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I can't remember when I saw my first Laurel and Hardy film, but I know for a fact that it was on TV back when I was a child and vintage comedy shorts were regularly screened, often as filler when there was a twenty minute gap between a feature film ending and the upcoming regularly scheduled news broadcast. I do know that I immediately fell in love with this glorious comedy duo, a partnership so perfectly in sync that I'd dare to suggest it's become the model for almost every comedy duo that followed in its considerable wake.

Lancashire-born Stan Laurel (real name Arthur Stanley Jefferson) and American Oliver (actually Norvell) Hardy worked in silent cinema for years as solo artists and were brought together by chance when both worked as regular players for the Hal Roach studio, and once they found their characters and an approach to comedy that suited their personalities and growing working partnership, they skyrocketed to fame and to this day are widely regarded as the greatest comedy duo in cinema history. During my own darker times, their films would lift my spirits and put the widest of smiles on my face, as Stan once again did something daft for what he truly believed were all the right reasons, only for the consequences to fall squarely and sometimes literally on the head of Ollie, who was every bit as foolish as his slow-witted companion but convinced that he was smarter and knew better.

In 1980 and again a year later, a close friend of mine and I attended annual Laurel & Hardy festival screenings at the beloved Scala cinema in London, at which we joined an active appreciation group, which was named Sons of the Desert after one of their most popular features. Each festival featured over four hours of material featuring the boys, including their only colour film, The Tree in a Test Tube (1942), a rather uninspiring wartime propaganda piece made, I seem to recall, for the Forestry Commission. At one of these events, they also screened a rare early Oliver Hardy silent whose title was unknown even by the festival organisers, and this was my first inkling that Stan and Ollie had been making films for some years before the arrival of synchronised sound.

The arrival of VHS gave us ordinary folks the technology to record television broadcasts, and I started taping every Stan and Ollie film that was screened, carefully editing out the ads when commercial stations had the absolute gall to interrupt one of their routines in order to hawk life insurance or toilet cleaner. Since then, TV screenings of their films became a lot rarer, and with the arrival of disc-based digital home media, my hopes that the films would be restored and released on DVD and especially Blu-ray took their sweet time to be realised. What I wasn't ready for was what we have here from Eureka, a near-definitive collection of the 13 silent films in which Stan and Ollie appeared together over the course of 1927 (one was made in 1927 but released early in 1928), plus two earlier works in which they also both featured. All are presented here, carefully reconstructed and restored, on two discs in chronological order to allow us to chart the evolution of this celebrated partnership. It's a fabulous and eye-opening journey that every true fan of the work of these two comedy giants absolutely needs to take.

A tad unfortunately for me, the review discs arrived when I was undergoing tests for two separate and potentially serious medical conditions, and was more than a little stressed out and distracted, but as a long-standing Laurel and Hardy fan, I knew I had to review this set, even if it meant delivering the review after the release date (and then some). The medical test results thankfully put me in the clear (well, mostly, but that's another story), and I thus got to work on a review that I envisioned would only take me a few days to write. At this point the rowdy teenage Biff Tannen from Back to the Future 2 should have stepped in and rapped me sharply on the head yelling, "Hello! Hello! Anybody home?" Regular visitors to this site know how we work by now. If we cover a box set containing three films, we don't write an overview of the set but cover each of the films individually. The trouble is that there are not three films in this two-disc release but 15. Short films, yes, but when you devote three or four paragraphs to each then the word count quickly starts to mount up, as does the time needed to write the review. And all 15 films have commentary tracks, and you just know that we're going to have to cover each of those separately as well, as well as the rest of the supplementary features (except one, but that's explained below). And restricted to working in the evenings and during spare time at weekends as I am at present, it's taken me getting on for three weeks to watch and write about all of the material this absolutely wonderful release contains, which has unfairly pushed so many other review discs from the likes of Indicator, Radiance, Second Run and even Eureka to the back of the queue. To the good people who produce such marvellous discs for those treasured labels, I deeply apologise, but this set was an absolute labour of love for me. So buckle up, because what we have here is one of my longest and most detailed reviews in some time, one that, despite the time and effort it took, I thoroughly enjoyed writing. Hopefully, you'll get something out of it too.

