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As a gaggle of millionaires board a steamship for a trip to Monte Carlo to fritter away their ill-gotten gains, the women are warmly welcomed on board by Purser Cryder (Oliver Hardy), while the men are grumpily ordered to just get their arses up the gangplank. While this is taking place, cab driver Chester Chase (Stan Laurel) is driving to the port with a fare consisting of professional con-woman Madame Ritz (Anita Garvin) and her dwarf husband Roger (Gustav Schaffrath), who is dressed as a baby to assist his wife in fleecing the wealthy steamship passengers. On their arrival, Madame Ritz tells Chester to wait and promptly boards the ship without paying her cab fare, and when Chester is told to move on by a grouchy cop, he inadvertently parks beneath the crane being used to load vehicles onto the ship. So busy is he putting out a fire started by Ritz's carelessly tossed cigarette that he fails to notice that he has been lifted on board until the ship is under way. He angrily demands that the vessel be turned around and that he be returned to shore, first to Purser Cryder and then the intolerant Captain Bull, who instantly accuses Chester of being a stowaway and tells him he has to work his passage as a purser. Chester protests, but when Bull orders that he be thrown overboard instead, he is forced to reluctantly accept the job.

And so concludes the breezy and incident-packed setup to one of the most enjoyable of the early shorts in which top-billed Stan and Ollie are pitched as adversaries rather than the brothers in brilliant bumbling and impending disaster for which they would later become famous. There's no question that Stan is still being pitched as the comedy lead here, but both men get their individual chances to shine here, and their brief argumentative interactions are rather fun. That said, they're given a real run for their money by dwarf actor Gustav Schaffrath (here credited in what I have to assume was his stage name as 'Dwarf Gustav'), whose expressive face, winningly cheeky smile and gift for comic timing ensures that his scenes with Stan play as an evenly matched double-act. This ensures that the sequence in which Roger-as-baby uses loaded dice to cheat Stan out of betting cash – one that plays for longer than is technically required to allow the gag to land – never feels drawn-out or remotely laboured. Both he and Stan also shine when observing a card-game that has Ritz playing against three other female passengers, where a strategically positioned Roger employs hand signals to communicate the cards held by a rival player to his wife, to which Stan responds by blocking his efforts and assisting Ritz's rival.

Despite employing what would becoming his signature squint-eyed crying when things take a bad turn, Stan is on more defiant and self-confident form here, standing up to abuse and only backing down when circumstances ensure that he's going to lose. And while Ollie is cast in a by-then familiar role as a luckless heavy, there are several flashes of his famed persona-to-be, not least in his hopeful simpering to attractive women, and his attempt to laugh off his humiliation after buckets of water are thrown over him in error. The variety of the comedy, Stan's likeable character, the energy of his performance, and Fred Guiol's direction give the film a real momentum, and a couple of the gags are amongst my favourites in this set so far. The first is an impeccably choreographed piece that sees Stan effortlessly join and match the timing of a skipping woman, which is then developed further when Ollie does likewise, only for his girth to quickly stall the activity. But if there's a moment that encapsulates Stan's more self-confident character here, it comes when he's asked by Madame Ritz to take her baby and his pram down the ship's grand central staircase. Still miffed being cheated at dice by this supposed infant, Chester responds by giving the pram a sharp shove and watching dispassionately on as it rockets down the stairs and across the floor below, where a collision throws this supposed baby from its carriage and against a wooden door. Can you imagine the innocent, sound-era Stan doing that?

And then they were two. Despite the signs of things to come in the rediscovered Duck Soup, it's generally agreed that here is where many of the key ingredients that were to later define the Laurel and Hardy formula first truly coalesced. And, after a string of films in which they made their mark individually but not as a team, watching the 1927 Do Detectives Think? made my comedy heart soar, particularly given that fan favourite James Finlayson is on hand to provide his specific brand of comedically expressive support. Indeed, having spotted his name on the opening titles, as soon as the name Judge Foozle appeared on the introductory caption, I just knew he had to be played by him.

