LAUREL & HARDY: THE DEFINITIVE RESTORATIONS (Hal Roach/MGM, 1927-1937) Kit Parker/Sprocket Factory

The comedic styling of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy have influenced generations of comedians, providing a textbook example of how to successfully hone comedy as a fine art, to say nothing of the scores they have entertained with their charmingly obtuse sight gags and congenially-timed slapstick. Few could have conceived of a more jovial union; Laurel (1890-1965), the wry Englishman with elastic expressions and cactus-like pompadour, and Hardy (1892-1957), bulbous to the point of mimicking a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade float, and easily, to get flustered. When Stan Laurel died, he took with him those last vestiges of an era in American comedy that had continued to spawn the originals of his generation like Bud Abbott and Lou Costello, The Marx Brothers, and, The Three Stooges. In his wake came the imitation class, who would take the duo’s movies as tutelage, and, to heart. Delivering Laurel’s eulogy on February 26, 1965, a wistful Dick Van Dyke reflected, “There are hundreds of millions of people all over the world who felt the pang of sorrow when Stan left us… his little desk…awash with fan mail…he insisted on… answering personally. He never gave up on anything…on life, and most of all…that God-given mirth that he had.” Laurel had once reflected, that while the more accomplished comedians of his generation - Lloyd, Keaton and Chaplin (is there any good reason to use first names here?) – made the expensive pictures, he and Hardy filled in the gap with their ‘B’ and ‘C’ grade quota quickies for which the key ingredient keeping them in the public’s eye and producer, Hal Roach in the chips, was arguably, love of craft. “That’s what put Stan Laurel head and shoulders above all the rest of them—as an artist, and as a man,” Van Dyke now reasoned, “He was a master comedian and he was a master artist—but he put in that one ingredient that can only come from the human being – love, for his work, life, and, the audience.”

If, as some have suggested, Stan was the brains behind the act, coming up with new material to fatten their repertoire, then it was nothing at all without Oliver Hardy’s blithe extrovert to perform the celebrated pratfalls against his anemic-looking cohort, ironing out the wrinkles with a frivolous finesse that belied his weighty girth. In his emeritus years, Laurel’s modest apartment was frequented by all the biggest names in Hollywood to have followed in their footsteps: Jerry Lewis, Danny Kaye, Marcel Marceau, and, Red Skelton among them. It is one of those Hollywood ironies that, in death, artists achieve acclaim never afforded them in life. Indeed, during their long run, Laurel and Hardy were often chastised for their ‘simplicity’ and ‘silliness’. However, as we mark the passage of great figures in the many other facets of life, somehow, this vacuum always gets filled by others rising through the ranks. Alas, in the arts, the void left behind by their absence of uniqueness only seems to grow into a chasm more enormous and devastating with the passage of the years. Real/reel artists happen once in a lifetime, and after they leave us, we distinctly mourn the loss as personal and affecting. At Laurel’s funeral, Van Dyke concluded thus, reading from ‘A Prayer for Clowns’.  “God bless all clowns who star in the world with laughter, who ring the rafters with flying jest, who make the world spin merry on its way. God bless all clowns. So poor the world would be, lacking their piquant touch, hilarity, the belly laughs, the ringing lovely. God bless all clowns. Give them a long good life, Make bright their way—they’re a race apart! Alchemists most, who turn their hearts’ pain into a dazzling jest to lift the heart. God bless all clowns.”

I suppose we should doff our caps to the unsung hero here – producer, Hal Roach who came to Hollywood in 1912 and quickly migrated from work as an extra into producing 2-reelers with friend, Harold Lloyd. With success came expectation, and a move to Culver City where Roach not only employed Lloyd – then, one of the most successful comedians, but also made room for the likes of Will Rogers, Max Davidson, the ‘Our Gang’ children, Charley Chase, Harry Langdon, Thelma Todd, ZaSu Pitts, Lupe Vélez, and, Patsy Kelly. Towering above the rest were Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. Roach’s distribution deal with Pathé Exchange expired in 1927. Undaunted, he brokered an even more lucrative deal with MGM. Given the wild popularity of Laurel and Hardy, it is not surprising Roach chose the duo to appear in his first full-length feature, Pardon Us (1931). Bad business decisions in 1937, aligned in a venture funded by Benito Mussolini’s son, Vittorio, forced MGM to dissolve their partnership with Roach. It also left MGM holding Stan and Ollie’s contract, and the rights to further exploit all of Roach’s past Laurel and Hardy 2-reel comedies in endless reissues; theatrically, then later, on television throughout the mid to late 1970’s. This is where I first discovered Stan and Ollie, on my parent’s 16” B&W television, in poorly minted and badly worn second-generation prints, interminably interrupted by commercial breaks and played as filler on UHF during rainy Saturday afternoons. Even with all these distractions, Laurel and Hardy cast an incredible spell; Ollie’s constant and finicky fussing and fretting, wed to Stan’s introspective mugging for the camera, made for some fun times at the old homestead.  All except for one golden afternoon when, afflicted with a bit of sun-stroke, I laughed myself into knocking over a large glass of orange juice on the living room carpet.

