This is a first rate Laurel & Hardy comedy, a near perfect example of what they do best. I've long considered it one of their most enjoyable silent films and, for that matter, one of the best short comedies they ever made. The story follows a basic three-act structure, solidly constructed yet loose enough to allow for plenty of gags along the way. It builds steadily from the opening sequence to the wild climax, all beautifully photographed. (Ahhh, the sunny streets of Culver City!) You're Darn Tootin' is one of only two L&H comedies directed by their frequent co-star Edgar Kennedy (the other is From Soup to Nuts), and based on the results in both cases it's too bad Kennedy didn't direct Laurel & Hardy more often, as he demonstrated a real flair for their brand of comedy. The boys themselves -- who still look pretty boyish at this early stage of their career -- responded well to his direction, likely because they'd worked harmoniously as fellow performers.
Here Stan and Ollie play a pair of hapless musicians whose professional status declines sharply in the course of one disastrous day. We begin with a band concert in a public park that starts placidly but turns rowdy; we proceed to a quieter albeit amusing mid-section at the boys' boarding house, where they're behind on paying their rent; and we conclude with a grand finale of contagious shin-kicking, pants- ripping, and other harrowing acts of civic chaos, all topped with a memorable sight gag as the pay-off. The opening scene at the park is so methodically timed and builds so rhythmically you can practically hear the music, even when watching a mute print. (In the 1960s the sequence was given a nicely synchronized musical track by Robert Youngson for his compilation The Further Perils of Laurel & Hardy.) For me, the best moments often can be found in the smaller gestures rather than in the vistas of full-scale mayhem. Watch the guys' faces during the medium two-shot at the boarding house dinner table, all filmed in a single take, when Stan takes the tops off the salt and pepper shakers, uses each condiment on his soup, and then fails to replace the tops properly. Ollie falls victim to this maneuver not once but twice, first dumping too much salt into his soup and then too much pepper. We know what's coming, but somehow our anticipation of this little disaster translates into amusement. And they make it look so natural! We're amazed when Buster Keaton blithely crashes a bicycle and sails over the handlebars, but with Laurel & Hardy it's the nuances that score the biggest laughs. Nuances, such as the play of Ollie's fingers as he delicately breaks the crackers into his soup, soup that we know is about to be ruined because he's not paying attention as Stan takes the top off the pepper shaker. Ollie takes such pleasure in breaking up those crackers it borders on heart-wrenching, and he looks so crushed when his soup gets ruined, but even so, we laugh.
Everything comes to a head in the unforgettable finale, when the boys try to make a go of it as street buskers. Needless to say, they fail. And then argue, and manage to draw an alarming number of passersby into their violent quarrel. We find once again that it doesn't take much to start a major riot in Culver City. On some level I suppose I enjoy these "total warfare" sequences because they use slapstick to cheerfully confirm our worst suspicion about humanity: i.e. that just under the veneer of civilized behavior, whether disguised in the natty suits and snap-brim hats of the 1920s or the clothes of today, we're quite ready to drop all pretense of civility and clobber each other for the most stupid reasons imaginable, or for no reason at all. That's what I love about the comedy of Laurel & Hardy: their films represent society as we know it, exaggerated only slightly. Which, when you think about it, is kind of appalling.
