Author: jcowap

Stan and Ollie: the ‘beauty’ of sacrifice

The other day I went to see Stan and Ollie, the film about the iconic comedy duo featuring Steve Coogan and John C. Riley. The film is really great: it moves between the light-hearted, almost cartoony set-pieces and its more earnest moments seamlessly— it is nice, if not slightly safe, and a real laugh-and-cry movie. I find John C. Riley incredibly endearing and, for me, he stole the show supported by a slightly more subdued performance from Coogan.

But the scene that I found the most moving was the final scene. *moderate spoilers ahead*. Due to his declining health, Ollie has been unable to perform the duo’s signature dance at the end of their stage show, instead opting to sing a song. But, realising that the end of ‘Laurel and Hardy’ is fast approaching, in their closing show Ollie announces to the surprise of everyone present that they are going to do a little dance. It’s a simple dance that to me isn’t particularly funny or intrinsically special but it is definitely shot beautifully and was very affecting. The camera ignores their audience almost entirely and focuses in on the two performers and their connection on-stage. After the film, I wanted to figure out exactly what is was about that scene that makes it so poignant.

I think the key to this scene is that it embodies one of the main themes of the film: sacrifice. Throughout the film characters are shown to struggle with the sacrifices they make for the sake of art, friendship and marriage and these ideas are all brought to the fore in the film’s climax. For example, the driving force of the plot is the professional sacrifice the two men are making for the sake of their artistic vision. They have agreed to a UK tour in small venues, staying at less than luxurious hotels, to generate interest for a new Robin Hood movie they have conceived. This also coincides with a kind of sacrifice of their egos. They quickly find out that there will be no bell-boys to take their luggage, the theatres will not be full, people will be surprised to hear the two of them are still around. But, rather than preserving their egos, they continue for the sake of their art. All of this while away from their wives, yet another sacrifice willingly made.

Similarly, Stan is shown to kick some of his more indulgent habits– mostly encouraged by his wife Ida– in an attempt to preserve his health. However, it is Ollie who is shown to sacrifice his physical health the most throughout the film. The severely overweight Ollie struggles to keep up with the rigours of the tour, constantly dealing with aches and pains and, of course, being forced to swap dances for songs. But, when it becomes clear that the only way to improve the lacklustre attendance of their shows is to fill their days with publicity events, Ollie agrees and sacrifices his body further. It is during one of these publicity stunts– judging a swimwear competition– that Ollie collapses after suffering a heart attack. The doctors advice is simple, retire immediately to prolong your life– and thus his sacrifice is laid out before him. True to form, Ollie ignores the reccomendation and takes to the stage for the final leg of their tour, ending with this final dance.

The final scene, therefore, seems to be the culmination of this sacrifice and embodies its beauty. Despite his struggling body, he choses to dance– despite the knowledge that their Robin Hood movie will never be made, they dance– despite the toll it takes on their family life, they dance. And they do all this for the sake of the performance. The movie takes the pair’s genius for granted and so this final scene shows them choosing to give the full extent of their gifts to the audience while they still can. The significance of the scene is only heightened by Ollie’s earlier admission that he knew all along that the movie would never be made (something Stan tries to hide from him) and so his continuing commitment to the tour and their act is also to preserve their friendship and partnership, not only to entertain an audience. By the end of the film, both men recognise that their career together is coming to a close and so they make these sacrifices to please each other and to give their relationship the conclusion it deserves.

However, I don’t think this is the full story of sacrifice in the film as, while it is ever-present within the narrative, it is never entirely glorified or even justified. I think that Ollie’s wife, Lucille is the figure who contextualises the sacrifice and illustrates its limits. While I initially felt she was simply a device intended to exacerbate problems in Stan and Ollie’s friendship, she too displays a significant degree of sacrifice. She is away from her husband for long periods, she must give up her anonymity for a life in the public eye and is forced to watch the health of someone she loves deteriorate. As such, we cannot see Ollie’s sacrifices as wholly beautiful and noble as Lucille provides the proof of their consequences. So, when Ollie announces that they will dance on that last night, Lucille watches on filled with anxiety.

But, despite her presence, I still think this final moment is moving. The important thing is that everyone recognises that this is it. Lucille’s worry and suffering shows us that these sacrifices can’t be sustained and they have to stop sooner or later. Therefore it is this recognition that they must stop that makes the final sacrifice all the more poignant– it is their last hurrah and isn’t it worth the shortness of breath, the pain in the chest one last time to recapture the magic.

Oxburgh Hall: a house in flux

National Trust Review

For my birthday a few months ago I was gifted membership to the National Trust for the year and I have decided to try and write a short review or post about anything that struck me during my trip- so here we go.