By now, everyone is familiar with at least the branding of Laurel & Hardy; the ‘Cuckoo Song’ (a.k.a. Dance of the Cuckoos) a beloved theme ricocheting about my brain even as I write this review. But few will recall Ollie and Stan already had well-established careers before becoming an act; Laurel, in 50 silent films as either actor, writer or director, and Hardy, even more prolific, with 250 productions to his credit. Laurel was born for the stage; his father, a theatrical entrepreneur; his mother, a headliner in her day. So, it was really no surprise when Stan displayed the virtues of a great performer, landing a plush contract with impresario, Fred Karno in 1909. In 1912, the troupe toured the U.S. However, when the company left for England, Laurel stayed on, finding steady employment until, in 1925 he joined the Hal Roach Studio as a director and writer, working on 22 films. He also appeared as an actor in 50 films before teaming up with Oliver Hardy. Meanwhile, Hardy had diligently worked since his teens as a popular singer until bitten by the acting bug. In 1913, Hardy began to appear in pictures, billed as ‘Babe’ Hardy, and, exhibiting great versatility playing a broad assortment of heroes, villains and, occasionally, donning drag in a ‘camp’ female part. By 1917, Hardy had either starred or co-starred in more than 250 shorts. Appearing together, though not as an act, in 1921’s The Lucky Dog, it would be another 5 years before the ‘team’ of Laurel & Hardy was firmly cemented at the Roach Studios, and, even then, under separately signed contracts. 1927’s Putting Pants on Philip, put Laurel & Hardy on the map as comedy’s latest screen team – a position they would continue to hold, seemingly with effortless joy, well into the mid-1940’s, capping off their tenure with eight ‘B’ movies made either at 2oth Century-Fox or MGM – the last, in 1945. Their final movie was made abroad, Atoll K (1950) and put a period to an act that had appeared in 40 taking shorts, 32 silent shorts, and 23 feature-length comedies.

It is impossible, or rather – foolhardy – to attempt any complete compartmentalization and/or comprehensive critique of the legacy of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy in a Blu-ray review. I am not even going to try. The scope of their output is vast, the breadth of their comedic tailoring, grander still. But anyone questioning the reason for such tearful and sober homages to this fat man and his skinny cohort need only take a gander at Kit Parker’s The Sprocket Factory’s newly minted compendium of 16 shorts, 3 movies and 2 specialties, assembled as Laurel & Hardy – The Definitive Restorations. Were that Hollywood had had the foresight to preserve the legacy of these two titans a lot sooner, as even with new 2K and 4K scans, many derived from camera negatives, there is much to consider here – and a bit to lament, in terms of quality. And, while much of their legacy has survived, at least 3 of their movies are thought to be lost for all time: Hats Off (1927), and, The Rogue Song (1930) among them. After Atoll K, Stan and Ollie seemed content to put Hollywood behind them, making several public appearances before departing for a bit of rest in Cobh in the Republic of Ireland. Instead, the pair were almost immediately mobbed by well-wishers - a scene that left both men bewildered, then suddenly, gladdened to tears.

Stricken with an ailing heart, Hardy, under doctor’s advisement, undertook drastic measures to shed well over a hundred pounds. Alas, the results were several strokes that greatly impugned his mobility and speech, the cost of medical care forcing Hardy to sell his home and liquidate most of his assets. On August 7, 1957, Hardy was felled by a fatal stroke, barely weighing 138 lbs. Ever-devoted to the memory of his dear friend, for the rest of his eight years of life, Stan Laurel staunchly refused to appear as ‘half’ of the duo that had made them both famous, even turning down Stanley Kramer’s lucrative offer to appear in a cameo in 1963’s landmark comedy, It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. Following Laurel’s death, two theatrical tributes were released; the first, a compendium by MGM - Laurel and Hardy's Laughing '20s and the latter, Blake Edwards’ The Great Race (1965) – largely, an homage to slapstick, preceded by a dedication to ‘Mr. Laurel and Mr. Hardy’. From here, the bastardization began to set in – Laurel and Hardy, impersonated on children’s TV shows by Jim MacGeorge and Chuck McCann, with merchandiser, Larry Harmon licensing Laurel and Hardy’s likenesses for a series of cartoons produced by Hanna-Barbera in 1966. Hanna-Barbera would later exploit the team again, appearing as ‘supporting cast’ for a 1972 episode of The New Scooby-Doo Movies. When the novelty of ‘colorizing’ B&W movies kicked in, in the early 1980’s, the shorts of Laurel and Hardy were among the first to suffer the indignation of having their original monochromatic works artificially sharpened, with scenes altered and/or deleted/edited for content.