As the film begins, the jury is delivering a guilty verdict on a spectacularly sinister villain named the Tipton Slasher (Noah Young), who is on trial for the murder of two Chinese men. When Judge Foozle sentences the Slasher to be hanged, the villain vows to escape and return to cut Foozle's throat, and has to be restrained by a posse of officers to stop him carrying out his threat on the spot. Were it not for Foozle's exaggeratedly fearful response, this could almost be the opening scene of a silent crime melodrama rather than a comedy short. This all changes when the judge calls the boss of a detective agency (Frank Brownlee) and demands that he sends his two best men over to protect him. We can only hazard a guess at why the man instead assigns the job to the two worst detectives he has, Ferdinand Finkleberry (Stan Laurel) and Sherlock Pinkham (Oliver Hardy), and the moment they walked into his office I genuinely let out a delighted cheer. For all intents and purposes, this is the Stan and Ollie we know and love, complete with the suits and bowler hats, and with Stan playing the well-meaning doofus to Ollie's overconfidence and penchant for walking into disasters of Stan's accidental construction.

The clear confidence that Hal Roach and director Fred Guiol had in the chemistry of this partnership is evident in the scene that immediately follows, a comical diversion from the plot to watch Stan become literally scared of his own shadow and for the two to be given a preposterous but still funny demonic fright by a hungry goat. They also get to test run at almost Abbott and Costello length a gag that would become a Stan and Ollie favourite in which they drop and then repeatedly mix-up their hats. When they do arrive at the Foozle mansion (being a senior member of the judiciary clearly pays well), Slasher has already installed himself as the new family butler, hiding his true identity by avoiding coming face-to-face with the judge and somehow making himself unthreatening to the judge's wife (Viola Richards) merely by shaving his stubble. Once installed, the boys further cement elements of their characters that would later become fan favourites, with Ollie wrecking a doubtless expensive statue whilst attempting to confirm his claimed family link to William Tell, the two innocently sharing a bed in the guest room, and Stan responding to the actions of others with child-like grins or terrified crying.

Once he starts prowling the house with a big knife that he later swaps for a whopping great scimitar, Noah Young's physical bulk, sinister features, bulging eyes and horsey teeth bring an Old Dark House air of creeping horror to the proceedings, and make the Tipton Slasher a creature to be feared. Indeed, the considerable different height difference between him and James Finlayson, combined with some subtly clever blocking and the fact that Foozle is hiding in the bath while the Slasher stands nearby with a blade in his hand, makes him look like a ferocious giant when he breaks into Foozle's bathroom. It all collapses into violent mayhem and unfortunate mix-ups, with the Slasher eventually floored by a gag that whose overtones of racial stereotyping have not aged so well. But it's a small blip on a hugely enjoyable work that saw Stan and Ollie take a substantial step further towards the fully formed partnership this series is building up to.

In a most unexpected break with the (then) modern-day settings of the previous films in this set, the curiously titled Flying Elephants (which do make a brief surreal appearance as animated characters) is set in a fanciful reimagining of the Stone Age, specifically in a region in which King Ferdinand has proclaimed that all men between the ages of 18 and 95 have just 24 hours to marry under penalty of banishment or death, or both. Newly arriving in the district and looking for a wife is Mighty Giant, who laughs off the risk of failing to meet the requirements of the decree with the claim, "I can get five women in five minutes, and you ought to see me when I'm working fast." Given that Mighty Giant is played by Oliver Hardy, the expectation is that the women he flirts with will be made uncomfortable by his advances, but surprisingly they all think that he's just gorgeous. Less impressed with his attempts at seduction are the nearby husbands of the women in question, who deliver a quick wallop on the head with their phallic clubs to send him on his way. This quickly convinces him that every woman he meets will have a club-wielding husband lingering nearby, which results in him losing a genuine shot at marriage when an attractive woman eagerly flirts with him and he's butted in the behind by a malicious goat, which he assumes without checking is another angry beau. Also new to the area is sardine fisherman Little Twinkle Star (Stan Laurel), a carefree but inexperienced and effeminate dandy of a caveman who skips like a schoolgirl and appears to be more interested in picking flowers than searching for a mate.