And so, to the films, which are covered in the order in which they appear on the two Blu-ray discs.

DISC 1

Billed up front as a vehicle for Stan Laurel, The Lucky Dog is a play-on-words title that allows for two separate interpretations – one literal, one metaphoric – within the context of the film that unfolds. Stan here plays an unnamed and down-on-his-luck young man who at the start of the film is booted spectacularly out of his boarding house by his angry landlady, whose repeated attempts to unsuccessfully swipe him with a broom are a silent slapstick favourite. After finally getting walloped and almost hit by two trams, Stan unknowingly shoves a wayward dog into his bag whilst recovering spilt possessions, then catches the sympathetic eye of the pretty young female passenger (Florence Gilbert) of a car that runs him over. The woman, of course, has a jealous and wealthy boyfriend (Jack Lloyd), but she also has a pet dog, and a short while later the two animals look set to inadvertently bring their two guardians together, despite the efforts of the boyfriend and a brutish robber played by – hoorah! – Oliver Hardy.

The Lucky Dog starts with a bang – the second shot has Stan flying head-over-heels through the boarding house door and onto the street, and moments later he is hit full in the face by his aggressively tossed bag – and an unexpected degree of visual flair, with animated impact and dizziness graphics and an elaborate double-exposure that has a chorus of nymphets gaily dancing around the dazed Stan's head. Under the initial misapprehension that this was an early solo outing for Stan, I actually cheered when Ollie appeared as the robber, but an early outing this nonetheless is. Visual evidence for this is provided by the dark make-up painted around pale-blue Stan's eyes, which apparently photographed as white on orthochromatic film, a problem later solved when cameraman and future director George Stevens switched to the then new and more colour-sensitive panchromatic film.

At this point, Stan was still being cast as the romantic lead and performing body-wrenching slapstick gags borrowed from Harold Lloyd, Buster Keaton and, of course, Charlie Chaplin, but it's a role he handles with a degree of aplomb. As was common in silent comedy, getting shot in the backside with a gun does little more than deliver a painful sting that'll have the victim comically dancing around whilst grasping their buttocks in pain, and a dynamite explosion leaves its victims blackened and ragged but physically unharmed. It's all par for the course, but things are kept moving at a serious lick by writer-director Jess Robbins, and while it's a long, long way from classic Laurel and Hardy, it's still a lot of, albeit familiar, fun.

Although the second film in this set also features both Stan and Ollie in supporting roles, here they never appear in the same shot together. So who is the star here? Glenn Tyron. If this name has you scratching your head, you're not alone.

Tyron plays Orville, a mountain hick who wants to go to Hollywood and "see 'em feed the actors," and ends up heading there with his equally starstruck sister (Sue O'Neil) and grandpa (Rube Clifford), the latter of whom falls by the wayside when they board the train. Once in Tinseltown, Orville and his sister pause to watch a movie shoot that turns out to be a failed bank robbery disguised as a bit of location filming, and as the would-be robbers make their escape, the naïve Orville runs after the gang in the hope that the woman he believes is an actress will help him to get into the movies. With the police giving chase, Orville and the woman end up hiding in the room of a hotel detective (Oliver Hardy), where the woman reveals that she is actually a man in disguise. He knocks Orville out, swaps clothes with him and leaves him lying unconscious on the bed dressed as a woman just as the security guard's wife (Edna Murphy) arrives home.

I have to admit that Glenn Tyron is a silent screen comedy actor I'd never even having heard of before sitting down for this 1926 short. I soon discovered why. Tryon runs and falls and mugs to the camera with the best of them but is sorely lacking the key thing that distinguished all of the best comedy actors from this period, and that's an engaging, unique or relatable screen personality. And despite its share of slapstick hijinks and farcical misunderstandings, for this hapless viewer the film just isn't all that funny. Obviously, its key interest – apart from brief guest appearances by screen vamp Theda Bara, Max Sennett's Bathing Beauties, and the Crazy Gang – lies in the two key members of the supporting cast. Most prominent this time around is Ollie, who has a substantial role as the hotel detective and who gives us a brief flash of his future screen persona when he acts all bashful in front of his fearsome wife. Stan doesn't show up until later, playing a bedridden starving actor who gets shot in the face and only suffers a black eye (and don't worry, someone else gets a bullet in the behind that prompts them to dance around in pain) and whose face is partly obscured by the sort of moustache that would later be a trademark feature of Laurel and Hardy regular James Finlayson.

