Stan and Ollie

Given that this blog has been going for nearly nine years now, and given further that I had set this blog up primarily to talk about various things I love, it is strange that I have managed so far not even  to mention Laurel and Hardy. I suppose it’s because I find it difficult to describe what their films mean to me without gushing. But now that a new film about this duo is doing the rounds to hearteningly popular acclaim, it seems as good a time as any to write something about them on my blog. And I’ll do my best not to gush, as those who are fans will already know what I mean, and those who aren’t will merely be put off.

laurel-and-hardy

Oliver Hardy and Stan Laurel.

I must admit, though, that I am always somewhat shocked when anyone tells me they do not like Laurel and Hardy films. And yes, there are many who think them essentially silly, and simple-minded. And I have to ask myself whether my continued love for them is really justified in terms of their merit, or whether it is merely a leftover from a fondly remembered childhood. I think it’s the former, but I cannot, of course, demonstrate it one way or the other. I plead that, as a child, I used to laugh at Abbott and Costello films as well, but that they soon paled, and now I find them merely irritating; but Laurel and Hardy films I continue to love. That doesn’t constitute a proof, of course – nothing can constitute a proof in this context – but it does indicate, at least, that my continued enjoyment of Laurel and Hardy is due to more than mere nostalgia. Although what that more is, is difficult to identify, let alone articulate.

We can, at least, say what they aren’t. Their humour is not – despite ignorant claims to the contrary – primarily slapstick. Yes, of course they employed slapstick; but so, for that matter, did Cervantes. And yes, of course that slapstick is funny. But what we are laughing at is, I think, more than merely the slapstick, more than the pratfalls that lie in wait of them. And that more lies, I think, in these characters’ relationship with the world around them, with each other, and with us, the audience.

Oliver Hardy once said that people enjoyed watching these films because they can feel smarter than these two. (I’m sorry I can’t link to this, as I can’t find a reference to this quote anywhere:  but I’m sure I read this somewhere – though damned if I can remember where!) I’m not sure what context Oliver said this in, but whatever he meant, he was surely only partly right. Yes, of course we feel we are brighter than these two: there would be something very wrong with us if we didn’t. And yes, of course, we laugh at their stupidity, their ineptitude. But – and here’s the most important thing – we never look down on them. No matter how foolishly they act, no matter how inept they are, we’re on their side. To use that lazy cliché – we can identify with them; we can sympathise with these two essentially well-meaning people who are unequal, as, frankly, we all are, to the demands life makes of us. It is partly because the world conspires against them; it is also partly because they are not very bright, or capable. And yes, as we watch Stan and Ollie struggle with living their lives, we laugh: but we laugh not at them, but in the recognition deep down that, no doubt on a somewhat different level, we too aren’t up to meeting life’s demands.

Flaubert had pulled off this trick in Bouvard et Pécuchet (which often strikes me as Flaubert’s masterpiece): here, too, we have two genuinely well-meaning people trying to grapple with the complexities of life, and repeatedly failing. However, we do not look down on them, for we see in them, despite a comic exaggeration, an image of our own state. But Flaubert observed his creations with a studied ironic distance, whereas I don’t think even detractors of Stan and Ollie could fail to notice the genuine warmth with which these two characters are portrayed. And frankly, this is a mystery to me.  I too sense the warmth in their films; and yet, Ollie is an overbearing, pompous bully who frequently hits Stan. (And Stan occasionally hits back.) I once saw an interview with the late Richard Briers, one of the finest comic actors of his generation, who also admitted that he couldn’t explain this. We all hate pompous, self-important people, he said, we all hate bullies, and yet, we watch Oliver Hardy’s performance, and we love him. He said he watched these films repeatedly just to see how Oliver Hardy achieved this, but that he never could work it out. He thought it was simply a miracle.

But, whatever life throws at them, they never give up, or give way to despondency. They keep on failing, and not even failing better. But they carry on. Because, like the rest of us I guess, they must.

Fans of Laurel and Hardy are probably a bit cheesed off with me by now. Here I am, talking about Cervantes and Flaubert and what not, while ignoring the most salient aspect of their genius – they were funny.

Yes, they certainly were. Are.

But I challenge anyone to explain what it is about them that makes one laugh. It’s an impossible task, and I’m not even going to try. In any case, if anyone needs to ask why they are funny, they’re not going to get it anyway.

The recent film Stan and Ollie has excited much comment, especially around my neck of the net. The Laurel and Hardy fan club page on Facebook has been buzzing with excitement, with virtually everyone recommending the film, and praising Steve Coogan’s and John C. Reilly’s superbly convincing performances. I must admit I tend to steer away from showbiz biopics: if they are hagiographies, I find that boring and pointless; and if they are hatchet jobs, they are equally boring and pointless, and also somewhat repugnant. Sometimes, the middle course is taken, showing both the  virtues and the vices of the subjects, but even there, I remain dubious: we all have our character flaws – what purpose does it serve to dramatise these peoples’ personal flaws and foibles? But in this case,  I must admit I was quite pleasantly surprised.