One attractive young woman who is freely available is Blushing Rose (Viola Richard), the daughter of ageing wizard Saxophunus (James Finlayson), who is currently nursing the sort of silent movie toothache that requires a cloth to be wrapped under the chin and tied in a big knot on the top of the head. When Twinkle stumbles between two men who are fighting over her and catches Rose's eye, the two are instantly attracted to each other. Saxophunus is less impressed with his daughter's pick and sends Twinkle on a fishing quest to prove his worth. While he's away, Mighty Giant wanders past and helps Saxophunus remove the offending tooth, and is soon making a pushy play for Rose himself.

Yes, this is a comedy and not a History Channel documentary, so it would seem a little petty to start listing the ways in which Flying Elephants is historically bonkers, but I'm going to highlight a couple anyway. Special mention should certainly go to title cards written in faux Olde English, a caveman king who mandates marriage several centuries before the first recorded case of this officially sanctioned union, and Twinkle's brief interaction with a Triceratops, a creature that died out several million years before this film is supposedly set. That maybe why this one is clearly a man inside a riotously funny cardboard costume (check out those eyes).

After nailing the formula for future greatness in Do Detectives Think?, this return to casting Stan and Ollie as rivals feels like a backward step, but both play their respective roles with engaging gusto, and they're ably supported by a cast of studio female beauties, gruff male brutes, a particularly bewitching Viola Richard, and the inimitable James Finlayson. A fair few of the gags were probably a little old hat even back in 1928, and even their timing is sometimes predictable, from the consequences of throwing a rock tied to Saxophunus's bad tooth over a cliff to the fishes that Twinkle is luring to the surface and hitting over the head when there is a brutish human rival in the water nearby. Compensation, however, is provided by the energy of their execution and a small handful of moments that do not play quite as expected. My favourite comes when Twinkle decides to emulate a tougher and more assertive member of the local male populace and simply throw one girl (Dorothy Coburn) over his shoulder and take her to his cave, only to have her break free and repeatedly throw him to the ground in the manner of a professional wrestler. This also leads to one of the odder captioned responses, as the defeated Twinkle cries in shame and says, "I ain't been the same since my operation."

Oil tycoon Cyrus Brittle (James Finlayson) wakes up one morning with a stonking hangover and no memory of what happened the evening before. He's thus startled to learn from his Butler (Oliver Hardy) that he met and married a woman (Charlotte Mineau), who is waiting downstairs with her pretty adult daughter (Edna Marion) and ferocious-looking brute of a brother (Noah Young), who are secretly discussing how they plan to rip Cyrus off. The startled Cyrus immediately puts in a call to his lawyer (Stan Laurel) – whose lack of experience is written all over his face, his lack of client evident from the cobwebs that decorate his phone – and requests that he come to the house immediately. When the brother demands $50,000 to make this marriage of inconvenience go away, the lawyer accuses him of attempted blackmail, which prompts the brother to pull out a pistol, a move that sees Cyrus, the lawyer and the butler run for their lives. A short while later, a newspaper headline alerts the family of Cyrus's new likely whereabouts, and they head to the seaside town at which he is hiding out with the aim of beating him seven ways from Sunday.

If plot-driven comedies are your thing, then Sugar Daddies is likely to leave you seriously wanting, as the above is no more than setup for a second half in which the predatory family hunt down Cyrus and chase him and his two companions through a variety of pleasure pier attractions. On the way, Stan, Ollie and Fin get to recycle and rework a key gag from Love 'Em and Weep (story elements of which are also repurposed here) by plonking Stan on Fin's back, sticking a curly blonde wig on his head and covering them both with a coat to make them look like Ollie's tall and peculiarly bottom-heavy female companion. The deception is even revealed the same way here, when Cyrus contorts himself enough to look back between his own legs and is spotted doing so by his pursuers. The difference this time is that the gag is elaborated upon and extended to more than double the length of its original incarnation, which sets the tone for some similarly lengthy wobbles and tumbles on the sort of pier attractions that would give health and safety regulators a heart attack today.