Laurel & Hardy: The Definitive Restorations is a valiant effort to reverse some of the ravages of time that have effectively conspired to diminish much of the visual luster of the 21 shorts and 2 features assembled here. Some fair better than others. Alas, all suffer – to varying degree – from compression artifacts and some minor aliasing. The roster of work assembled here spans the duo’s contributions from the late silent era all the way to the early 1950’s, and has been assembled with obvious love for its subject matter.  Disc One contains director, William A. Seiter’s Sons of the Desert (1933) in which Stan and Ollie play a couple of Shriner-esque inductees whose desire to attend an out-of-town convention is thwarted by a pair of suspicious wives (played by Mae Busch and Dorothy Christy).  Also housed on Disc One – 1927’s Battle of the Century (containing a riotous pie fight), and Berth Marks (the one with all the confusion aboard a moving train), the latter, in both its original 1929 Vitaphone, and 1983 reissue soundtracks (the latter, inexplicably pruned from 20 min. 21 sec. to 20 min. 5 sec.). Disc Two contains 2 versions of Brats (the one where Stan and Ollie play both the parents and their mischievous offspring); the original 1930 Vitaphone release, and 1937’s reissue (both running 21:29). Brats – a delightfully silly short with all sorts of misdirection taking place, is, by far, the worst looking transfer in this set – extremely faded, and (due to primitive optical printing of the day) fuzzy and grainy to boot. We could accept all of that, if not for the added and very problematic inclusion of edge enhancement and minor pixelization. Other shorts on Disc Two – 1930’s Hog Wild (where home renovation takes on a whole new meaning), Come Clean, One Good Turn (both from 1931), and, Me and My Pal (1933).  On Disc Three, the laughter continues with a bevy of classic from 1932, beginning with Helpmates (Stan’s efforts to help Ollie clean up after a wild party result in even more demolition), The Music Box (the one where the boys attempt to deliver a player piano up a steep incline), the circus-themed, The Chimp, County Hospital, Scram!, Their First Mistake; also, from 1933, The Midnight Patrol, and, Busy Bodies. Disc Four caps off the hilarity, advancing the time line to 1937’s Way Out West – one of the team’s last feature films, and shorts, Towed in a Hole (1932), Twice Two (1933), That's That (1937), and a rare – and rarely seen – 1942 Pete Smith specialty in Technicolor, entitled, The Tree in a Test Tube.

The best-looking transfers in this set are Sons of the Desert, Berth Marks, Way Out West, The Chimp, and County Hospital, with honorable mention to Me and My Pal, and, Their First Mistake. For the rest, quality greatly varies, from marginal age-related artifacts and built-in flicker (Hog Wild, The Midnight Patrol) to blown out contrast and crushed blacks. Come Clean, and, Helpmates appear to be the only oddities here; the former, suffering from too much digital scrubbing to have homogenized and eradicated all traces of film grain, resulting in particularly soft and waxy looking visuals; the latter, as though to have been culled from a much older video master with built-in digital distortions and an anemic grayscale.  As previously stated, the restoration team responsible for this release are working backwards from poorly archived materials, culling together these transfers from various source materials – none, in optimal condition. So, as much as we might poo-poo the fact none of these 1080p offerings is spotless, in hindsight, and given their deplorable condition elsewhere, what is here is light-years ahead of what any of these shorts or features have looked like for decades on home video. In all cases, the audio is 2.0 LPCM and, apart from the obvious limitations in early sound recording techniques, have been wonderfully preserved. Most of the shorts run just under 30 min. with The Music Box being the longest, at nearly 40 min. and Busy Bodies being the shortest, barely 19 min. Historians, Randy Skretvedt and Richard Bann contribute greatly with their expertise on the history behind the hilarity. These discs are also packed with goodies, including a seemingly endless collection of rare stills, trailers, and interviews with Anita Garvin, Joe Rock, Roy Seawright, and, audio only interviews with Oliver Hardy, Hal Roach, Venice Lloyd, Richard Currier, Bert Jordan, Walter Woolf King, Lucille Hardy Price, Marvin Hatley, Honolulu Baby, and Lovey-Dovey. In addition, we also get trailers for 1931’s Beau Hunks, and 1932’s Pack Up Your Troubles – among others: shorts, not included in this set. Aside: I do hope this means the folks responsible for this release are hard at work on a Volume 2, to follow it shortly. It should also be pointed out, menu’s navigation on these discs is fairly awkward – the main menu, the only way to search for anything, rather than allowing for the option to view a short and search for something else at the same time. Bottom line: Laurel and Hardy are iconic comedians, beyond reproach in their international renown and influence on the world of modern comedy. You can wait around and hope – but the likelihood of another team to ever become as successful and beloved is remote at best. Stan and Ollie are the real/reel deal. This set, while not perfect, offers conclusive proof of their combined genius. Recommended.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

Overall – 4

VIDEO/AUDIO

Overall – 3

EXTRAS

5+