The odd visual gag raised an appreciative smile, such as when the out-of-control cycle on which Orville, his sister (Molly O'Day) and his Grandpa (Robe Clifford) are riding barrels through a herd of panicking cows, though I'll admit I enjoyed this more for the ingenuity of its execution than its comedy value. Considerably less effective is the animated cat that runs up inside the bath towel that Ollie is wrapped in, where it chases around like an amphetamine-fuelled ferret.

On the whole, not so great, but a welcome and important inclusion nonetheless. It's the first film in the set to be produced by Hal Roach, and it can't have escaped his notice here that supporting player Oliver Hardy has a lot more screen charisma than the man that he, by this point, must have known was never going to be the new comedy star he was searching for. And like I said, just occasionally it does amuse, though the most intriguing comic moment – one that feels like an in-joke that I'd love some background detail on – is not a visual gag but a dialogue intertitle, and occurs as Orville's mother hands her son some money for the Hollywood trip and warns him to "look out for confidence men and assistant directors."

With wildfires raging, Forest Rangers begin rounding up vagrants to assist with the sizeable task of putting them out. Not keen on being scooped up with the others, two vagrants played by Stan and Ollie flee from the head Forest Ranger (Bob Kortman) and hide in a stately home owned by big game hunter Colonel Buckshot (James A. Marcus). Their timing is perfect, as Buckshot has only just departed for a two-year African safari, and his butler (William Courtright) and maid (Laura La Varnie) have decided to go behind their employer's back and make some extra cash by renting the house out while he is away. Once they depart, Stan and Ollie enjoy the free run of the place, but haven't been there long before a pair of potential tenants show up in the shape of honeymooning couple, Mr. and Mrs. Cyrus B. Quick (William Austin and Madeline Hurlock), forcing Ollie to pose as Colonel Buckshot and Stan to dress up as his maid, Agnes.

Now we're talking. Yes, we're still some way off from the magic formula that would see Stan and Ollie repeatedly score comedy gold, but Duck Soup – which has no relation to the later Marx Brothers feature of the same name – is a significant step in that direction. Here, Stan and Ollie are partnered for the first time, and several of the mannerisms that would define their later screen personas are on display, from Stan's dopey grin and close-to-tears panic to Ollie's theatrical displays of pomposity and penchant for bossing Stan about. Stan even has the sort of bowler hat with which would later become synonymous, and in a key moment of embarrassment he momentarily breaks the fourth wall and looks directly into the camera. And they're clearly a partnership here and bounce off each other to a sometimes delightful degree.

The breathless slapstick of the earlier films is still on show, especially when Buckshot unexpectedly returns home to collect his prized bow and arrows, and earlier in the film there's a virtual rerun of the out-of-control, broken-chain bike ride from 45 Minutes to Hollywood, but spruced up with some back projection near misses and shots of the bike plummeting downhill at hair-raising speed. Elsewhere, however, the comedy is sometimes subtler and more character-led, my favourite example coming when Ollie reacts contemptuously to the delicate dining chair that Stan-as-Agnes has brought him to sit on, prompting Stan to take a quick glance at Ollie's ample behind and fetch a lasrge armchair instead. There's also a surprisingly risqué sequence when Mrs. Quick asks Stan-as-Agnes to run her a bath and then strips off in the adjoining bedroom (and is photographed in a way that clearly infers that she is naked), sending Stan into just the sort of deeply embarrassed flap that anyone familiar with the duo's later work will instantly recognise. The film was effectively remade as the early sound-era Laurel and Hardy short, Another Fine Mess (1930).