A prime case of slapstick over substance, Sugar Daddies still has its moments and builds to a frantic pace and a conclusion to the chase that, although visually amusing, ultimately resolves nothing. What feels like a signing-off shot is unexpectedly followed by a gag involving a policeman and actress Billie Latimer (who played Lady Scandal in Love 'Em and Weep) that I couldn't help thinking was originally intended for an earlier slot and that does feel a little tagged-on here. It's nonetheless not hard to warm to the trio of Stan, Ollie and Fin working together as a panicking team, and while the casting of Ollie as a fastidious butler may play to expectations, the image of Stan sitting at a typewriter with an oversized pince-nez wedged on his nose, bemused by the very idea that his phone would finally ring, prompted the first of a handful of out-loud sniggers on my part. The film is also of interest for its on-location shooting, where regular director Fred Guiol appears to have employed crowds of onlookers as (probably unpaid) extras and worked with cameraman Floyd Jackman to inject some visual kineticism into the second half pursuit with a string of energetic camera movements. So rapidly executed  and unstable are some of these that there were times when I was convinced that the camera would break free of its mount and come crashing to the floor.

As Prison Governor Browne Van Dyke (James Finlayson) and the Warden (Frank Brownlee) prepare for a visit from two of their French counterparts, cellmates Little Goofy (Stan Laurel) and Big Goofy (Oliver Hardy) decide the time has come to finish the tunnel they've been digging and escape. When they accidentally puncture a water pipe in the process, they are forced to take a detour, which unfortunately takes them up through the floor of the warden's office, a sequence that was repurposed in 1938 by the Will Hay comedy Convict 99. A second opportunity presents itself when two visiting workmen take a break and the boys take their place and are able to simply walk out through the front gate, but quickly raise the suspicions of a passing policeman, who follows them and eventually gives chase. To escape, they leap into the very car that is transporting the visiting French officials, whose clothes they steal and whom they toss from the vehicle, only to find themselves having to impersonate them at the Governor's reception in the grounds of the very prison from which they have just escaped.

Ah, what a thrill it is to have the film open on Stan and Ollie sitting next to each other as partners instead of rivals, a thrill that intensifies as it becomes increasingly evident that it's here that these two talented performers finally became the comedy duo we so adore. In The Second 100 Years (a title I presume was inspired by the 1924 Harry Langdon comedy, The First 100 Years) they we work in comical sync in a manner that would become one of their most cherished characteristics whilst simultaneously and accidentally causing trouble for each other, a trait wonderfully evident in the forced prison yard exercises and work detail that the whole wing is punished with because of the bungled escape attempt. This develops a logic-defying surreality when the two finally make their escape disguised as painters and attempt to throw off the policeman following them by painting just about everything they see, including railings, lamp posts, pillars, walls, shop front windows, the face of a black business patron (I'm not sure if this was intended as a racially suspect black-to-white face gag, but it doesn't play that way), and even the bodywork, windows and engine of a parked car. I'm no lawyer, but wouldn't this be classed as criminal damage? Only when Stan accidentally paints the (clothed) buttocks of a female pedestrian does the dopiest of policemen actually snap out of it and give chase.

Once they arrive at the reception they're equally in their element, with Ollie behaving as if he was born into society and fixating on the elegant Countess de Cognac (Ellinor Vanderveer), while Stan remains completely clueless how to behave in such company, something Ollie has to repeatedly correct him on. Stan's disconnect with his surroundings peaks in a sequence in which he chases a wayward cherry around a plate with a fork, then onto a second plate, then onto the table, then onto the Governor's plate, and then onto the plate of the woman seated next to him, and then down the back of her dress (into which he unexpectedly shoves his hand to retrieve it), only to then start the whole thing over again with a spoon, an extended gag that theoretically should feel overlong and repetitive, but is so gloriously executed that the longer it lasted, the louder I laughed.

