It's pure movie magic. Stan & Ollie dramatizes the relationship between two founding fathers of American comedy, Laurel and Hardy, in their waning years. Battling personal demons and memories of former glory, the two embark on a tour of British music halls with some success and more than some squabbles. The simple story frames what is essentially a meditation on aging, aging in the entertainment industry, capitalism's effects on American artists, and of course friendships forged in the spotlight.
We begin in the heyday of their careers, as the duo make Way Out West and look to continue their successes. Studio execs wine and dine the pair -- sometimes together, sometimes apart -- and we see the seeds of strife sown between the men. Will they be as successful apart? That is the question everyone wants to know, but the two men can't seem to articulate their own hopes, concerns, or fears. So they remain together after what might be described as certain infidelities. Their act, after all, has made them; it seems likely that we'll see how it unmakes them, too.
And to an extent it does. Steve Coogan plays Stan Laurel to John C. Reilly's Ollie Hardy, and the two have never been better. Their comedic timing takes backseat to their acting chops, and both transform utterly into their characters. Never have their affected characters been so fully realized nor so uncannily like their real-life counterparts. Every look Reilly gives, every heaving sigh under layers of prosthetics and makeup, every twinkle in his eye oozes Hardy. Coogan's simpleminded Laurel onstage is revealed to be a veritable creative genius, and while his sense of urgency often butts against his partner's sense of style, he carries most of the heart of the film. Together, they carry the movie and immediately make you forget you're not actually watching the original duo in some forgotten biography.
And while the film has a lot to say about the state of the art, the cultures of theatre and comedy, and of the men who started it all, it's also a damn classy comedy in its own right. It weaves a mesmerizing tapestry of humor and melancholy that turn in unexpected places, making you laugh out loud -- at good clean fun, too, the timeless kind -- before choking back a gasp. It's so funny and so sad that you, shockingly enough, believe these to be real people dealing with real issues. How often does that really happen in movies these days?
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