Laurel & Hardy: The Silent Years (1921-27) • Frame Rated

Revered as one of the greatest comedy acts ever to grace the screen, and potentially the funniest duo in film history, Laurel and Hardy are cultural icons. Across more than 100 films, they appeared together in 32 silent shorts, 40 short talkies, and 23 feature-length films. It’s quite a schedule for two of the most acclaimed slapstick artists in comedy.

Of course, their partnership didn’t start that way. It wasn’t even necessarily intentional—as though guided by fate, it just gradually happened. Both the immature Laurel and irascible Hardy had long-established careers before they met. Additionally, as they began starring in shorts together, it would take a long time before their double act would truly take form.

In Eureka Entertainment’s new Blu-ray collection, Laurel and Hardy: The Silent Years, it’s as though we’re transported 103 years back in time when they starred in their first ever short, Lucky Dog (1921). I doubt either of them knew at that moment what potential they possessed as a comedy team, but we do, and watching their careers flourish over 15 brilliant silent shorts is a genuine treat. Assembled in chronological format, we witness them hone their craft and perfect their art, usually watching through tears of laughter.

One of the benefits of spooling through such a superlative collection is you begin to get a sense of the duo’s stylistic traits. Keyholes are frequently used to comic effect, with one character peering through to discover something they wished they hadn’t. There’s also quite a lot of humorous (and implausible) cross-dressing, often employed as a means of escaping trouble or to enact part of their new scheme.

Animals were never a greater hindrance to any comedy characters than they were to Laurel and Hardy. Whether it’s giving away a disguise, casting ominous, terrifying shadows, or simply attacking Hardy, pestiferous animals have long been a source of humour in the duo’s routine.

And where would this couple of comedians be without their hilarious arguments? Whether it’s Hardy crumpling up people’s hats and throwing them onto the ground in fury, or Laurel childishly weeping and being obstinate, the pair made such confrontations the source of indescribable glee. This includes blowing raspberries behind someone’s back, barking a quarter of an inch away from someone’s face, and looking straight down the camera in disbelief, usually with a hint of contempt.

Of course, what they’re both well-known for is arguably their strongest attribute: slapstick. Honestly, even after 100 years, it’s arguable that none have ever topped it; it’s truly unrivalled. Nobody can get punched in the face better than Hardy. Nobody can get kicked in the behind better than Laurel. Importantly, no one is ever seriously injured, not even when they’re shot—they just have a sore bum or a black eye. Erasing any sense of stakes renders the humour that much more pervasive.

It can also lead to the repetition of a single gag up to eight times in a single scene, which occasionally can suffer from the incessant recurrence. However, other gags somehow become funnier the more they insist. It’s why the duo succeeded so well in the era of silent cinema—their capacity for physical comedy, in all its forms, is apparent in every frame. Both Laurel’s enthusiastic jump-split, and Hardy’s exasperated shuffle, are comedy gold. Moreover, running has never been quite as funny as when Hardy did it. Outside of that, their facial expressions reveal their innate talent for performance: a weary look to the audience conveys all of their sorrow in an uproarious way.

In Eureka’s wonderful collection, the beautiful restoration is a real pleasure to watch. The 2K picture gives the sensation of being back in a Nickelodeon; you truly get an idea of what it must have been like watching these two performers a century ago. The intertitles feel magical, often delivering adept wordplay, whilst also incorporating hyphens to weave in comedic timing for the reader. Additionally, the intertitles also become smaller to indicate whispering, which adds to the humour in some sequences.

Lucky Dog (1921)

As previously mentioned, this was their first collaboration together. Rather tellingly, nobody knew that they were in the presence of future legends of silent comedy: Laurel and Hardy barely share a scene.

Laurel is the main protagonist, a desperately poor man and in need of urgent funds. This is mostly conveyed through hilarious one-liners, communicated via intertitles: “He was so broke he couldn’t buy enough metal polish for a thumb tack.” When Laurel goes to sniff a beautiful bouquet, he remarks: “The flowers have a scent, but I don’t.”

