Archive for Oliver Hardy

Sisyphuses off of Sunset

Posted in FILM, Mythology, Radio with tags , , , , , , , on September 22, 2017 by dcairns

In my attempt to examine the interplay of the surprising and the predictable in Laurel & Hardy’s classic shorts, I turned to THE MUSIC BOX (1932), their Oscar-winning film directed by James Parrott. My memory of it was that it’s unusually dedicated to the inevitable.

“Let the boring crap be boring crap,” was one of Sidney Pollack’s rules of film-making, and Parrott seems to have anticipated him. The opening scene is bald exposition, woodenly laying out the purchase of a player piano by a woman as a present for her husband. That last sentence contains just as much character and detail as the scene itself.

Stan & Ollie are removal/delivery men. A sign on their cart tells us that their business was “foundered in 1931,” a statement which seems likely to be accurate. The straightforward assemblage of narrative planks continues, with Charlie Hall (the boys’ antagonist in THEM THAR HILLS and TIT FOR TAT) as a postman who points out the address they’ve been aimed at, helpfully failing to indicate the route of easiest access.

So a tall flight of stairs just off Sunset Blvd. enters cinema history, as the film spends half its runtime with the boys attempting to lug the titular crate to its destination.

The appearance of a nursemaid pushing a pram is the first indication that this is a particularly harsh version of the Hal Roach universe. While her profession might normally imply a caring attitude, Lilyan Irene plays it as a sadly typical L&H female (no wonder the boys had so much trouble staying married). Having sort-of caused the crate to slide all the way down to the foot of the stairs, this infernal female finds the whole business so funny that Stan is compelled to kick her in the ass. She then punches Stan in the nose, which Ollie finds funny (no camaraderie here) which somehow forces her to smash a milk bottle over his head. The slow, methodical delivery of each act of violence plays into the predictability argument, though the combination of childish aggression — peaceful solutions are never considered, less provocative behaviour is seemingly unimaginable — with CLOCKWORK ORANGE-level viciousness ensures that surprise is still present.

Actually, I’m forgetting the malevolence of the horse, Susie, which has already caused the crate to fall on Ollie’s back, for no other reason than its own amusement.

The hostility of the world soon extends to the crate itself, which has an affinity for crashing downstairs whenever the boys turn their collective back on it. Now that the inevitability of gravity has been established, the achingly predictable does assume a front-and-centre role in the proceedings, but soon a policeman appears to dish out more excessive, childish violence. He obeys the rules of his species by arriving ill-informed, having placed his own misconstruction upon the report given him by the nursemaid who, despite departing in triumph, has taken her grievance straight to the law. She really is the worst. The policeman is the second worst. Of course his faulty construction of the facts places all the blame on Ollie: this is Ollie’s Eternal Fate.

The cop’s violence reduces the boys to children: police brutality was, I’m sure, at least as common then as now, but usually carried out behind closed doors. But kids could be walloped in public, and in the UK the “clip ’round the ear” was considered a positive way of course-correcting an errant waif, without the need for paperwork or parents. I’m not sure it was beneficial to anyone but the constable. This copper (Sam Lufkin, another unsung Joe of the Roach shorts) has an inventive way with his nightstick, the flick of Ollie’s chin and the jab to Stan’s stomach being particular favourites of mine.

This stuff seems pretty vicious, but it always did. I remember my Dad declaring “brutality!” in shocked amusement back in the ’70s when I first saw it, just as Fiona did today. And that was the ’70s, a harsher time. The Battle of Lewisham was considered just a bit of fun.

After ringing every variation on the pianola-stoop situation they can think of, including having Ollie, in the form of an obvious floppy dummy, dragged back to street level by the determined crate, the summit is finally reached and the postman reappears to explain that all this suffering was unnecessary as a curving street approaches their destination on a gentle gradient. They could have used the cart. At this point the boys, sighing in frustration and seeing no alternative, carry the crate back down the stairs so they can cart it up properly. I can vividly remember ANOTHER ’70s viewing of the film, and my sister screaming in frustration at this, just as Fiona did today.

