Teresa Reviews “How Does Your Garden Grow” (1991)

Teresa reviews “How Does Your Garden Grow” (1991) and thought it blossomed thanks to the help of Miss Lemon.

Fidelity to text: 4 poison bottles.

Extras, surprises, and enhancements galore, all in the service of both Miss Lemon and the story.

Quality of movie on its own: 5 poison bottles.

A flower-laden episode from Miss Lemon’s fabulous grassy outfit to Mrs. Delafontaine’s garden to roses to the Chelsea Flower Show! There’s even a double flower clue. No wonder Hastings gets hay fever.

Read more of Teresa’s Agatha Christie movie reviews at Peschel Press.

Also, follow Teresa’s discussion of these movies on her podcast.

We open with Poirot getting ready for an important event. He’s going to be honored at the Chelsea Flower Show with a new rose variety. It’s a hybrid tea rose in pale pink named after him. Not every one gets a rose variety named after them although I do have to agree with Chief Inspector Japp (who is an avid gardener) that it should have been a polyantha rose rather than a hybrid tea as they’re more highly perfumed. Interestingly, although this was an added incident to the story, it’s based on a real event. Agatha Christie was honored in 1988 with a similar pink climbing rose.

Why did Inspector Japp think Poirot should have had a polyantha rose named in his honor? Perhaps he was thinking of how much of a dandy Poirot can be, always impeccably dressed and groomed. Or he knew that polyantha roses date back to 1870s France, where they were first developed. France isn’t Belgium, but it’s not English either and shouldn’t a gentleman from the continent be honored with a continental rose?

But I digress. To help make himself perfect for his perfect namesake, Poirot visits George F. Trumper, a gentleman’s barber and salon, for the perfect gentleman’s cologne. Like the Agatha Christie rose, George F. Trumper exists and you can visit the shop the next time you’re in London and need gentlemen’s grooming accessories. Trumper’s also provides one of the ways Miss Lemon assists Poirot in solving the murder and the shop gets Hastings in trouble.

Because Poirot is in such a hurry to get to the Chelsea Flower Show, he neglects to open the morning post. Thus, when he’s accosted by an old lady in a wheelchair, he doesn’t know her or understand why she thinks that he should. But she knows who he is and not just because he’s getting a rose named after him according to the posters. No, Miss Amelia Barrowby, has her reasons. She’s being overly dainty about talking to him which leads to confusion. Granted, she has her reasons but even so, clearer communication from her to Poirot might have kept her alive. Miss Barrowby is so circumspect in her message that she gives Poirot an empty seed packet, sure he’ll deduce the hidden message.

This kind of roundabout thinking is why people get themselves poisoned with strychnine. Be clear! Be complete! Don’t expect someone to read your mind! When Poirot eventually returns to the office with Miss Lemon and Hastings after his floral triumph, he reads the waiting letter from Miss Barrowby and it doesn’t clarify her worries. What is clear is that she has a real mystery for him to solve that she’s afraid to discuss. After all, he spotted her pushy niece and suspicious foreign companion, confirming an underlying problem.

Poirot departs for Miss Barrowby’s home (Rosebank in Charman’s Green) with Miss Lemon, leaving Hastings in charge. Poor Hastings. He’s faced with Mr. Trumper demanding payment for Poirot’s purchases and must deal with Miss Lemon’s intimidating filing system. He’s stymied, can’t find the invoice, wrecks her office looking for it, and worst of all, pays up in cash.

Upon their arrival, the parlor maid tells Poirot and Miss Lemon that Miss Barrowby died the previous evening. Shockingly. Suddenly. Under mysterious circumstances. Which is why Inspector Japp turns up next. Miss Barrowby’s doctor recognized the symptoms of strychnine poisoning. The question for Japp and the doctor is how, if everyone ate the same dinner, did only Miss Barrowby die? There’s also the question of who benefits from the wealthy Miss Barrowby’s death.

That’s answered in the most charming, roundabout, circumspect, yet very clear manner by Miss Barrowby’s solicitor. And, he does it without breeching his client’s confidentiality! The solicitor knows his way around words even better than he judges ponies. He also works in what could be a subtle dig against Henry Delafontaine, the pushy niece’s husband. The solicitor refers to one of the three ponies as a gelding. Accurate and expected in the horse world, but you get geldings by castrating stallions. Charman’s Green is a small village and it’s a good bet the solicitor has observed Henry Delafontaine and knows whereof he speaks. He’s been gelded.

Every time we see Henry Delafontaine and his wife, Mary, we know who wears the pants in that family. Mary is also a dedicated gardener. It isn’t just her aunt who wanted to attend the Chelsea Flower Show. She did too, as would any gardener. It’s the Met Gala for the plant world. Mary’s garden is a wonder to behold, she’s devoted to it, and based on what’s shown onscreen, Mary Delafontaine could show her flowers and design ideas at the Chelsea Flower Show. Except, as Poirot and Miss Lemon observe, there’s an odd flaw in its perfect symmetry.

Miss Barrowby’s Russian companion also attends the flower show. She has to; it’s her job. She wants to because it’s a chance to meet her lover, one of the staff at the Russian Embassy.

This subplot was charming, abounding with red herrings and longing glances. I’m sure flowers were involved, at least when there were no Bolshie spies around to report the embassy staffer and his unacceptable lady-friend to Uncle Josef. Don’t miss that giant portrait of Stalin glowering at his underlings.

Eventually, all loose ends come together and once again, Miss Lemon provides the key. She’s horrified by what Hastings did to her office. She’s appalled that he paid in cash because tradesmen remember when you do. Poirot sees his chance, sends Miss Lemon undercover, and they arrive back at Rosebank where Mary and Henry Delafontaine enjoy the gorgeous garden and wait to inherit. Mary’s perfect garden with silver bells and cockleshells all in a row proves her undoing. Cockleshells are not oyster shells so why are some oyster shells being used awkwardly, childishly as edging?

That was a flaw, by the way, in Agatha’s own plotting. Any good gardener needing to hide something organic doesn’t leave it where it can be seen. No, that’s what compost bins are for. You bury the body in the compost bin and no one will ever know. Not as long as you’re the one doing the turning. But perhaps Agatha didn’t compost and so she had to come up with a solution for getting rid of the evidence. I’d have buried them. Two inches of top soil and a bit of mulch and no one would ever know, including snoopy detectives who always wear a flower in their boutonnière vase. In this case, a pale pink rosebud.