Cinematic trickery is apparent from the beginning of their career, with a concussed Laurel being surrounded by ghostly women, dancing merrily as he attempts to find his bearings. In his disorientated state, he believes a young woman is kissing him, when it is actually the titular hound, licking his face vehemently. It’s a gag that was repeated in It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which just goes to show how extensive the influence Laurel and Hardy had.

When Laurel and Hardy share the screen together for the first time, it is clear that sparks fly. Hardy, as surly as ever, is mugging people, but accidentally places a wad of stolen cash in Laurel’s pocket, thinking it to be his own. It reveals the exceptionally delicate dance of their partnership: they have to be in the right place at the right time or the take is ruined.

Occasionally, there is a terrific sense of humour only being inferred. Hardy points a gun at Laurel, who positions his hands high in the sky. Then, much to Hardy’s annoyance, he begins spinning in circles. We do not need intertitles here to comprehend the misunderstanding: Hardy demands that he turn around, and the dim-witted Laurel naturally assumes he meant a full 360-degree turn.

The sketch itself continues in a surprisingly elaborate manner. A chase ensues down the street between the two comics, Laurel attempting to enter a dog show with his newly adopted mutt, and the pair find themselves in the house of a wealthy older gentleman. Pandemonium shortly follows—as it always does, with these two—as the dog show erupts into anarchy.

I would be remiss not to mention how well that dog was trained. It seemingly knew when to look right at the camera—probably on command–and the result looks like something straight out of The [US] Office (2005-2013): a canine’s quizzical expression, befuddled by the shenanigans surrounding it. The dog also gets involved in the slapstick, including being launched into another room as though out of a trebuchet. Undoubtedly, you couldn’t do that anymore, and for good reason, but it did make for a funny gag.

Besides the brilliant showings in the first of many collaborations, the editing is superb, revealing part of the secret behind the duo’s success: the pacing of their shorts is electric. It feels like a ticking time bomb, often incorporating an excessively fast frame rate to render the slapstick even more hilarious. Hardy throttling Laurel, throwing him all about the room, becomes gut-busting as the chaos is depicted at a speed almost impossible to follow. It’s obviously a mannequin that Hardy is throwing about the place, but it makes it all the more amusing.

As would happen many a time throughout their shorts, there’s also a love interest, which ensures there’s always something going on behind the gags. It’s a simple relationship, but it’s a nice touch to the film, and it ends perfectly. Though this may not have been the crowning achievement of their career, it undoubtedly set them off to a good start.

45 Minutes from Hollywood (1926)

Five years later, the duo returned in 45 Minutes from Hollywood. The reason behind their hiatus is an intriguing one: Laurel’s eyes were blue. Strikingly blue, in fact. While that may not sound like a reason for the pair to stop making films together, during the filming of Lucky Dog, it was revealed to be a rather serious problem: due to the technological limitations of the time, Laurel’s eyes came out as white on film.

The result was a tad bizarre. They attempted to circumvent the problem by using make-up, but it had a garish appearance. Instead, Laurel worked as a writer for Hal Roach and the company for years, denying his acting ambition. It was only after the emergence of panchromatic film that Laurel was able to return to the team: 45 Minutes from Hollywood was the comeback.

Once again, they’re not an established pair. We don’t even see either of them until the story is well into the middle, rarely sharing a scene. However, the film incorporates the same wild editing style, absurd situations, surreal humour, and exaggerated performances that made the first one so much fun.

We start by meeting a small family: Grandpa is prone to attending peep shows, with his progeny having to blindfold him to get him home, while the young boy “has lived in the hills for so long he can’t walk on level ground.” At the dinner table, they peel sausages like bananas and bicker over who will go to Hollywood. After a time, it’s decided the young boy and grandfather will go together.

Without Laurel or Hardy, it feels as though this short starts from a strange place. Of course, it wouldn’t have done back then, but the pair have become such an iconic duo that to have neither of them onscreen simply feels off. Regardless, the performers in the skit ably carry the story without them, garnering laughs as the mother warns her young son before his journey to Hollywood: “Guard the money, son. Look out for confidence tricksters and assistant directors.”