Although intending to make my first trip as a member as soon as possible, life– of course– got in the way and it wasn’t until this past weekend that I made my inaugural trip. I was going on a weekend away with family in Norfolk and so decided to find the nearest site to where we were staying, which turned out to be Oxburgh Hall. Because it was being chosen on the basis of its proximity to us I read very little about it and booked tickets to a tour highlighted on its page- again taking little notice of the its substance.


The approach to the hall is inauspicious: the taller sections of grey wall appearing from behind a cluster of trees. It was only as we pulled up on its gravelled carpark that I noticed sections of the house surrounded by scaffolding. Concerning– yes, but other people were walking towards the ticket booth unperturbed so we followed suit. After a few minutes of queuing we approached the small window, set inside an archway of an exterior wall that surrounded the gardens as well as the hall itself.

“So you know the house is closed today?”

It seemed that our lack of planning had backfired on us and the promised tour was never to be taken.

“Oh, but we booked a tour online.”

This seemed to be the secret password as we were told to meet in the courtyard just before 2pm. But before we were sent on our way, we were duly told off after our group of eight was reduced to four due to slightly less interested family members dropping out last minute. The house itself is very pretty. It was a grey and rather miserable afternoon but the rectangular building stands stoically against its backdrop. The bricks have this pale, almost pink colour and its angular outline makes it look like a beginner level castle. We walked over the moat encircling the hall and entered the courtyard, in which the full extent of the scaffolding became clearer. The entirety of one side of the house was covered in the metal framework, making it completely inaccessible. , However, before we could speculate further the tour began.

Oxburgh Hall, set against the grey afternoon sky.

Unfortunately, I have committed the cardinal sin and have forgotten the names of the two brilliant tour guides who showed us around the house (a sin I vow not to repeat) but we were lead by a grey-haired and bearded gentleman who spoke with a kind of rural wisdom, kind of as though he had breathed in his knowledge via the country air. He was joined by a diminutive woman who looked, in her long coat, like a schoolmistress with a softer and more kindly demeanour. They seemed like a Brian and Mary, but that’s probably not true.

It was soon explained that we were, in fact, on the Winter tour in which the majority of the house’s furniture was covered with off-white sheets while then house was being cleaned. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t slightly disappointed but it became clear that the house had a lot more to offer than what was under these sheets. The scaffolding, it turns out, was a scar from an extremely unfortunate event. One of the three dormer windows on top of that wall, having not been integrated properly into the existing brickwork, simply slid off the roof. It had been held in place from over a hundred years with a wooden beam but once it rotted to the point of breaking the window broke free. Upon subsequent inspection of the house, more and more structural inadequacies were discovered and the hall was suddenly facing millions of pounds worth of repair. And this was the state of the house in which we encountered it.

The Courtyard, with scaffolding to the right.

The guides did their best to convey the history of the house in spite of the circumstances. Its creation (in its current form) in 1482 as a house to impress rather than defend. Some tapestries woven by Mary, Queen of Scots and a medieval drawing etched onto bare wall usually hidden behind the wallpaper. While the house’s history is definitely fascinating, the thing I was most struck by was the state of flux in which the house was existing. Many of the features of the house (including the ill-fated dormer windows) were additions during a period of huge renovation by the 6th Baronet in the 19th Century which made the current renovation seem like part of a cycle, an ebb and flow of stasis and change. Similarly, when previous generations sold their personal homes to save Oxburgh Hall from property developers the storage of their belongings rendered some rooms unusable, just as the current renovation had done with the Queen’s Room. Even the story of the current occupant who, present on the night of the accident, was evacuated by the fire brigade made the tale of the house seem alive and continuing.

A small section of the garden surrounding the hall.

Although in less than desirable circumstances, I felt as though instead of looking back at a static picture of history I was seeing it being made in front of me. It was a reminder that we aren’t immune to the passing of time and that stories will be told about the things we did– whether we rescued the house or let it fall in to ruin, whether we continue to be curious or let its secrets fade from memory. The modern custodians, too, has a responsibility in the way that the narrative is told, as proven by the discovery that the King’s room is simply a reference to, rather than the site of, Henry VI’s visit to Oxburgh. As the guides drew back the curtain on the day-to-day running of the house and spoke about the struggle to innovate and engage with the public in the face of the repair bill it only highlighted the feeling that the history and continuing vitality of the house can coexist- that it is not only a story to be told but one still being made.

I would recommend the house if not only to support their repairs then also to experience the its flux and change. The staff were knowledgable as well as welcoming and endearing while the house has a subtle beauty and grace.

They also make an incredible hot chocolate.

Jack.