The premise is just to get a supposedly 'box-office' American or two into a film to get the finance. An American in uniform inherits a village. Lots of raucous 'jazz' music drowns any sort of emotional empathy, along with a woman who 'dances' in gold lamé, wearing what appear to be a pair of marigold washing-up gloves. It deteriorates from then on, with the likes of Wattis, Pertwee and Beckwith playing English characters, Sid James playing the Afrikaaner version of a comic and a whole string of Ealing studio clichés. Puts bums on seats- in the pub next door! The polo game with the brightly coloured balls, the Rolls that would have been ancient even then and the chauffeur in a luminous scarlet uniform seem to be quintessentially English to the directors of this mash-up. The straight actors seem to be delivering the lame script with sincerity, but I'm guessing they didn't carry clips from this time waster in their casting portfolios.