The grandfather and boy jump onto a bicycle with a young girl on it, hoping to catch their runaway train. This is hilarious and reminded me of misguided attempts to fit three people onto a bike during my time in the Netherlands. The young girl pedals the two men up a long, winding hill—which she amusingly does with no issue at all—and then they come racing down the steep slope.

The sequence that follows is a rather blatant rip-off of Sherlock Jr. (1924), where Buster Keaton delivered an exceptionally daring stunt involving an unmanned bicycle. However, the scene is still very funny; there is no real end to the variations this skit could take. The addition of cows into the situation, running alongside the trio haphazardly, is brilliantly done. I can only imagine it had people in stitches when it was first released.

Outside this stunt, there is a fantastic instance involving a surprised man spitting out a mouthful of liquor and almost lighting himself on fire. Some amusing wordplay, including a bootlegger who goes by the name of Al K. Hall. Eventually, both Hardy and Laurel join the troupe, with the former standing in a bizarre position in the bath, wearing the shower curtain like a robe. Though Laurel and Hardy do not share a scene, it is nice watching them within the same story.

Perhaps most impressive of all in this scene was the incorporation of special effects. A cat runs up Hardy’s makeshift shower curtain dress, in a sequence that likely inspired films such as Mary Poppins (1964) and Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988).

Duck Soup (1927)

The wealthy aristocrat says, “I’ll take that picture with me. I wouldn’t have anything happen to it in the world.” He walks around his lavish home, fastidiously kept and neatly organised. It’s all the setup we need: we soon understand that Laurel and Hardy are going to destroy this house.

Duck Soup is also the first instance where we see the dynamic duo demonstrate a kind of working relationship for which they’d become known: Hardy as the rather pompous dictator, with Laurel as the meek, dim underling. In this short, they are a pair of vagrants—perhaps borrowing some of the aesthetic appeal Chaplin had accrued for his Tramp character—and they are in a desperate state: “The world owes them a living. But it’s behind on payments.”

After the police commissioner orders all the homeless people to be rounded up, Hardy and Laurel attempt to escape notice by acting as sophisticated gentlemen. Hardy announces in front of a suspicious officer: “Hurry! We are delaying the Board Trade.” Their efforts to be perceived as upper-class fail miserably; Hardy has Laurel light his cigar, but neither can conceal their buffoonish ways as Laurel lights Hardy’s eyebrow on fire.

In yet another hilarious bicycle chase, the pair hop on, Hardy pedalling and Laurel sitting in the front basket uneasily. He mouths back to Hardy: “It’s my first time on a bicycle, sir.” Without missing a beat, Hardy replies: “Me too.” It’s very funny, with the timing of the intertitles contributing so much to the hilarity of the scene. It was a completely different art form, and it’s fascinating to look at the various means of communicating when the technology was so starkly different.

Taking refuge in the aristocrat’s mansion, they hide behind a curtain, overhear a critical conversation, and soon find themselves embroiled in a high-class conspiracy. Pretending to be the owners of the house, Mrs. Doubtfire (1993) shenanigans ensue, with Laurel dressed to the nines as the housemaid. In this short particularly, it becomes apparent how instrumental the pairing between the music and the action is.

It’s all brilliantly done. The piano becomes frantic at times, the whole short having the aspect of a fever dream. Few performers have done farce quite as well as Laurel and Hardy, with this single short attesting to that. Running around the house, stumbling, trying not to be shot, stealing things, the police arrival, flames, and an unwieldy fire hose, all contribute to this short being one of the better efforts from their career in silent cinema.

Slipping Wives (1927)

Slipping Wives finds the duo in yet another improbable situation: Hardy plays a butler for an affluent couple, while Laurel—going by the name Ferdinand Flamingo here—goes door-to-door selling paint. Laurel is then enlisted by a bored wife with nothing to do, paying him top dollar to seduce her in a bid to make her husband jealous.

It’s the suitably ridiculous behaviour one has come to expect from the pair at this point. Tellingly, the skit doesn’t truly work until Laurel and Hardy make their appearances. The badinage between the man and wife is amusing, but not nearly as rib-tickling as the duo’s exploits. It’s a testament to their screen presence and physical comedy that one just bursts into laughter as soon as they finally get going in this skit.

