More than a Laurel & Hardy, this is a Laurel & Finlayson. However, objectively speaking, it is impossible not to love Finlayson. Oliver plays second fiddle as the easy-going porker with a centre parting, moustache and glasses, who is casually inserted into a dinner scene. The Laurel & Hardy duo, it would seem,
was still in search of the right dynamic, so much so that some of their early films gave equal weight to Finlayson, as if they were a trio. In this case, the opening titles invert the hierarchy with the lead going to Mae Busch, who plays a deliciously bad-tempered character. Hiring her was entirely consistent with Hal Roach’s strategy, which always sought to raise his film’s prestige by employing big stars whose careers were beginning to decline. She also played a key role in the duo’s development (often in the role of Ollie’s wife), but less so than Finlayson, who would appear with them in 33 films. Here, she plays the old flame of a wealthy man with a dubious past (Finlayson) who pops up unexpectedly threatening to ruin his wedding. Stan, who plays a Don Juan, has the difficult task of keeping her at arm’s length. In 1931, the film would be remade as Chickens Come Home with Hardy taking Finlayson’s role and Finlayson demoted to playing the butler, but Mae Busch remained untouchable in a role that fit her like a glove

Andrea Meneghelli

Laurel & Hardy would go on to accomplish great things in the fields of black comedy and the gothic. Starting here. Judge Finlayson (who else?) condemns a monster with bad teeth for the multiple homicide of various Chinese people. However, the criminal escapes and swears vengeance. The delicate task of defending the judge falls to detectives Stan and Oliver, introduced with hard-hitting close-ups, which are clearly parodic. Obviously, they are actually irredeemable cowards scared by their own shadows when passing a cemetery. In any case, the killer pretends to be a butler and roams the house of the man who sentenced him brandishing a knife. There is also a scimitar – and glimpses of a roving corpse minus its head. All very entertaining. According to the encyclopaedist Glenn Mitchell, in this film our heroes wore their characteristic outfits for the first time, including the bowler hats which, at the time, real detectives typically wore. On the subject of headgear, it is worth noting that it is also the first instance of the duo’s so-called “hat-switching routine”, which was apparently invented by Leo McCarey.

Andrea Meneghelli

I believe that all boxing films, whether comedies or not, are great. If one accepts this premise, then the first part of The Battle of the Century cannot fail. Stan is sent into the ring to face the inevitable Goliath and makes an excellent punching bag, albeit in his own unique way, retreating from the beating into a dream world. The second part features a different kind of ring (a busy urban street) and extends the combat as an ever-expanding group of people are drawn to the chaos. And the choice of weapon? A pie in the face. This was already a trite motif at the time, but the idea was to push it as far is it could go in order to create the “pie picture to end all pie pictures”. It is unclear who was counting, but apparently about 4,000 pies were thrown. Henry Miller had no doubts about the result, calling it “a masterpiece”. Trivia lovers, take note: the boxing match was inspired by the fight between Gene Tunney and Jack Dempsey on 22 September 1927, which history remembers as “The Battle of the Long Count”. Tunney ended up on the mat, but Dempsey continued to loiter around instead of retiring to his corner; consequently, there was a delay before the referee began his count, Tunney got up again, and ultimately took home the Champion’s Belt.

Andrea Meneghelli