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Laurel & Hardy, sailors on
leave, rent a car and pick up two girls for a drive in the country. An
initial altercation with drug store owner Charles Hall—in
which the two tars are egged on by the girls, impatient to get going and
have fun—is
followed by an even more spectacular set-to when they hit the open road. Road repairs have caused a massive traffic tie-up, and with the long delay
having already caused tempers to reach the breaking point, Hardy's
intervention is not welcomed. Like a brush fire, antagonisms race, leap and
roar into life, so that before long the waiting motorists are at each
other's throats. Finally, the all-but-destroyed cars limp off in a
freakish parade, some of them in hot pursuit of the two tars, who lead them
into a railroad tunnel just before a locomotive enters, thus completing the
destruction of a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
Originally titled "Two Tough Tars"
and running for three reels, the title and running time were both whittled
down until, in its two-reel form, it became
both one of the most elaborate short comedies ever made and certainly one of
Laurel & Hardy's most famous. The introductory "battle" with Charles Hall
seems a trifle forced, but perhaps only because we know what lies ahead, and
are eager to be at it. As always, the full-scale war develops out of
the smallest incidents of belligerence—oil
is accidentally squirted in a motorist's face, and the delighted squeals of
the two girls are not altogether conducive to patient understanding of the
situation; cars are bumped unintentionally; the carefully arranged luggage,
tied on top and sides of a rickety car, is pulled into the dust.
But once admonitions prove to be
insufficient, the kid gloves are removed and orderly but unlimited
destruction takes over—ranging
from a pile of mud, carefully collected and molded into shape in front of
the victim's unwavering eyes, dumped on his head, squashed flat and held in
place by his bowler hat, to the ultimate demolition of all the cars in sight
by yanking off hoods, doors and wheels. Despite the sheer size of the comedy—and
obviously a hundred or more cars and trucks were lined up on that sunny
California highway—it
is as usual the gentler bits of individual humor that register best. Especially memorable is Laurel's pained and indignant expression (as though
the act was not in accordance with the rules) when a hurled tomato hits him
on the back of the neck, and slowly and juicily slips down the back of his
sailor uniform; and another moment when an unfortunate motorist has aroused
their particular ire, and, with a knowing affirmative nod at each other,
they hoist up their belts in the time-honored nautical fashion, march over
to the car, flank it, and without a word being spoken, pull off the front
wheels simultaneously so that the poor crippled auto lurches down on its gas
tank like a bewildered bulldogged steer.
Next to
Big Business, which is
better only because it is simpler, Two Tars is about the funniest and most
representative of all
Laurel & Hardy silents. |
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