Sympathetic stars, slapstick save slow story
Stan & Ollie (out of 4) Starring Steve Coogan, John C. Reilly, Shirley Henderson, Nina Arianda and Rufus Jones. Written by Jeff Pope. Directed by Jon S. Baird. Opens Friday at the Varsity. 98 minutes. G
The only thing worse than being bothered for an autograph is not being bothered for an autograph, as any honest celebrity would admit. Fame is a form of love, and the loss of it can be more painful than the maintenance of it.
Such is the existential dilemma facing comedians Stan Laurel (Steve Coogan) and Oliver Hardy (John C. Reilly) in Stan &
Ollie, a warmhearted dramedy by director Jon S. Baird that owes more of its appeal to the sympathetic portrayal of its legendary title characters than to its lacklustre plot.
Coogan and Reilly perform the alchemist’s feat of turning lead into gold, finessing all the trademark details — Laurel’s puzzled head-scratching, Hardy’s flirtatious tie-flipping, the duo’s adorable dance moves — with skill and affection.
The film follows Laurel and Hardy while their popularity and friendship are both being sorely tested during a 1953-54 tour of England, Scotland and Ireland that will be their last major excursion together.
Artistic licence is taken with dates and events and there’s a claustrophobic look and feel to the film. Baird obviously didn’t have a lavish budget to recreate the 1950s.
But care is taken to correct one historical inaccuracy: The easily aggrieved Hardy almost never accused the hapless Laurel of getting him into “another
fine mess,” as the famous saying goes, but rather “another nice mess.” Stan & Ollie opens in 1937, when the bowler-hatted duo are at their peak, parlaying their slapstick antics into hit films for producer Hal Roach (Danny Huston).
Friction ensues as businessminded Stan pushes the tightfisted Roach for more money and artistic control; Ollie, an in- veterate playboy and partier who goes by the nickname “Babe,” just wants quick cash to settle gambling and alimony debts.
Jump to 1953, and circumstances are markedly different for the two men.
Now in their 60s, with the spotlight turning away from them toward newer acts, they’re trying to restart their careers and recharge their personal chemistry.
Stan is desperately trying to put into production a planned comedic remake of Robin Hood, which he is writing as a screen comeback for the duo. His tele- phone calls are going unanswered.
At one point, Stan passes by a street poster for Abbott and Costello Go to Mars, a new hit from his rivals. He fixes it with a melancholic gaze. Winter is coming, as they say on Game of Thrones.
Ollie, meanwhile, just wants to keep performing, but age and his immense weight are beginning to take a toll on his energy and disposition.
The men are planning to reunite with their spouses midway through the tour — Stan’s fourth wife, Ida (Nina Arianda), and Ollie’s third, Lucille (Shirley Henderson), both the opposite of shy — which will have the effect of doubling the squabbling from two people to four.
Arriving unheralded in England on a dark and stormy night, Stan and Ollie find they’re less of a draw than they had anticipated.
They’re billeted in a third-rate hotel, playing to a small, halfempty theatre and telling curious citizens that no, they haven’t retired.
Much of the blame is due to poor planning and worse advertising by their British promoter, amusingly played by Rufus Jones the way Paul Shaffer played the hapless rock impresario Artie Fufkin in This Is Spinal Tap.
But it’s also clear that Stan and Ollie aren’t as close as they once were. Stan feels betrayed by what they euphemistically refer to as “the elephant movie” (real title: Zenobia), a 1939 picture Hardy made for Roach with another comedy partner during a contractual contretemps that sidelined Laurel. (The film was a box-office disaster, which should have been revenge enough for Laurel.)
Stan calls Hardy “lazy.” Ollie calls Stan “hollow.”
At a gala where Stan and Ollie are being fêted, a befuddled society matron, watching them openly squabble, asks her husband, “Was that funny?”
The question might also be fairly asked of Stan & Ollie. The film itself is the cinematic equivalent of a maternal hug. The script by Jeff Pope, who wrote the Oscar-nominated Philomena for Coogan, makes more demands of the makeup artists than it does of its actors — Reilly almost vanishes behind his immense prosthetic double chin.
The actors rise to the occasion regardless, reminding us of the ephemeral nature of fame and the fragile nature of friendship.
The script makes more demands of the makeup artists than it does of its actors