Stan & Ollie
In 1953, the bowler cap-wearing comedy duo of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy made one last attempt at resurrecting their careers during a tour of live performances in Great Britain. By that point, both men had become mostly estranged, having parted ways years earlier after contract negotiations with notoriously prickly Hollywood producer Hal Roach went sideways.
The long gestating tension remains palpable throughout Stan & Ollie, Jon S. Baird’s new biopic. This doting and sincere drama commits many of the familiar treasons that make biopics so tedious, but it’s somewhat elevated for its keen interest in exploring unsung disappointments of storied careers rather than merely focusing on their glitzy successes.
Most of that pain lies dormant inside Stan (Steve Coogan), who still resents Ollie (John C. Reilly) for staying loyal to the studio and ensuring their creative separation. Both men are cordial with each other upon arriving at the crummy hotel accommodations paid for by their shady booking agent. Hopes remain high that the success of these upcoming vaudevillian acts will increase the chances an English producer will fund an ambitious Robin Hood comedy that would cement their official comeback.
Forced back into close confines with each other, Stan and Ollie dance around their unspoken strains while trying to recapture the onscreen chemistry that vaulted them to superstardom in the 1920s and ’30s. At first, their stage performances are poorly marketed and therefore sparsely attended, which only complicates the two men’s attempts at reconciliation. Eventually, however, they experience something of a revival.
Whatever meager successes come their way, the film recognizes that one cannot escape the past by disappearing into a role. Stan is especially haunted by this dilemma. Coogan ably balances his character’s series of passive and aggressive mood swings, which only serve to delay the inevitable breakdown of spirit between the two men.
Reilly’s performance as the lovable Ollie, a diehard romantic without an ambitious bone in his body, is a nice compliment to Coogan’s more vindictive turn. Baird gives both of these actors (each a master of improvisation) the necessary space to play off each other. But aside from the opening long take that spans many different film sets on a Hollywood back lot, there’s little stylistic invention or narrative aspiration elsewhere in the film.
At the heart of Stan & Ollie is the idea that friendship can be just another profession. Paired together by Hollywood casting agents, the men initially feigned camaraderie and charisma to sell tickets. This business partnership eventually fostered a close-knit bond between them, but the mere fact that their origin was constructed for movie magic seems to lie heavily on their shoulders. Now, as they face the potential end of their careers, neither Stan nor Ollie have any idea how to attain closure with one another.
It feels indicative of our present moment that all of this historical subtext about an inventive iconic team is packed into a film of very little invention. While never offensive or grossly sentimental (see: My Week With Marilyn), Stan & Ollie (opening Friday, Jan. 18) just seems rooted to one visual style, while, when it comes to the performances, Reilly and Coogan are up to something far more dynamic. It’s as if Baird watched too much Drunk History reenactments, but took them literally.
Still, this safely entertaining film was made for the middlebrow crowd and not the hardcore cinephiles. Take that as an endorsement or a warning depending on which side of the spectrum you occupy. Ultimately it’s best seen as an actor’s showcase (and why shouldn’t it be?), and not only for Reilly and Coogan, but for Nina Arianda and Shirley Henderson who play Ida and Lucille, Laurel and Hardy’s ride-or-die significant others. Between the four of them, there’s enough wit and charm to forgive an otherwise tepidly made revision of classic Hollywood lore.