There's no question in my mind that this is not a comedy short in which Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy appear, but a fully-fledged Laurel and Hardy film. Those who know them only for their sound era work will instantly recognise them as that same sublime comedy duo, from the telegraphing of gags to their behavioural tics and the way they work in almost telepathic unison when under pressure. It's a terrific two-reeler whose only small disappointment is that their favourite foil James Finlayson is relegated to a minor supporting role, though he still has his share of amusingly reactive moments. The layered comedy even extends to a Jewish gelato store named Ice Cream Cohen and a sprinkling of amusing intertitles, the work, I learned from the commentary, of one H.M. "Beany" Walker. My favourite of these comes during the tunnelling sequence after the water pipe is fractured. "We'll have to detour," Ollie tells Stan. "What's a detour?" Stan asks him, to which Ollie replies, "It's the wrong way to the right place."

After a run of films in which Stan and Ollie top the bill, it came as a bit of a jolt to sit down for one in which their names do not appear in the opening cast list at all, the promoted star here being German-Jewish comedy actor Max Davidson, whose main schtick appears to be hunching his shoulders, screwing up his face, rubbing his chin, and placing his hand on his cheek in exasperation. Here he plays Papa Gimplewart, who lives with his wife (Lillian Elliott) and his spectacularly dozy and freckle-faced son (Spec O'Donnell) – who is identified by an intertitle as 'Love's Great Mistake' – in a house that they are desperate to sell, primarily because of disruptive clowning of their neighbours.

I should note here that question of exactly who these neighbours are is never really clarified. The intertitles claim that they are students at a "training school for radio announcers" and "the quicker they go daffy, the sooner they get a diploma," which apparently was a dig at the then new medium of broadcast radio. The IMDb cast listing, however, has them individually tagged as Asylum Inmates, though given that no such character definition appears in the film itself, I'm not sure exactly where that information was sourced from. To be honest, they initially appear to be a combination of the two definitions, a lively quintet of fun-loving lunatics who like to play-act a variety of tasks, including that of radio announcer. What's altogether more interesting is who they are played by, as it's veritable cornucopia of uncredited guest stars, specifically Charley Chase, Stan Laurel, Oliver Hardy, James Finlayson and Charlie Hall. And while this is going to definitely be a matter of taste, for me their idiotic capers proved considerably more amusing that the comic activities of the film's nominal star. It's thus a bit of a shame that their clowning is restricted to a few brief guest appearance scenes.

Anyway, back to the story. After their first prospective buyer is put off by the neighbours and the son's dozy honesty about why they want to move, a second man offers them a direct exchange of homes, no questions asked, and being a family of dopes in a comedy film, they immediately accept. The new house certainly looks nice enough in the picture they are given, but when their new neighbours remark to each other, "Look, some mug bought that jerry-built house at last!" there are no prizes for predicting what will happen next. Essentially, what unfolds is a string of variations on the same basic gag, as switches activate lights in different rooms, gas and water pipes have been interchanged, door knobs come away in the hand when twisted, and banisters and curtain rails collapse under the slightest pressure. It's an early incarnation of a routine that would prove ripe for recycling, and while often retrospectively familiar stuff, there are a few genuinely inventive gags here. My personal favourites feature kitchen linoleum whose pattern is wiped away when spilled water is mopped up, and a sequence when Papa uses a spirit level to check whether the floor is sloping, and the level itself slides across the floor and out of the room. There's also a late film scene when in which two groups of relatives show up for a housewarming party that includes a bit of possibly accidental social commentary that still resonates today, when both fathers angrily defend the violent behaviour of their brattish sons and furiously oppose any attempt by their victims to correct them. As a side note, this was filmed shortly after The Second 100 Years, which is why Stan and Ollie still have the buzzcuts they had to play prisoners in that film.