Some people can’t get on with Laurel & Hardy films precisely because of this frustration. The boys embark on a stupidity, which we can see is bound to end in disaster, or else do something like this which makes no real sense at all, and the desperate viewer wants to climb into the frame like Buster in SHERLOCK JR. and sort things out. But of course they’d just get a poke in the eye for their troubles.

We shouldn’t feel sorry for the non-fans, they rather resent our sympathy, I believe. It’s true that this is not a failure of sense of humour, just a different form of wiring in that part of the brain known as the Bud Cortex. The victim finds other things to laugh at. But I’m not sure anything makes anyone laugh as hard as Stan & Ollie, though I’m no closer to knowing why.

Anyway, Stan and Ollie now have fishpond trouble, and find nobody’s home, and embark on a fresh stupidity, hoisting their package into an upper window on the block-and-tackle. Miraculously, the awning more or less survives this misuse, and the box does not actually get dropped on Ollie’s cortex. Everything ELSE goes wrong, though. But the piano does eventually pass into the house. The serious business of home-wrecking can now begin.

As a sensitive child, I was never particularly disturbed by the savage onslaughts against the human body celebrated in L&H films, but I was freaked by the physical distortion gags — Ollie getting his neck stretched so it resembled a great, white candle, gave me a hollow feeling in the pit of the stomach and a sense of Lovecraftian dread. And I was disturbed in my extreme youth by the domestic property destruction. I can remember frowning as the boys wrenched down a Venetian blind. Maybe because we had one in the house and maybe I’d been advised of its fragility. On no account climb it.

The really first-rate job of demolition performed here impresses me and in no sense worries me now, though Ollie getting jabbed in the eye and stepping on a huge nail causes a real double-wince. Though Stan may be a holy fool, Ollie is the Christ figure, suffering for the world’s sins: he has just dragged an outsized assemblage of wood up a hill and got a nail in his foot. Truly he is the Son of God. You can probably find reconstructions of all Christ’s wounds in the performances of Oliver Norville Hardy, if you’re so inclined, and Our Lord never had HIS legs torn off and wrapped round his neck. (And I’m obscurely reminded that Mel Gibson once nearly played Moe Howard for the Farrelly Brothers.)

The apartment is flooded when the crate is opened. The radio is knocked over and Ollie steps in it (broken glass, electrical shocks). Another fuse blows when the pianola is plugged in. Then the homeowner arrives and the wreckage actually intensifies, as he takes an axe to the unwanted instrument.

This is the excellent, swivel-eyed Billy Gilbert, essaying a Herman Bing accent. The boys have already encountered him on the stairway, and as Fate would arrange things this was their only victory en route to Calgary. Now it works against them, though the timely arrival of the wife from scene one calms the apoplectic faux-kraut long enough for Fate to deliver a final insult, a final twist, and then we’re out.

Preliminary hypothesis: the deliberate pacing of L&H allows many of their gags and situations to be both surprising and inevitable at the same time, letting the audience start to laugh while the mishap is just starting, so that our laughter gets an extra push (or several) as mayhem ensues. Also, the unusual willingness to let the audience get well ahead of a gag results in greater surprise and delight when a piece of slapstick is triggered WITHOUT advance warning. I don’t know if I can get any deeper than that on a theoretical level, but I’m going to try. Maybe close analysis of one scene is the way forward…


The Sunday Intertitle: Citrus

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , on September 10, 2017 by dcairns

Stan Laurel’s citrus-based comedy, ORANGES AND LEMONS of 1923 just isn’t good enough. I’ve come around to his parody films, which are inventive and silly enough to get you over the major hurdle of No Ollie — they’re different enough, too. It’s not like there’s a role for Ollie in them. But O&L is just basic slapstick, with Stan as, effectively, his old colleague Chaplin in one of his work-based comedies. Stan, like Charlie, is a shiftless and incompetent labourer who is entertained by his own mistakes, especially when they result in his boss or even his co-workers getting pelted with fruit. The lack of solidarity with his fellow employees (see THE PAWNSHOP for instance) is tres Charlot.

