Shine on... Stan and Ollie

Our household was blessed with good fortune last Christmas, when Santa Claus delivered a boxed set of Laurel and Hardy DVDs. My husband was already familiar with a lot of their work, but I must admit that I - to my shame -  knew very little about them. This stain on my character has now been well and truly erased, and how grateful I am.

The breadth and versatility of their comedy is brilliant. Much of it is pure slapstick, but watch closely and you realise how well-planned each move was - everything looks like an accident, obviously, but it must have been carefully choreographed to have achieved this effect.

And there is a cartoon feel to much it, too. It comes as no surprise when, for instance, Stan tries to light a fire in Ollie's fireplace with a can of petrol and a match, that, rather than being blown to smitherenes he emerges with a few patches of smoke on his face. Like Tom and Jerry, the pair are indestructible.   

Even if some of the devices they use become familiar - the car/boat/piano which we know will be reduced to a mangled wreck before the end of the scene; the bar of soap/chunk of ice/carpet sweeper on the floor which we know someone will step on and be thrown across the room or down the stairs - they remain funny. In fact, being able to anticipate what is about to befall the hapless but well-meaning pair, just adds to the enjoyment.

But what has touched me most in learning more about them, is the depth of their friendship. According to Stan's daughter Lois, the pair were closer than brothers, and would even celebrate Christmas twice - once with their own families and then together! Every action, and reaction, every expression and every look to camera, is so well-timed it could only have been achieved by two people who knew, respected and loved each other thoroughly.

Stan and Ollie have been a pretty constant presence in our lives for the past two months - it's a big box of DVDs! - and so what better way to spend my birthday last week than to visit the Laurel and Hardy Museum in Ulverston, Cumbria?

The Museum started life as the private collection of Bill Cubin, and was originally housed in one small room. The collection was occasionally opened for private viewings, and the Museum first opened to the public in 1983. As the collection grew and grew, it was decided that larger premises would be needed. And so the Museum opened at its new home - on the stage of Ulverston's Roxy Cinema - in 2009.

Now the Museum is run by Mark Greenhow, Bill Cubin's grandson, one of whose earliest memories is of watching 'The Flying Elephants' on his grandad's old cine projector.

Mark offers a very warm welcome to what he describes as 'the family business', and the first thing he invited us to do when we arrived was to watch a film! He led us to a cosy, 15-seat cinema and we happily settled down to watch 'Towed in the Hole'.
 

 

In the cosy cinema

The Museum is an absolute treasure trove of Laurel and Hardy memorabilia. Through information panels, photographs, letters, and even furniture rescued from Stan Laurel's birthplace when it was renovated, we can follow the lives of the pair, from childhood right through their careers.

Posters, letters and a wealth of memorabilia

This gem of a museum has been beautifully and lovingly put together, and if ever you're near Ulverston, do consider a visit. I think there is a strong possibility that you'll come away with a smile on your face.

And while you're in Ulverston, there is also a Stan Laurel Trail, a short walk around Ulverston, which takes in, amongst other sites, Stan Laurel's birthplace at 3 Argyle Street, and Graham Ibbeson's beautiful bronze statue of the pair - complete with Laughing Gravy the dog - outside the Coronation Hall. A trail leaflet is available from the Museum.

 

Graham Ibbeson's statue of 'The Boys'...

... complete with dog!  

There is lots more information about Laurel and Hardy on the official Laurel and Hardy Website. It pretty much goes without saying that this site is well worth a visit. Letters from Stan is a fascinating and touching site, too.

Before I go, I'll leave you with this YouTube clip. It features the impromptu dance sequence from 'Way Out West', to the music of The Avalon Boys.

I think this is exquisite. I like the improvised yet precise nature of the choreography, and the casual expressions on The Boys' faces - they seem to be dancing for their own carefree enjoyment, not for our entertainment.

But most of all, there is an unmistakeable affection that shines out here, a palpable sense of contentedness, of two close friends enjoying the simple pleasure of each others company. This, for me, is the essence of Laurel and Hardy's timeless appeal.