After a couple of shorts in which Stan is the headliner, it's female lead Priscilla Dean whose name appears above the title in the 1927 Slipping Wives, but don't let that fool you, as Stan is the real star here, and his scenes with Ollie are some of the best in the film. Dean plays the wife of artist Leon (Herbert Rawlinson), who is so wrapped up in his work that he neglects her and completely forgets her birthday. His wealthy patron, the comically named Winchester Squirtz (Albert Conti), takes pity on her plight and suggests that she grabs her husband's attention by faking an affair with another man. My initial expectation that he was caddishly setting himself up to play this role is then unexpectedly dashed when it's openly offered to him and he hastily turns it down, on the basis that Leon would shoot him. Cue the perfectly timed arrival of paint delivery man Ferdinand Flamingo (Stan Laurel), to whom the wife offers a substantial sum of money if he will make love to her in front of her husband, and in case you're wondering, back then 'making love' was not a euphemism for sex but milder version of what became known as 'making out'. The poverty-stricken Ferdinand apprehensively accepts and is forcibly washed and clothed by family butler Jarvis (Oliver Hardy), then masquerades as an invited houseguest and fairy story writer named Lionel Ironsides.

It's a sign of the patriarchal times that despite being the headline star, Priscilla Dean is the only character who doesn't have a name, being listed in the cast simply as 'The Neglected Wife'. Dean was already an established star by this point, and in his commentary for this film David Kalat suggests she may have been the most prestigious of the guest stars that Hal Roach managed to secure the services of for his comedy shorts. She's certainly engaging here, and although she does tend to play second fiddle to Stan and Ollie at every turn, there is one almost off-the-cuff moment when she ably demonstrates her comedy chops. When Ferdinand-as-Lionel is asked by Leon to tell them about his latest story, the startled look and sublimely executed eye-rolling shrug that Dean gives in response made me laugh out loud. This request does allow Stan to remind us that he understudied Charlie Chaplin and that the two were friends and comedy compatriots (as well as former roommates), as he mimes a beefy Samson and a delicate Delilah, around whom his second-hand story is supposedly based.

The centrepiece Stan and Ollie scene comes when Jarvis takes Ferdinand – whom he already dislikes – to his employer's bedroom and insists that he take a bath before dressing in the master's clothes. When Ferdinand flatly refuses, the second wrestling match between the two men unfolds (this takes place when Ferdinand refuses to use the servants' entrance and ends with Jarvis face-down in white paint), one that concludes with Jarvis forcibly washing Ferdinand by violently plunging him up and down into a full bath of water. Following a pattern set by many an earlier film – including a sprinkling in this set – it all builds to a frantically paced scene of chaotic farce, complete with mistaken identity tomfoolery, a mad chase in and out of rooms and hallways, and pistol and shotgun wounds to the buttocks that do little more than deliver a sharp sting.

Overall, it's an engaging if run-of-the-mill comedy with a small handful of golden moments, once again of historical importance for the teaming of Stan and Ollie, who again show glimpses of the comedy personas they would gradually grow into. These include Stan flashing his famed gormless grin and crying at the prospect of physical harm, a paint-covered Ollie prissily wiping the paint off of his fingers, and both men briefly breaking the fourth wall by looking directly at the camera as if expressing their surprise or disbelief directly to the audience. It's also the first film that finds Stan and Ollie sharing a bed in the innocent way that Morcambe and Wise were able to replicate years later, even if Stan is technically being held there by force.

Company boss Titus Tillsbury (James Finlayson) is extolling the virtues of marriage to his assistant, Romaine Ricketts (Stan Laurel), when Peaches (Mae Busch), an old flame from his past, rolls into his office clearly keen to revitalise their former love affair. Things complicate further when Titus's unsuspecting wife Aggie (Charlotte Mineau) shows up, forcing Titus to hide Peaches in the office washroom and distract Aggie when she almost stumbles across his old flame. With the eminent Judge Chigger (Oliver Hardy) and his wife (May Wallace) expected at the Tillsbury house that evening, Titus orders ladies' man Romaine to take Peaches out to the Pink Puff Café and keep her busy until he is able to sneak out and join them. The impatient Peaches is not so easily distracted and is soon making moves to head to the Tillsbury home, despite the frantic efforts of Romaine to physically prevent her, efforts that are misinterpreted by local busybody, Lady Scandal (Billie Latimer).