For whatever reason, running around a room has never been as funny as when Laurel and Hardy did it. Hardy also does an exceptional job in this short of playing the curmudgeonly, uptight butler, whilst managing to retain the same brusque, rough demeanour that defined his career. This is typified when, finally incensed, Hardy drops the butler act and washes Laurel in a bath, throwing him about as though he were in a washing machine.

Everyone’s in constant motion in this skit, especially towards the end as they approach the dramatic crescendo. During a chase, someone is either running into rooms with guns drawn, ducking, or attempting to wrestle a pistol or shotgun from the shooter’s hands. There is a delicate pattern to the chaos: first Laurel, then Hardy, then the husband and wife. This kind of physical comedy is a juggling act, with each serving as a locus point of attention to ensure unending laughter.

Love ‘em and Weep (1927)

By Love ‘Em and Weep, it feels strange that they hadn’t yet recognised who the star performers were in their troupe. Laurel and Hardy both feature, but neither takes centre stage; they have not yet become their polished form.

More hilarious marital strife abounds in this short, with the comedic duo once again serving as the comedic relief for the story. Fred Guiol directs once again, incorporating extreme close-ups of critical objects to create suspense. It’s something that Hitchcock no doubt drew inspiration from, with his attention to menacing objects in the likes of Lifeboat (1944), Rope (1948), and Dial M for Murder (1954).

Even suicide attempts become farcical in Laurel and Hardy. However, the main attraction in this short is some of the most impressive physical comedy I’ve ever seen, brilliantly done by a woman who falls about completely unconscious. Before I realised it was the actress, I thought it was a ragdoll she was so lifeless. People must have been howling in the cinema – they certainly were in my living room.

Why Girls Love Sailors (1927)

From what I can tell, this short represents the first time they were listed together in titles side by side. Unfortunately, this short is perhaps the weakest in the superlative Eureka collection. Of course, producing shorts at a rate of 14 per year—which they astoundingly managed at the height of their creative powers in 1927—inevitably there will be a few duds.

Truthfully, the short as a whole isn’t bad, but it starts poorly. A ship captain pouring water down Laurel’s shirt is milked for laughs for far too long, despite the fact it isn’t very funny. It’s a clever trick, with there obviously being a water balloon in Laurel’s belly, leaking water everywhere. But regrettably, it doesn’t make the scene itself funny, and the music and sound effects also appear to be a touch uninspired at the beginning. This, especially, causes the slapstick to suffer.

However, the funniness gets going during a particular skit: Laurel tricks Hardy into throwing all his crew off the boat. That, and Laurel seducing the whole crew while pretending to service them one at a time by the back of the boat. During these sequences, all the actors take punches so believably that you’re led to think they must have actually belted each other in the face. It certainly doesn’t look like Hardy is pulling his punches.

With Love and Hisses (1927)

Both Laurel and Hardy appear to be in better form here again: ill-tempered and unintelligent misfits, foisted upon each other, needing to overcome a situation together. An ingenious train sequence finds Laurel employing a gas mask to cope with the smell of other people’s food. At one moment, he simply throws a gelatinous pile of food out of the window, which immediately enters the window behind him of the sleeping General, splattering him in the face. Again, this mirrors a sequence from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, suggesting the gang has been enjoying some Laurel and Hardy during writing meetings.

The music has also improved here. The gags are more amusing, with Laurel’s feet being so swollen they pump through his boots, as though the leather had a pulse. In one of the collection’s most amusing finales, Laurel, Hardy, and a slew of other servicemen are caught naked, and stick their heads in an advertisement to avoid detection. They’re then attacked by a skunk, then a swarm of hornets, and anarchy ensues.

In both the last two shorts, it’s clear how the emergence of sound improved Laurel’s performance; his persona requires subtlety, so the greater means to express nuance in humour had a dramatic impact on how he communicated. With Hardy, you get the impression it’s the same either way. Sometimes, you feel like you can even hear Hardy without the sound: it’s the same bellowing, cantankerous character in the silent era as it was in the talkies.