(This is the shorter version on YouTube, but it has better picture quality.)

Of course, Stan’s performance isn’t. Despite having worked alongside Chaplin, he never attempted to impersonate him as far as I know. But if he’s not like the Little Tramp, he’s not much like himself, either. Some of his antics are things you might conceivably see Mr. Laurel do in a drunk scene, or some other instance of out-of-character hi-jinks, but he’s devoid of any of his signature moves, gestures and expressions. His Barrymore-Ogle-Schreck monster in DR. PYCKLE AND MR. PRYDE has more in common with the classic Stan than this cheeky chappie.

Stan DOES share a scene with a big fat chap, “Tonnage” Martin Wolfkeil — who acts like a small child, i.e. plays the Stan role. Maybe an idea started to click in Stan’s head as he inappropriately played the leader of this duo for a few seconds of screen time. (One can imagine typecasting dictating that Ollie ought to play the infantile one, with his big baby face, with Stan as the more adult half of the team. Thank God that never came to pass.) This moment feels like one of those cartoon parodies of OF MICE AND MEN — but it hadn’t been written yet. Later on, Stan, no sentimentalist, kicks this inoffensive fellow in the face.

Stan wears an amusing clown-sized sombrero for half the film but, forced to assume a disguise, steals a derby from a chap with a Chaplin moustache — is he slowly becoming himself? Seconds later, that sheepish, chin-stretching beam makes an appearance on his features.

There are only about three good laughs in this thing, but I kind of like how the title bridges the distance between London and the music hall (“…say the bells of St. Clemence”) and California and the cinema. James Finlayson appears briefly.

The Sunday Intertitle: Another Fine Pyckle

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 3, 2017 by dcairns

What’s with the mania for replacing the title cards on silent films? The YouTube version above of this early Stan Laurel parody seems authentic, but the version I initially got off the Internet Archive has different, cruder titles and the credits are simplified down to nothing. It was interesting to learn from the more complete version that Tay Garnett wrote the titles, a fact the future director of THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE fails to mention in his (terrific) autobiography.

This version might be more complete as regards credits, but all versions end EXTREMELY abruptly, in a way I doubt was intended. I mean, anything’s possible, and the film is a little shambolic, but I suspect there was originally more to it.

I used to look down on these efforts. Partly because you might occasionally get fobbed off with a Stan film when what you wanted was a Stan & Ollie. accept no substitutes — but the agreeably silly parodies Stan starred in (MUD AND SAND with Rhubarb Vaselino) have appeal. The lampooning of John Barrymore here is very accurate — Stan’s essaying of the transformation is excellent (the knees are the first bits to go evil) and his first appearance is actually really disturbing, owing to the way his wig distorts his features. Stan also throws in some sideways reaching, a hieroglyphic-type pose that seems to owe more to Charles Ogle or Max Schreck than to the mannerisms of the Great Profile. I suspect that pose perhaps dates back further in theatrical history, and was an accepted method of portraying supernatural menace.

(When I was a kid, the accepted mode of impersonating the Frankenstein monster was 1) stiff-kneed gait, yes, fine accurate, and 2) arms stretched out in front like a sleepwalker, something the monster doesn’t do –– except briefly I guess when in that one where he goes blind.)

There’s one very impressive set, but it has a French sign on it so it must’ve been constructed for another, more important film — ah, but are people still watching that film today? (Anyone know what it’s from?)

Producer Joe Rock also made Michael Powell’s first important film, THE EDGE OF THE WORLD. Powell remarked that all his big breaks came from either Americans or Hungarians.