If you're already a fan of Stan and Ollie's sound era shorts, the above plotline may have a familiar ring, and that's because Love 'Em and Weep was remade in 1931 as Chickens Come Home. If you know and love the later film as much as I do, Love 'Em and Weep makes for fascinating viewing, as it's not merely a prototype for the more developed remake, it's an almost exact blueprint, complete with the same story and many of the very same gags. These include Peaches wrestling Romaine on the floor and shoving her hand into his trousers for a car key as the disgusted Lady Scandal watches on, the incriminating framed photo that Romaine drops on the floor and that is then innocently picked up and placed on a table by Judge Ricketts, and the wonderfully preposterous attempt to smuggle the fainted Peaches out of the house on Titus's back by covering them both in her coat. Both films even have the lead character's wife send an warning message to her husband with a song sheet of Gil Wells and Buddy Cooper's You May Be Fast But Your Mamma's Going to Slow You Down, and subsequently have him sing Irving Berlin's Somebody's Coming to My House for their guests as Peaches barrels determinedly towards the house in Romaine's car.

Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of this earlier version of the film is its cast, or more specifically, the specifics of its casting. Here, Ollie is cast in a relatively small role as Titus's dinner guest, Judge Chigger, while Stan plays the precisely same role as he does in the remake, that of Titus's employee and confidant (here Romain Ricketts, later Mr. Laurel). Headlining the film, however, and also playing the same role she would in Chickens Come Home, is the wonderful Mae Busch, who went on to make memorable appearances in several of Stan and Ollie's sound-era comedies. But there's more. Cast in the lead role of Titus, which was played by Ollie in the remake, is none other than James Finlayson, aka Fin, who went on to become a regular in Stan and Ollie films (including as Ollie's butler in Chickens Come Home) and whose exaggerated, one-eyed accusatory squint, exasperated looks to the camera and frustrated and extended cries of "Dooooh!" are warmly cherished by Laurel and Hardy fans the world over.

Yet while all this may mark Love 'Em and Weep as a film of considerable historical value, it's also a fast-paced and hugely entertaining silent comedy in its own right, and if you're a fan of Chickens Come Home, know that what visually works for the later film works every bit as well in the one that did it all first. Crucially, this takes nothing away from the later film, where the addition of sound, the longer running time, and the fact that Stan and Ollie had their characters nailed by that point enabled them to change the pace and accent of the gags and extend the visual comedy into the dialogue. Seriously, funny though Titus being handed the song sheet for Somebody's Coming to My House is, the sight and sound of Ollie trying to sing it while fighting his terror at the impending arrival of is former flame in Chickens Come Home takes the gag to a whole new and hilarious level.

The first film in this set in which Stan and Ollie top the post-title cast list, but here they play adversaries rather than the partners in comedy they would later become. Ollie is the bullying First Mate to an even more brutish Captain (Malcolm Waite) of a sailing ship that has just docked at the port of Sugar Bay. Stan plays Willie Brisling, a periwinkle fisherman who lives on a dockside shack with his Grandpa (Charles R. Althoff), and who is currently trying to impress his pretty fiancée Nellie (Viola Richard), an unnecessary effort given that she already thinks he is the handsomest man alive. When the Captain comes ashore and peeks through the window of the shack, he recognises Nellie and instantly lusts after her, and when she understandably resists his advances, he drags her forcibly to his ship and has her locked in his cabin, despite Willie's bumbling best efforts to stop him. Eventually, Willie also boards the ship, and after scaring one sailor (Jerry Mandy) silly by pretending to be a ghost, he dresses up as an amorous blonde woman and sets about picking off the crew one-by-one with the aim of rescuing Nellie from the lecherous Captain's grasp.