Use it or lose it

"It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words."

George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four

I have been reflecting just lately on language. I love words; and I love the way they can be put together with huge subtlety, enabling us to express with precision and beauty the tiniest detail, thought, or experience.

I was revisiting a favourite episode of John Esmonde and Bob Larbey's 1970's BBC sitcom The Good Life recently, and one scene particularly got me thinking. Tom and Barbara, who are striving for self-sufficiency and have suffered a disappointing harvest, are having dinner with their neighbours, Margot and Jerry. They are out of sorts, and the conversation has stalled:


Jerry: You two are very quiet.

Barbara: Oh are we? Sorry. 

Margot: Yes. Now come along. We have such a rich language. Let's use it. 

Tom: Alright then.


Pause.


Barbara: Err...

Margot: I've finished.

Tom: I've finished as well.

Margot: Oh yes. Have you finished, Jerry?

Jerry: Yes, thank you, darling.

Margot: Then I've finished too.

Jerry: It is a rich language, isn't it?


This is comedy of course, comedy of the highest order, written by two men who were masters of bringing character and situation to vivid life - through words. But it got me thinking about the English language and our use, abuse, and neglect of it.

According to the Oxford Dictionaries, there are at least 250,000 words in the English language; and depending on what you actually term a 'word', this number could be as many as 750,000. It is one of the richest languages on the planet, partly as a result of being such a mongrel: much of our language has Germanic roots, courtesy of our Viking invaders; but the Norman Conquest brought with it lots of French and Latin too.

Is it just me, or are our language standards falling? Every day I seem to notice examples of poor communication. My husband once had a client whose email communications were written with a carefree disregard for most of the basics - grammar, punctuation, good manners - and with the same sloppiness and informality he might use to text his mates and invite them to the pub. And he considered himself a businessman.

I'm talking about a paucity of self-expression, an inability - or a disinclination - to use our wonderful language to the best of our abilities. Trying to do business in the language of the text seems unprofessional, not to say counter-productive: how can you expect to get what you want when you're not prepared to communicate clearly what that is? It also seems disrespectful, both to the language and to the recipient of the message. Perhaps this reflects on a growing lack of respect within society generally?

In his 1949 novel Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell created the concept of 'Newspeak'. This was a system of repression, where words were gradually made to disappear from the language to limit the citizens' imaginations, and therefore their activites and behaviour. For instance, the word 'revolution' was deleted, the theory being that if the word did not exist, people would not even be able to conceive of the idea of revolution. 

I do sometimes wonder whether we might be imposing a form of Newspeak on ourselves without even realising it: if the only contact we have with our own language is through the limitations of the text message, are we not in danger of limiting our imaginations, and our creativity, too?

In neglecting the huge potential for expression open to us through our native tongue, perhaps we are also limiting our ability to appreciate the riches of the world around us, to share that appreciation with others, and to grow in the process. But it takes practice. Like a muscle, it needs to be exercised and challenged to be kept in optimum shape. Perhaps language is like the human body or the human mind: if you don't use it, you are in danger of losing it.

It's a bit depressing, isn't it? So here is a YouTube clip from the episode of The Good Life I referred to earlier. The dinner party scene is at 4'30", although it is well worth seeing all the way through. Enjoy!

 

A viola lesson

Some of my best friends are viola players.

Does that sound like the beginning of a joke to you?

It isn't supposed to be, but by the time you've read this post, you might want to come back and see what you can do with it...

I play the cello. In my time as a 'cellist', I have had the pleasure of meeting lots of lovely musicians, and even some viola players.

Did you see what I did there? I fell into the common trap of making fun of viola players, when in fact, I'm here to defend the viola and viola players a bit. If I can. Partly.

To define the viola, briefly:

• In size terms, it is the big brother of the violin, but very much the baby cousin of the cello, with a body length of between 15 and 18 inches.

• Its four strings are tuned an octave higher than the cello, its lowest string being the C below Middle C, which is the lowest note you will have played if you experienced the delights of the descant recorder at school.

