midst of this, Vivien Leigh's Victoria Gow vacillates back and forth in support of Frank's standing up for the little people, and her indignation for his harsh treatment of her father. And, to top it all off, the publisher's wife, Lisbet Skirving (played by Ursula Jeans) fawns over the provost. It's so obvious to everyone, including her husband, and while Horace and Victoria and others show initial looks of shock and disapproval, no one says a thing to her or to him. So, this goes on throughout the film, with Lisbet calling him Willie most of the time, and then, darling, in front of her husband. It is not meant as the type of frequent greeting - among women, especially, in the high society and nightclub crowds of New York City so often portrayed in films of the 1930s and later.

In the end all is well, and Frank and Victoria marry and drive off into the sunset, listening on the radio to the new member of parliament give his "trying times" speech. Oh, yes, and Honoria Hegarty's ice cream business flourishes with a new cart and romance for herself.

One distinct thing this film has is what may be the largest "herd" of dogs ever put on film. The scene in which all of the dogs of the community are set upon the provost's home just as he's entertaining the party leaders, is very funny. It does resemble a cattle stampede, but of four-paw animals rather than four-hoof steers. There must be 100 dogs -- maybe even twice as many.

Here are some favorite lines from the film.

Lisbet Skirving, "What a little brat." Horace Skirving, the publisher, "Well, he's English..."

Frank Burdon, "Oatmeal - the food of horses in England and men in Scotland."

Police sergeant, "You're lucky not to get six months for contempt of court." Honoria Hegarty, "Well, I don't know about the six months, but I've got the contempt all right."

Lisbet Skirving, "Willie!" Provost William Gow, "Oh, go to blazes, woman!" Lisbet, "Horace! He called me a woman." Horace Skirving, "It's all right, my dear."

Two years before the monumental "Gone With the Wind," Vivien Leigh made this rather bad film with Rex Harrison. Of all people, the wonderful Sara Allgood steals the show whose dog is ready to be put to death since she hasn't paid the local dog tax in Baikie, Scotland.

A story of the corruption of politics follows. Leigh's father, the town provost, has political aspirations until he is exposed by Harrison in his news story.

The scene with the dogs invading the mansion is quite funny; unfortunately, the movie really isn't; in fact, it's quite inane and dreary to say the least.

The person who made Allgood's costume in the last scene of the film in court deserved an Oscar nomination.

This, alas, has not aged at all well and I'm guessing it will only attract either Leigh or Harrison completists. I was slightly bemused to find that several people who have reviewed it here seem to think that the original German playwright, Bruno Frank, wrote it as an anti-Hitler piece. I don't know much about European politics either then or now but I do know that Bruno Frank wrote Storm In a Water-Glass in 1931, whilst Hitler did not become Chancellor until 1933. As usual with films of that period the director(s) have been cavalier with facts: The setting is a small, remote community in Scotland, the sort of place where people are born and live all their lives but that doesn't prevent Victor Saville casting Sarah Allgood as the catalyst and there is, of course, nothing wrong with that, EXCEPT that Allgood, supposedly a lifelong resident of this small Scottish community, makes no attempt to suppress, or even tone down the 'stage' Oirish accent that served her so well in every film she made (presumably she was stricken with the same ailment that prevented Sean Connery from losing his Scottish accent, even when playing an Irishman). For good measure we also get Mervyn Johns, complete with his own Welsh accent. Neither of the two leads - Vivien Leigh/Rex Harrison - are required to act or indeed do anything except look a) beautiful and b) bemused, but it does become a tad more bearable in the closing courtroom stages.