Jeffrey Holland stars in this one-man show about friendship, memories and a couple of remarkable lives. Playing Stan Laurel, on a final visit to Oliver Hardy’s convalescent bedside, he effortlessly conveys the closeness and tenderness of their relationship - calling Hardy ‘babe’ throughout (it was Hardy’s real nick-name, but it's still heart-breakingly sweet).
...and this is my friend Mr Laurel’, is just what fringe theatre should be - simple, smart and sublimely performed.
Gail Louw’s script is simple in structure - Laurel talks to his sick friend about their shared career, family lives, friendship and hardships. She’s mining some great material and the picture of the two men’s off-screen lives builds up with nice momentum - Hardy a gambling and food addict who none-the-less stuck by an alcoholic wife, Laurel a workaholic womaniser ‘the much married Stan Laurel’, accused of beating one wife - ‘ in the divorce she said I hit her and I ignored her at parties. The second part’s true’. There are some lovely anecdotes, like the leg of lamb based accident which brought them together and the manager who pimped their comedic talents to Mussolini.
You also get the sense that Laurel is becoming a sad and lonely man - boasting that he still has his number listed in the telephone directory so his fans can reach him, and spends days at his typewriter replying to their letters. The script is punctuated throughout by vignettes of Laurel and Hardy scenes. They are all hilarious as expected, and just by dimming the lights and donning a bowler hat, you can see Hardy, moustache and all, with a slight turn of Holland’s head.
At times this monologue feels truncated by facts crowbarred in for history’s sake, but generally Holland overcomes this. His performance is wonderful. He rambles on, skipping from subject to subject, and speaks to the bare white bed-frame where Hardy ‘lays’ just as people do treat the dying like inanimate objects, letting his thoughts spill out because there’s no response to stem them- occasionally convincing himself he’s caught a twinkle of the eyes or a snigger. ‘I’ll just sit over here quietly’ is repeated numerous times, each bringing on a new expression of longing nostalgia for a dying partnership. Despite this, the hour never feels sentimental, and there are plenty of great gags peppering the melancholy.
People used to say Laurel and Hardy were as close as brothers - except brothers don’t always get along. This play communicates that closeness beautifully - so much so that Holland’s gesture to the bed frame at the curtain call gets a round of applause Oliver Hardy would have been proud of. ‘…..and this is my friend Mr Laurel’, is just what fringe theatre should be - simple, smart and sublimely performed.