Opinions will differ, but for me, Why Girls Love Sailors is one of the lesser early works in which the boys have featured roles, which is not to take away from the stout work that they both individually do. Once again, Stan's really the lead player, and here seems caught halfway between the Chaplinesque slapstick and vaudevillian female impersonation of his early days and the likeable child-like simpleton persona that would later become a defining trait. Both can be seen in full flow in the early scene in Willie's dockside shack, where Stan's acrobatic tumbling attempts to charm the girl give way to a bemused look to the camera and his signature crying when the Captain arrives and humiliates him. More than any gag in the film, this one anticipates the tit-for-tat sequences of later Stan and Ollie works, as the Captain pours a jug of water down inside Stan's sweater while Stan just stands there and allows him to do it, only really reacting once the jug is empty and he slowly realises what has just occurred. That this knitted woollen article of clothing is somehow able to retain the liquid and give Stan a wobbly beer belly is also in-keeping with the more surreal gags in later Stan and Ollie films.

Some gags are amusing, but a few others feel as if they are being stretched out or repeated to pad out the running time, as when the sailor who thinks Willie is a ghost is so scared that he jumps into Ollie's arms like a terrified child and has to be fought off, a so-so bit of physical comedy that is then immediately repeated four times. More successful and more surreal are the sailors that the cross-dressed Stan entices over, knocks out (complete with animated graphics to signify the off-screen wallops), and positions in a way that will anger Ollie's First Mate enough for him to smack the guy up and throw him overboard. The late arrival of the Captain's Wife (an enjoyably fiery Anita Garvin) sets up an interesting take on a familiar moment of comedy conflict, as she walks in on her husband canoodling with another woman, who in this case is actually a man.

As the Home Guards prepare to leave for camp, clueless recruit Cuthbert Hope (Stan Laurel) quickly gets up the nose of Top Sergeant Banner (Oliver Hardy), who in turn gets in the bad books of his commanding officer and ladies' man, Captain Bustle (James Finlayson), an inter-rank conflict that continues once they board the train. When they arrive at camp, the simple-minded Cuthbert's lack of understanding of parade ground exercises and inability to follow simple orders infuriates the Captain, who reacts by ordering Banner to take the company on a march and "work those dumb eggs 'til they moan."

Plot is not a strong point of With Love and Hisses, which is effectively comprised of a series of situational and locational set-pieces from which the comedy will hopefully spring, and for my money it does and often enjoyably so. Unlike the more drawn-out gags in Why Girls Love Sailors, here they come thick and fast and hang around only long enough to trigger the required smile or laugh. The one exception is an extended sequence involving Stan's reaction to a soldier who seems to have brought an entire larder of strong-smelling foods (whose strong odour is indicated by some animated wavy lives) to eat on the train, which director Fred Guiol keeps from outstaying its welcome by adding a few quick gags about the cramped space in which the ordinary soldiery has to travel and cross-cutting with the inevitable target of the scene's pie-in-the-face punchline.

Stan, Ollie and Fin all get to shine here, with each displaying characteristics of the personas we would later come to love, from Ollie's self-satisfied preening when he mistakenly thinks the Captain's girlfriends (yep, he has two) are waving at him to Fin's signature one-eyed squint and accusatory glare. It's Stan, however, who is closest here to the dopey innocent of the duo's sound-era works, completely clueless about parade ground drills that we can only assume he somehow missed the basic training for, and at times completely oblivious to the chain of command. Two of his favourite expressions are also on show, as he flashes his cheery simpleton grin and bursts into tears when hit in the face with his angrily returned rifle.

With so many gags, it's hardly surprising that not all of them land for even die-hard Laurel and Hardy fans, but I enjoyed the variety and the film's willingness to be as silly as it is smart. Inflatable bladders are used to exaggerate the Captain's inhaling of fresh air and the throbbing of Cuthbert's sore feet, a badly timed sneeze blows the tobacco out of Banner's rolled cigarette (predating Woody Allen's famed cocaine take on the same joke from Annie Hall by 50 years), Cuthbert mistakes a hand-on-hip 'Dress Right' command as a gay come-on from his Captain and seems coyly flattered, and there's a hierarchal element to some of the humour, with gags and their consequences passed up and down the ranks. More than almost any other film in this set, it also provides confirmation that producer Hal Roach liked to get out of the studio, with almost all of the film shot on location.