Another intriguing component in the last two shorts involves how time functions for Laurel and Hardy. “Report to me tomorrow morning!” the General bellows at Hardy. In Why Girls Love Sailors, the captain remarks to Laurel: “I’ll deal with you later.”

The thing is, there’s never a later in Laurel and Hardy. Only that which occurs in the 20-minute short exists. The diegetic world begins and ends within these self-contained narratives. We do not wonder what will happen to these characters after the credits roll. Either we already know, or it simply isn’t important. There is only the present for them, suggesting brilliantly efficient writing.

Sailors, Beware! (1927)

This short once again places both Laurel and Hardy in an incongruous position: amongst millionaires on a priceless yacht. Slapstick abounds immediately, as a young socialite tries to flick her cigarette out the window, which strikes the glass, falls back into the car seat, and lights the upholstery ablaze. It’s a skit that’s repeated verbatim in The Big Lebowski (1998); when one of the greatest comedies ever made is imitating your work, that’s a sign of prowess.

It would appear that the directors Fred Guiol and Hal Yates had also been taking in some Russian cinema: there’s a gag in this sketch that mirrors the infamous pram down the Odessa steps sequence in Battleship Potemkin (1925). It’s not quite as dramatic here, and played for laughs: Laurel, fed up with a corrupt crook, pushes her associate down a staircase in a baby stroller.

A crotchety Captain Bull, who’s aptly named considering he’s the toughest captain on the seven seas, whips both Laurel and Hardy into shape. Nothing, of course, can keep them from getting up to their normal hijinks. Laurel plays dice with a baby—losing all his money in the process. Both our stooges engage in a skipping rope game, in a display of great comedic coordination. And Hardy gets into a fistfight with the same baby, somehow managing to lose.

Do Detectives Think? (1927)

I consider this short among the best in the lot. Not just because it’s funny, but because it feels like they have finally perfected the formula. Out of these shorts, this is the first instance that they arrive to us as a pre-established duo, with a pre-existing history, wearing the iconic outfits that would make them famous. We’re introduced to them as a pair of bumbling detectives: Ferdinand Finkleberry (Laurel)—the second-worst detective in the world. And his associate, Sherlock Pinham (Hardy)—the worst.

Watching the pair walk down the street together, off to solve a case, feels indescribably satisfying. While it may not be quite as funny as some of the other shorts in this collection, it represents the first time they incorporate the winning formula that would make them such great successes, leading to superlative shorts such as The Music Box (1932).

As detectives, they are fittingly terrible. Both are skittish, and a meddlesome goat casts an ominous shadow, sending both hurtling down the street in hilariously cartoonishly. Trying to catch a serial killer, it leads the duo into a whole manner of misadventures, most of which are genuinely rib-tickling.

Flying Elephants (1927)

Out of this collection, this was the most surreal Laurel and Hardy sketch. Set in the Stone Age, both Laurel and Hardy must find a wife, or they will be booted out of primitive civilisation and into the wilderness. Hardy attempts some atavistic chat-up lines: “Beautiful weather. The elephants are flying south.”

There’s also a ridiculous-looking triceratops, amusing nose-kissing, and a real-life goat that was trained to attack Hardy repeatedly. To top it all off, a bear snuggles into a trailer with Laurel, his new wife, and father-in-law who suffers from a terrible toothache. As one of the most far-fetched shorts in their acclaimed oeuvre, Flying Elephants soars.

Sugar Daddies (1927)

After the bizarre Flying Elephants, the short Sugar Daddies seems to have been a return to form. Directed by Fred Guiol and Leo McCarey, the latter being the director behind Make Way for Tomorrow (1937) and Going My Way (1944), and once again starring James Finlayson experiencing problems with his wife, Sugar Daddies is at once familiar and enjoyable.

“You were married last night, sir,” the oil tycoon’s butler informs him. “The bartender was the best man.” Many of the same gags are recycled here, including Finlayson carrying Laurel on his back, the pair of them pretending to be one exceptionally tall woman. There’s also an amusing moment when the dog licks Finlayson’s face underneath the skirt, which no doubt provided an amusing innuendo. As chaos at the dance hall ensues, their work here begins to feel a touch formulaic but remains entertaining nonetheless.