I do not know much of the biographical details of these two: I am  generally more interested in artists’ works  rather than their lives; but I do know that the  two got on  really well together, and had for each other a great respect and affection. But the film-makers also take – as I discover from some of the posts on this Facebook page from those who know about their lives far better than I do – a few liberties. Producer Hal Roach was no money-grubbing philistine as is portrayed here; and while Stan and Ollie did have a few differences with him, it was never about pay. More significantly, Laurel and Hardy never quarrelled with each other in real life. No doubt they had some minor disagreements when filming, but it never amounted to a break in their friendly relations. In this film, Stan is somewhat resentful of Ollie going off to make a film on his own: in real life, Stan had actually congratulated Ollie. I assume that the quarrel was introduced into this film to inject some drama into the proceedings: two people getting on just fine is no doubt admirable, but frankly a bit boring. However, it was made clear that neither was at peace till they had made it up and acknowledged to each other that they had not meant the words spoken in anger; and the reconciliation scene was genuinely touching. It is impossible for us fans to think of Stan and Ollie without feeling a sense of warmth, and of generosity: both these qualities came over very strongly.

The film focuses on the tour they made of Britain in 1953, when they were both getting old, and somewhat past it (at least, on the evidence of their later films, which I frankly find a bit painful to watch). And Ollie’s health was clearly failing. The film could easily have become sentimental, but it didn’t. Even their reconciliation scene, which, fictional or not, no fan of the pair could fail to find touching, consisted of only a few words:  no more needed to be said. One thing I hadn’t realised, and which, I admit, did leave me a bit tearful, was that for the eight years Stan lived on after Ollie’s death, he continued writing gags for the two. Obviously, he knew that these gags would never be performed (and I, for one, hope they never are, not even by the excellent Coogan and Reilly): presumably, Stan wrote these gags because that was his way of keeping in touch with precious, vanished times, and with a precious, vanished friend. I’m glad the film only mentioned this in passing at the end: some things really don’t need to be dwelt upon.

cooganreilly

John C. Reilly as Oliver Hardy, and Steve Coogan as Stan Laurel, from the film “Stan and Ollie”, courtesy of producing companies Entertainment One BBC Films Fable Pictures Laurel and Hardy Feature Productions Sonesta Films

 

After seeing the film, I came back home, and immediately put on one of their two-reelers. (I chose Midnight Patrol at random.) And I laughed all over again, although I knew all the gags by heart. I think I just enjoy their company. Foolish, inept, pompous (on one side) and vacant (on the other), utterly unable to cope with all that life throws at them, often cruelly defeated – but however stupid we may think them, we never look down upon them: they’re still one of us.

If I had to pick a single DVD set to keep from my collection,  I would undoubtedly choose the Laurel and Hardy films.

4 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Jonathan on January 21, 2019 at 4:41 pm

    I have also loved L&H (and Harold Lloyd, Marx Bros, Buster Keaton etc) since childhood. They still make me laugh. I suspect I’d also enjoy reading old copies of Dany & Beano as well but I don’t have any copies. I think we look on Stan & Ollie as children and therefore we forgive their foibles. I’m looking forward to seeing the film.

    Reply

    • Yes, I agree, there is something very childlike about them. I suppose this is also why we can forgive Ollie’s overbearing and pompous nature: he’s still essentially a child. The characterisations of the two are far more subtle, I think, than is often recognised.

      Reply

  2. Hello –

    I discovered your wonderful blog only a few weeks ago, and have been savoring your thoughts on Sherlock Holmes and Dickens. Wonderful stuff. But your Laurel and Hardy post has inspired me to add a note.

    Laurel and Hardy are not just a team or a duo, they are a couple. It’s amazing how often they end up sharing the same bed, consoling one-another, protecting each-other, jointly raising surrogate children or caring for pets. It is almost silly how all close male relationship are now read for how they are ‘coded’ either hetero-or-homosexual, but I read the onscreen Stan and Ollie as homosexual in the purest, nonsexual sense. They loved one-another.

    At heart, both Stan and Ollie are children. Yes, Ollie is often more intelligent and given to greater attempts to master the situation; he is the senior child of the two, but that does not make him less of a child. It is this engaging innocence (even when they’re being brats!) that so many people respond to.

    This eternal childhood often makes them more (or less) than human. As such, they don’t change and seem subject to different physical, social and intellectual laws than we. It would seem as if the two great clowns were denizens of some alternate reality rather than our own prosaic surroundings. They are, first and last, their own unique selves. They are impervious within the protective cocoons of their own strangeness.

    Yet, for all of the strangeness of Laurel and Hardy, the recurring note is one of sweetness. The couple had a core of sweetness – the kind of sweetness that comes from an innocent, inner benevolence. Even at their worst behavior (which often results in massive destruction of property), there is that core of kindliness.

    As film historian Randy Skretvedt has written: The world is not their oyster; they are the pearl trapped in the oyster. Their jobs hang by a rapidly unraveling thread. Their possessions crumble to dust. Their dreams die just at the point of fruition. Their dignity is assaulted constantly. At times they can’t live with each other, but they’ll never be able to live without each other. Each other is all they will ever have. That, and the hope of a better day.

    Reply

    • Hello Bob, and thank you for your kind words.
      There is such a warmth about those two characters, isn’t there? As Jonathan suggests above, the two are essentially children. the world is too big, too complicated for them. But they face up to it nonetheless, inadequate though they are. Ollie is a bit more intelligent than Stan; he likes to think it is he who is Stan’s protector, and tan could not get by without him. But the fact is, he isn’t that much more intelligent than Stan.

      You put it very well: they had a core of sweetness, of kindliness, an “innocent, inner benevolence”. For me, they’re up there with Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, and with Holmes and Watson, as the greatest of duos. With all three, one may analyse up to a point, but eventually, what one feels for them defies all analysis!

      All the best, Himadri

      Reply

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