Influential and respected member of high society, J. Piedmont Mumblethunder (Oliver Hardy), is at the dockside to collect his nephew Philip (Stan Laurel), who has travelled to America from Scotland and whom he has never previously met. When the kilt-dressed Philip steps off the boat and gets into an altercation with the Ship's Doctor (Sam Lufkin), one that has everyone laughing at him, Piedmont fails to realise that this is his nephew and laughs along with the crowd, even remarking to a nearby man, "Imagine, somebody has to meet that!" He's thus not exactly overjoyed when Philip identifies himself and his uncle also becomes the target of mocking laughter. As they head into town, the sight of Philip in his kilt draws an increasingly large and highly amused crowd, and Piedmont finds himself dividing his time between putting a little distance between himself and his embarrassing nephew and preventing him from acting on his impulsive urge to chase after every pretty woman he sees.

Almost a century on from these silent comedies it's inevitable that some gags and even premises have aged a little oddly, and the idea that an entire town could have never seen or even heard of a kilt and be so amused by the sight of a man dressed in what they think is a skirt that they follow him everywhere and laugh at his every move seems genuinely peculiar and even a little cruel today. But there's more going on here than this premise might suggest, with a subtle inference is that Philip is assumed to be female by some (when they board a bus and Stan sits down next to a male passenger, the man tips his hat as he would to a woman) and is clearly thought by others to be Piedmont's effeminate male partner, particularly when Philip takes Piedmont's arm in the manner of a dutiful wife. It's still an impressive handled and well performed sequence that grows in scale as it progresses, much of it captured in lengthy but smoothly executed tracking shots by cameraman and later director of note, George Stevens. It also includes a gag in which Philip's kilt is blown up by the air from pavement vents, which in its odd way predates perhaps the most iconic image of Marilyn Monroe's film career, and concludes with the suggestion of faint-inducing genital exposure.

The title is drawn from a centrepiece scene in which Piedmont takes Philip to a tailor to have him fitted with trousers, or pants as they are known as across the pond (note to visiting Americans – do not ask women if they like your pants in the UK or you might get an outraged slap). This kicks off with an extended sequence of the Tailor (Harvey Clark) attempting to measure Stan's inside leg, which involves running the measure and his hand up inside of Stan's kilt, with each failed attempt triggering an autonomic response of resistance in the deeply embarrassed Philip. Eventually, this hopeless attempts to get him to cooperate descend into a wrestling match, culminating in Piedmont chasing Philip around and eventually securing the measurement by force out of sight of the camera. Philip emerges looking dishevelled and bearing the distressed and shamed expression of someone who has just been sexually assaulted – full marks to Stan here for what must rank as some of his best real acting in any film in this set.

Apparently, both Stan Laurel and Hal Roach regarded Putting Pants on Philip as the first real Laurel and Hardy comedy, but having watched all of the films in this collection in order, I'd say that moment had already passed by this point. Certainly here there's something of a throwback to Stan's earlier solo work, notably in the excited jump and scissor kick he performs every time he spots the same attractive woman (Dorothy Coburn). Yet despite their clash of characters here, there is still a strong sense of Stan and Ollie as a comedy team rather than two individual performers co-starring in the same movie, and the way forward is strikingly indicated in the final few minutes, where Piedmont's inflated opinion of his ability to charm the woman that Philip has been pursuing – all cheery smiles and exaggerated gestures – is sharply rebuffed, prompting Ollie to flash his beloved look of frustrated defeat at the camera. This is followed by what would become one of the duo's best-remembered gags, when Philip lays his kilt, Walter Raleigh-like, across a muddy patch for the woman to walk on, and the self-important Piedmont insists on stepping on it, only to drop down to his chest into a pit of muddy water and share his disbelief at what happened with a weary look into the camera. At this point, the Laurel and Hardy that we came to adore were almost fully formed.