The Second 100 Years (1927)

“Being in jail has one big advantage—a man doesn’t have to worry about wearing a tuxedo.” So explains our funny opening intertitle, as we discover both Laurel and Hardy as criminals. Down on their luck—as ever—they have one cigarette to share between them… but no lighter.

Of course, they have an escape plan: “Let’s finish this tunnel and escape!” As the duo tunnel out, relying on a candle for light, Laurel bends precariously close to the flame, his backside slowly catching fire while tunnelling. He’s hilariously oblivious: “We must be close—I smell ham frying!”

We see how the duo are essentially agents of chaos. In the world of Laurel and Hardy, their detours entail tunnelling up through the Warden’s office floor, flooding a prison, and painting the whole town white. Their original crime is never mentioned, nor does it matter; they don’t have a backstory, because they’re not truly characters. They’re fantastic archetypes. It’s the situation that counts, and the situations here are fantastic.

Call of the Cuckoo (1927)

There is no prominent situation here, at least not one involving Laurel and Hardy. They are merely crazy buffoons, existing on the fringes of the story. We watch as an unfortunate family moves into an even more unfortunate house: number 1313.

The house is faulty in every way a house can be: light switches start the shower, the tiled floor is wiped away with some cold water, and the taps are flammable. Streams of water gush out of the stove, the bannister snaps like it’s made from rotten driftwood, and the bath leaks onto the dinner table. Unsurprisingly, this all leads to a catastrophic family fight, with in-laws throwing food at each other as the house disintegrates around them.

In the dramatic finale, a piano, propped up by the chair, falls down the steep gradient and through the wall, the front door, and clatters into a car. I wonder if this complete destruction of the house influenced Buster Keaton’s Steamboat Bill, Jr (1928), which features an iconic scene of a house coming apart in a tornado. This sketch isn’t really a Laurel and Hardy short—it just benefits from their name—but it excels in its own right.

Putting Pants on Phillip (1927)

Before Marilyn Monroe made it famous in The Seven Year Itch (1955), Laurel’s kilt blew up around his legs as he walked over an air vent in Putting Pants on Phillip. His underwear had already fallen off after an especially large sneeze, meaning Laurel flashed a large crowd, prompting many women to faint.

Other great stunts abound, including Hardy disappearing into a giant puddle as he attempts to walk over it using Laurel’s coat. This no doubt inspired a similar gag in A Hard Day’s Night (1964), and probably Groundhog Day (1993), too.

The Battle of the Century (1927)

The boxing fight had long been the subject of silent comedy classics. Before Chaplin immortalised it to film in City Lights (1931), he had already made pugilists a favourite of the medium in The Champion (1915). Laurel is clearly not a talented fighter, which leads Hardy, his manager and coach, to try and get him hospitalised as a means of collecting the insurance money.

What ensues is some of the best slapstick ever put to celluloid, primarily because of how simple it is: billy clubs whacked over the head, and cream pies thrown square in the face. It’s certainly the best food fight I’ve ever seen on film: “Who threw that poultice?”

This film was only found in 2015, and I’m exceptionally grateful that it was. As an entire town descends into depravity and vindictiveness, pies are thrown absolutely everywhere. I can only imagine how much fun they had making this short: people are running and slipping all over the place, filling and pie crust everywhere. Even the mayor gets involved.

And the directors know when to intercut the action with hilarious intertitles. The same insurance salesman from earlier appears and warns everyone: “Stop, stop! It’s foolish to fight—without insurance!” This earns him at least a half dozen pies straight into his bemused gob.

What’s so fantastic about this scene is that it clearly doesn’t matter how the pies get anywhere. They enter buildings adjacent to the street with such precision that a man getting a shave is hit with a cream pie as though it were a heat-seeking missile. Physics be damned, it’s side-splitting. There’s gender equality in this battle of the century, too: women are splattered just as well as the men. It’s all the epitome of slapstick.

From what I’ve seen, it’s not a bad way of summarising the duo (and this collection) as a whole: the epitome of early slapstick comedy. However, it’s also a lot more than that; the pair have an incredible ability to impart jokes and complex gags with the subtlest of movements. Facial expressions, gestures, and even wordplay work when they’re doing it. Even though it’s not actually heard, we feel as though we have—their performances are that vivid. And that, perhaps, is why they’re potentially the greatest comedy duo in history: they could do it all, and they could do each part just as well (if not better) than anyone else.

