Stan and Ollie
One of the things that defined the success of silent cinema
titans Laurel and Hardy was their universal appeal. Masters of their art, they
transcended language or culture or age boundaries with their slapstick genius.
Whilst Stan and Ollie might fail to
live up to that ludicrously high comic bar, it delivers its own kind of
universal appeal: pathos. Bring your most endurable hanky and perfect your ‘I’m
not crying I’m coughing’ routine, because this effortlessly sweet British gem
will have you in floods of tears, rather than stitches of laughter.
Stan and Ollie
charter’s the twilight years of it’s titular double act, meandering through a
painful visage of attempted career revival. After the opening scene sees them
at the height of their game (an introduction which masterfully outlines
everything you need to know about our two central characters) the film cuts to
some 16 years later, when the duo has set off on a UK tour in order to attract
the eye of an illusive Hollywood producer. Yet despite constant reassurances
from their fans that “it’s so good to see you two still going after all these years,” time has brought its
fair share of troubles for the two. As
the film progresses, melancholic details from this time jump are teased out:
issues of health, personal betrayals and financial issues (a conversation at a
bar neatly exposes this, as Stan complains that people are more interested in
watching Laurel and Hardy re-runs which they don’t receive royalties for
instead of watching their theatre show). It’s a cleverly conceived screenplay
about a little-known period in the pair’s lives – which acts as a meditation on
the power of friendship and the fickle nature of fame.
But just as the characters discover that they are nothing
without each other, so too would this film be nothing without its brilliant
performances. Steve Coogan and John C Riley shine as Laurel and Hardie. These
aren’t glib impressions (although anyone who has seen The Trip will know Mr. Coogan can do a fair few of those) but
reincarnations. The prosthetics aren’t consistently convincing – Coogan at
times is more Barry Chuckle more than Stan Laurel – but this doesn’t hinder
performances which are eerily precise. And that goes for Shirley Henderson and
Nina Ariana too, who play the wives of the main players. They make an excellent
comedic pairing in their own right – something which the film acknowledges as their
theatrical promoter states that they are “two double acts for the price of
one.” If you’re tired of the trope ‘behind every great man is a great woman’
which reduces women to a crutch for male greatness, then Stan and Ollie gets it’s gender politics right as Lucille Hardy and
Ida Laurel often outshine the films main stars – both in the comedy and tragedy
department.
Through this elegantly played tetrarchy of characters we get
some beautiful and poignant moments of mirroring – one of the films smartest
and best played weapons in its arsenal. The comedic brilliance of the husbands
matches that of the wives, but so does the love between Laurel and Hardy and
between their retrospective partners. If you’ve ever had a friend you’ve loved
enough to equate to a sibling (and have ever experienced betrayal or
forgiveness from them) you’ll be in floods of tears as I was. Mirroring is also
used to blur the lines between fact and fiction, between art and reality. A
comparison can be made between the bedside routine from their theatrical
production and a gut-wrenching moment of bittersweet brainstorming, as Stan
tries to entertain a bed-stricken Laurel, post heart attack. Some of these
reflective moments don’t always work, especially when Coogan and Riley try to
reinvent slapstick sketches from the duo’s offscreen life. As the two book into
a hotel they argue over who is to ring the bell, or when they drop a suitcase
down a flight of stairs at a railway station, there was stony silence in the
screening I was in. Those attempts to
homage Laurel and Hardy were bound to pale in comparison. It is in the stew of
quiet ennui that Stan and Ollie reaps
its greatest rewards.
But that ultimately doesn’t get in the way of what is a warm
hug of a movie. It’s as nostalgic and as wholesome as the Paddington films, and manages to pull an emotional punch along the
way. It glows with a radiant fondness for its characters, and made me forget
about all my troubles – which in todays world of doom and gloom was just the
ticket. Stan and Ollie ends by
setting its sights for a brighter future for its stars – a future filled with
hope – which seemed to me the perfect message for our ever uncertain times.
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