More so than any of the other films in this set, here is where Stan and Ollie finalised the characters that would define their subsequent film career, as despite a second half that flirts with comedy cliché, all that's really missing here when compared to their later films is a synchronised soundtrack. The title is a reference to a 1926 title fight between heavyweight champion Jack Dempsey and underdog challenger Gene Tunney, which became known as the Long Count Fight after Tunney was knocked down but the count was repeatedly delayed because Dempsey would not return to a neutral corner as the rules required, events that are directly parodied in the opening scene. The boxers in question here are the brutish Thunderclap Callahan (Noah Young) and feeble-looking innocent Canvasback Clump (Stan Laurel), who misses an early opportunity to land a few blows while Callahan is having his glove laces tied after the round has started. Then, whilst practising the left hand punch recommended by his manager (Oliver Hardy), he accidentally knocks his opponent down, and it's here that we get the parody of the Long Count Fight, but when I first watched this scene knowing nothing of its historical source I was yelling at the screen for Stan to just do what he's told and win the fight by accidental knockout. Instead, again reflecting how things played out in the Dempsey-Tunney match, Stan's dithering gives Callahan the time he needs to get to his feet and win the fight, here knocking Stan out with such force it causes the watching Ollie to faint.

It's after Ollie comes round that the film is effectively put on unintentional pause, as despite the phenomenal efforts of various individuals and the restoration team, the next couple of lost scenes have never been recovered. The first of these is briefly represented by two still images and a couple of title cards, the essence of which is that Ollie is convinced to buy insurance against Stan getting hurt, an unlikely policy for a boxer of his unfortunate luck and build, and sold by a man who only someone as naïve as Ollie would ever be daft enough to put his trust in. When we return to the film proper, Ollie is attempting to cash in on this insurance policy by tossing a banana skin in Stan's path for him to slip on, only for him to just miss doing so every time that Ollie walks him past it. Instead it floors a policeman (Budd Fine), and then a delivery man (Charlie Hall) carrying a tray of cream pies. Can you guess where this is leading? Probably, but you may still be surprised by the sheer scale of what unfolds.

As I noted above, the characters of Stan and Ollie, or Mr. Laurel and Mr. Hardy if you please, are fully formed here, and what a joy it is to watch them work their comedy in the way that would launch them to international fame in the years to come. The first visible signs come before the match starts with Stan's vacant stare into the camera, seemingly oblivious of his surroundings or even why he's standing in a ring wearing boxing gloves and shorts. Ollie is initially more animated that his later norm, becoming so physically agitated at Stan's failure to follow simple instructions that at one point he comes close to throwing a stool into the ring at him. Once the two hit the streets it's a different story, with both dressed in suits their signature bowlers and playing off each other sublimely. Circumstances result in Stan handed the best opportunities for offbeat laughs, as when Ollie shifts the blame for dropping the banana peel to him, and the policeman it has floored responds by lifting Stan's hat and bopping him sharply on the head with his truncheon. Instead of immediately reacting or falling down, Stan stands in a state of bemusement before falling into sleepy unconsciousness without changing his position, then slowly wakes to realise that he is in considerable pain, to which he responds by bursting into tears.

And then there's the climactic pie fight, which Stan and director Clyde Bruckman decreed should be the biggest in movie history, and while it does eventually devolve into a chaotic free-for-all, it does so in a series of rapidly escalating steps that begin with a three people and single pie, escalating gradually as individuals are accidentally hit and join the fray, and steadily expanding to involve seemingly everybody in town. The cast here includes a few recognisable Hal Roach regulars, including Ellinor Vanderveer, Chester A. Bachman, Dorothy Coburn, Charley Young and Anita Garvin, and keep your eye out during the opening fight scene and you should be able to spot a young Lou Costello standing ringside to camera left of Ollie. The missing scenes may make it feel like two short films melded into one, but this gives extra oomph to a title that has a mocking twang when applied to the opening match, but is fully justified by the full-scale mayhem the consequence of losing it ultimately leads to. It's tremendous fun, and is of huge importance as the film in which all the stars finally aligned for the funniest and most inventive comedy duo in movie history.