USA | 1921 • 1926 • 1927 | 315 MINUTES (TOTAL) | 1.33:1 | BLACK & WHITE | ENGLISH (SILENT)

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Blu-ray Special Features:

Limited edition O-Card slipcase featuring new artwork by Scott Saslow.
1080p HD presentations on Blu-ray from new 2K restorations.
Scores by a variety of silent film composers including Neil Brand, Antonio Coppola, Eric le Guen and Donald Sosin.
Brand new audio commentaries on Lucky Dog, 45 Minutes From Hollywood, Duck Soup, Slipping Wives and Love ‘em and Weep by film historian and writer David Kalat.
Brand new audio commentaries on Why Girls Love Sailors, With Love and Hisses, Sailors Beware and The Second 100 Years by Patrick Vasey, editor of The Laurel & Hardy Magazine and host of The Laurel & Hardy Podcast.
Brand new audio commentaries on Do Detectives Think? and The Battle of the Century by film writer Chris Seguin and Kyp Harness (The Art of Laurel & Hardy: Graceful Calamity in the films).
Brand new audio commentaries on Flying Elephants, Sugar Daddies, Call of the Cuckoo and Putting Pants on Philip by Glenn Mitchell (The Laurel & Hardy Encyclopedia).
Brand new audio commentaries on The Second 100 Years and The Battle of the Century by silent film accompanist Neil Brand.
Alternate Robert Youngson score on Putting Pants on Philip, newly restored by Stephen C. Horne.
Brand new interview with Neil Brand.
Laurel & Hardy in the UK—1932 recording by Laurel and Hardy to promote their UK tour, featuring footage of the duo visiting Tynemouth.
Turning Point: Stan Laurel—Extensive interview with Stan Laurel from 1957.
Stan Laurel talks to Tony Thomas—1959 interview, featuring footage of Laurel & Hardy visiting Edinburgh as part of their 1932 UK tour.
Sailors Beware—Super 8 version with audio commentary by Chris Seguin and Glenn Mitchell.
The Bulldog Breed—Super 8 version of Do Detectives Think? with audio commentary by Chris Seguin and Glenn Mitchell.
The Mad Butler—Super 8 version of Do Detectives Think? with audio commentary by Chris Seguin and Glenn Mitchell.
The Battle of the Century Pie Fight—Super 8 version with audio commentary by Chris Seguin.
Stills Galleries for each short.
A collector’s booklet featuring newly written notes on each film by writer and comedian Paul Merton, and a new essay by silent cinema expert Imogen Sara Smith.

Cast & Crew

directors: Fred L. Guiol (45 Minutes from Hollywood, Duck Soup, Slipping Wives, Love ’em and Weep, Why Girls Love Sailors, With Love and Hisses, Sugar Daddies, Sailors, Beware!, The Second Hundred Years, Do Detectives Think?) • Clyde Bruckman (Call of the Cuckoo, Putting Pants on Philip, Battle of the Century) • Frank Butler (Flying Elephants), Leo McCarey (Sugar Daddies), Hal Yates (Sailors, Beware!) • Jess Robbins (Lucky Dog).
writers: Hal Roach (45 Minutes from Hollywood, Duck Soup, Slipping Wives, Love ’em and Weep, Why Girls Love Sailors, With Love and Hisses, Sailors, Beware!, Do Detectives Think?, Battle of the Century, Flying Elephants) • H.M. Walker (45 Minutes from Hollywood, Slipping Wives, Love ’em and Weep, Why Girls Love Sailors, With Love and Hisses, Sugar Daddies, Sailors, Beware!, The Second Hundred Years, Call of the Cuckoo, Do Detectives Think?, Putting Pants on Philip, Battle of the Century, Flying Elephants) • Arthur J. Jefferson (Duck Soup) • Leo McCarey (The Second Hundred Years).
starring: Stan Laurel, Oliver Hardy & James Finlayson.