• Its music is written in the alto clef, which is inherently scary. As a cellist I'm already invited to practise the mental acrobatics of the three other clefs - bass, tenor and treble - on a regular basis, and I'm not learning another one. I'm not.

• It is the subject of scores of jokes - many of them screamingly funny - as are the people brave enough to take it on.

I had always imagined that part of the perceived problem with the viola is that - dare I say it? - it is neither one thing nor the other. It doesn't have the sparkle of the violin, nor the rich, sonorous depth of the cello. It kind of... well, rumbles along somewhere between the two.

When I decided to write this post, I googled 'Viola jokes why?'. I genuinely wanted to get to the bottom of why the viola, and violists, are so often maligned.

My search led me to Dr Carl Rahkonen's fascinating paper No Laughing Matter: The Viola Joke as Musician's Folklore*. This informative and informed article makes a lot of serious points about the reasons behind the notoriety of the viola and the violist.

The viola usually takes an easier orchestral part than the violin. The instrument is far less powerful than its smaller sibling: it is tuned a fifth lower but is only 10% larger, so will never stand out in the orchestra.

The fact that its orchestral parts tend to be easier means that when these parts are more challenging, players sometimes struggle with them. This could account for jokes about viola players having more limited musical and intellectual capacities than their colleagues.

There is also, apparently, a tradition that viola desks are filled by people who just didn't make the grade as violinists. Historically, the viola didn't actually have a part written for it: it doubled up the bass parts and was often played by inferior violin players.

This is a tradition which continues: according to Dr Rahkonen, school orchestra directors routinely 'switch the poor violinists over to viola, where they will do less harm, and perhaps even contribute...'

Even Richard Wagner - yes, the Richard Wagner - put his oar in. He is reported to have said:

The viola is commonly (with rare exceptions) played by infirm violinists, or by decrepit players of wind instruments who happen to have been acquainted with a string instrument once upon a time.

With friends like that...

I would add that Dr Rahkonen's article is made all the more appealing by the appending of three whole pages of viola jokes... (He is, of course, entitled to tell them, being himself a violist.)

According to Dr Rahkonen, the telling of viola jokes was at its height in 1993, and has since greatly diminished.

That doesn't make them any less funny, though. So, here are a few of my favourites:

Q:  How do you know when a violist is playing out of tune?
A:  The bow is moving.

Q:  What is the difference between a viola and an onion?
A:  Nobody cries when you cut up a viola.

Q:  What is the difference between a viola and a trampoline?
A:  You take your shoes off before you jump on the trampoline.

Q:  Why do so many people take an instant dislike to the viola?
A:  It saves time.

Q:  What is the longest viola joke ever devised?
A:  Berlioz's Harold in Italy.

Oh dear. Reading this back, I don't seem to have made a very good job of sticking up for the viola or his noble player, do I? I have simply reinforced a well-established stereotype. Tut tut.

So let me end by saying that there are some beautiful pieces for the viola, and here is a selection of clips you might like to listen to. They will break you in gently...

Far from being a joke, Berlioz's Harold in Italy is a wonderful tour de force for the instrument. He wrote it at the request of Paganini, who was apparently disappointed with it; it seems that it wasn't enough of a showcase for his virtuosity.

Elgar's Enigma Variations feature a beautiful solo for viola. 'Ysobel' (Variation VI - roughly 2'15" into this clip) depicts Isabel Fitton, one of the composer's viola students.

William Walton wrote one of the most famous concertos for viola. This short clip of Maxim Vengerov is a really good introduction to the appearance and earthy timbre of the instrument. (Unfortunately, the world was deprived of the much-anticipated (?) viola concerti of Elgar, Glazunov and Ravel - all three died before doing any substantial work on them.)

I hope you've enjoyed this short tour of the viola as much as I have. Oh, I must go. My violist lodger is outside the house again, standing on the doorstep. I'd better go and open the door for him: he can't find the key and he never knows when to come in...



*Presented at the National Meeting of the American Folklore Society and the Society for Ethnomusicology, October 21, 1994, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Copyright (c) 1994.