December 12, 2013
Pardon Us – US,
1931
It is said that Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy’s first feature
film, Pardon Us, began as a two
realer and kept growing until it was seventy minutes in length. Whether this is
the stuff of clever studio executives or the actual truth, we may never know.
What is clear is that Pardon Us marks
the beginning of a transformation for its two stars. Sure, the majority of their
films would continue to be shorts for another four years, yet the film,
released just two years after the Marx Brothers’ debut, The Cocoanuts, is a sign that they, as well as their audience, were
ready for more.
In many ways, the film is an extension of what they had done
previously. The film includes a variation of their much-perfected routine involving
the two of them trying to find a way to sleep in a space that is clearly only
suitable for one of them, and it continues their use of slapstick techniques,
in lieu of such things as plot and consistency. This is not a knock on the
film, but rather an observation that, for some comedians, their early films
were an extension of what they had done previously, be it a song and dance
number or any of the other types of acts that had frequently filled the
vaudeville stage. It is therefore inevitable that at some point in the film the
two of them will continue their habit of breaking the fourth wall: Laurel will shrug
his shoulders and look toward the audience with a puzzled expression on his
face, and Hardy will find himself with a face full of mud or paint and do his
unmistakable rendition of a slow burn. In truth, we wouldn’t have it any other
way.
Pardon Us again
has them using their own monikers and playing a variation of the characters their
audience knew well and clearly adored. Here the two of them are freshman bootleggers
who set out to make a profit during the Depression. As luck would have it, they
have the misfortune of offering their wares to a police officer and soon find themselves
behind bars. It was an honest mistake – Stan
thought the officer was a streetcar conductor. After getting on the prison
warden’s bad side through a series of misunderstandings, the two find
themselves sharing a cell with the inmate known as “The Tiger (Walter Long),” a
tough-as-nails Irishman who seems to run the place and has grand schemes for
escape. Surprisingly, he and his gang all have excellent singing voices, and in
one scene we watch as they sit in the prison yard and sing about someday returning
to Montana. The number has nothing to do with the rest of the film, but it is
moving nonetheless.
The film is a collection of humorous bits, some that time
has dimmed somewhat and others that have not been impacted by comedy’s turn
toward more raunchy, less subtle material. One of the film’s best bits involves
what may have been an early inspiration for Orin Scrivello, the sadistic
dentist played by Steve Martin in 1986’s Little
Shop of Horrors. Also worth mentioning is a scene in which the prisoners
attend class. The class is taught by Laurel and Hardy regular James Finlayson,
the master of the double take, and includes both a song and an intelligence
test. One guess how our heroes do.
It is unrealistic to expect films from the 1930’s to conform
to modern-day sensitivities regarding race, yet I suspect that some viewers
will be put off by the sudden appearance of characters in blackface. In
hindsight, there is no denying the damage that Hollywood inflicted upon itself
through its use of both blackfaced and yellowfaced actors. However, not all
blackface was done with the intent to belittle or mock. Films such as the Marx
Brothers’ A Day at the Races, Buster
Keaton’s famous 1921 short The Play House,
and his later film College all include
instances of blackface that I do not believe are meant to insult or degrade
anyone. In fact, in the case of A Day at
the Races, being in blackface enables Groucho, Harpo, and Chico to take
part in a musical number, the music of which they obviously have great
admiration for. Similarly, in Pardon Us,
blackface is a device that gets its characters from Point A to Point B, and in
the meantime, allows them to serenade the audience with a rather sweet lullaby
that was obviously dear to their hearts.
The film was directed by Laurel and Hardy veteran James
Parrot, and it is apparent that he knew his stars’ styles and mannerisms rather
well. His camera is always in exactly the right place to capture a joke, and he
allows the actors the right amount of time to complete their more subtle comic
moments. It couldn’t have been as easy as it looks. Apart from an odd edit at
the end that breaks whatever continuity the film temporarily had and makes one
wonder if a scene is missing, the film as a whole remains a joy. Laurel and
Hardy were a perfect comedy team, and Pardon
Us is the perfect showcase for their immense talents. (on DVD as part of
RHI Entertainment’s Laurel & Hardy:
The Essential Collection)
3 and a half stars
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