Never save a woman from suicide; she'll end up ruining your life. That's the theme of this very adult entry in the Laurel and Hardy shorts series. And when that woman is Mae Busch, you know they are in trouble. She had already blackmailed Oliver in one short, and now she wants them to take care of her for interfering in her business. She's one of the biggest harpies to ever cross a man's path, this coming during an evening when the Hardy's and Laurel's were having a quiet evening together even though Mrs. Hardy didn't want them there. Loud and somewhat obnoxious, this is frenetic in it's actions, but the women characters are not at all sympathetic. There's a funny finale though that needed the perfect visual to go with it.

James W. Horne does what he does best as a director of Laurel and Hardy shorts with Come Clean, a spry comedic short, which is erect a story and short film on the opportunities that naturally arise from situational comedy. His directorial style, combined with H.M. Walker's writing, is often comprised of coming up with a ridiculous story and continuing to feed its inanity by seeing just how far one could take it. This results in a short that is more than just endless bouts of physical comedy with no real humor whatsoever, but a showcase of two charismatic comedy talents and a screen writing exercise that serves as a fulfilling laugh-riot.

Come Clean may not live up to Horne's other Laurel and Hardy shorts, like Big Business and Thicker Than Water, but there is still an incomparable amount of energy and liveliness within the screenplay and the characters. The short begins by Mr. and Mrs. Hardy wishing they could have a restful, quiet evening in their apartment, but are interrupted, per usual, by the well-meaning but troublemaking Mr. and Mrs. Laurel. After trying to refuse entry, the Hardy's give up and decide to let them in, to which Laurel replies by hanging with his old pal Hardy and the wives are left to mingle in the frontroom. When Laurel and Hardy decide to venture out to get ice cream, they wind up preventing a woman from committing suicide off a bridge, to which she is ungrateful and begins making threats to both men if they dare leave her company. What results is a manic evening between the two men and the shrewish woman, as they try to get back to their wives for a dinner, while preventing the woman from screaming whenever she is unsatisfied with what's happening.

This is the first Laurel and Hardy short I've encountered where little sense is made in regards to the short's narrative or its cause-and-effect relationship. Why would this woman try and commit suicide? Was it all just a ploy to get the attention of someone she could blackmail? Why are Laurel and Hardy's wives so bitter and shrewish themselves? Writer H.M. Walker doesn't concern himself with that information so much as he does try his best to quietly obscure details by making such a ridiculous and wild short film, one that operates with the one-thing-leads-to-another formula of early comedy filmmaking, without so much as clearing up why one thing leads to another.

It's all in the name of comedy, and in that spirit, Come Clean is pretty funny, especially during the last ten minutes of its nineteen-minute runtime, where, per usual, all hell breaks loose and Laurel and Hardy are left to their own thoughtful wits, as lackluster as those often are. Come Clean provides for fun and enjoyment, which is precisely what most of these shorts have been giving me, so far.

Starring: Stan Laurel and Olive Hardy. Directed by: James W. Horne.

Come Clean is one of Laurel & Hardy's domestic comedies in which they're each married. Here the boys must grapple with their perennial ethical dilemma: when they get into trouble, should they tell their wives the truth or try to bluff it out? Needless to say, they always try to bluff it out, which only makes matters worse. And man, do they get into trouble this time! The situation in Come Clean is decidedly darker than usual and surprisingly risqué, i.e. about as "Pre-Code" as anything the boys ever encountered. The plot involves a suicidal woman named Kate with a mysterious criminal past who punishes Stan & Ollie for saving her life, refusing to leave them in peace unless she's given money. Kate is portrayed by the formidable Mae Busch, who played a similar role as a blackmailing ex-girlfriend in the silent comedy Love 'Em and Weep and its talkie remake Chickens Come Home. She raised plenty of hell in those incarnations, but here she is a bundle of sheer malevolence. Kate is the middle-class husband's nightmare: a crazy gold-digger with nothing to lose. She responds to good will gestures with contempt, and threatens to scream the place down if she doesn't get her way. And Mae sure could scream!

Recently I saw this short comedy again for the first time in many years, and while it's not at the very top of my L&H's Greatest Hits list it's nice to report that Come Clean stands as one of their funniest domestic comedies. (And hey, how often is it that you watch a movie you haven't seen since grade school and still enjoy it?) In getting reacquainted with this film I realized I'd misremembered a major detail: in my memory Mae Busch's character was a prostitute, perhaps because of her Anna Christie-like outfit, her demeanor, and her demands for money, but in fact we never learn exactly what she does for a living or why the police are looking for her, or why they're offering such a generous reward for her capture. $1,000 was not small change in the depths of the Great Depression! Perhaps Kate is a gangster's moll, or maybe she's a crook who lost her ill-gotten gains somehow, but we never find out and have to fill in this gap on our own for the story to make any sense. In a way, however, Kate's past is irrelevant, because her true function here is to cause Stan and Ollie grief, and this she does with ruthless efficiency.

A bare plot outline for Come Clean would suggest it's a pretty grim excuse for a comedy, but actually the laughs begin almost immediately and seldom let up. The opening sequence is a reworking of a routine the guys first performed in their silent comedy Should Married Men Go Home?, but it works better with sound; this is the bit where Ollie and his wife hope to have a pleasant evening at home by themselves but are interrupted by the unexpected and unwelcome arrival of Mr. & Mrs. Laurel. The Hardys pretend to be out as the Laurels ring their buzzer, but give the game away when Stan slips a note halfway under the door and Ollie foolishly pulls it through while they're still watching. Oops! A lot of forced conviviality follows this faux pas, and when the boys go out to buy ice cream we observe that much of the humor (as in the best Laurel & Hardy comedies) comes not from elaborate gags or chases but in the little moments: just trying to exit the apartment, for instance, Stan & Ollie confound each other repeatedly. After that, the visit to the ice cream parlor is an exercise in confusion and barely-averted hostilities, due mainly to Stan's ineptitude but thanks in part to ice cream vendor Charlie Hall, an actor who must have been put on this earth to serve as a surly nemesis for our heroes.

Once Mae Busch's world-weary Kate has entered the picture, i.e. after the boys have rescued her from a watery grave, the situation turns scary for them and grimly funny for the viewer. When she learns the guys are married she knows instantly that their wives will jump to the obvious conclusion if they catch her lounging around the Hardys' boudoir, wearing one of Mrs. Hardy's negligees-- and she's quite right, of course. Kate insists on going home with them, forcing them to hide her from their wives. Ensconced in the master bedroom, Kate is in no mood to be quiet and when she blasts the radio the boys' attempts to drown out the noise cracked me up when I was a kid and did so again when I saw the film the other day. The ending feels quite abrupt, however, leaving those aforementioned unexplained plot points and suggesting that this two-reel comedy might have benefited from an additional reel. But even as it stands, Come Clean is a brisk, amusing and slightly naughty comedy with dark undertones, and a stark demonstration that no good deed goes unpunished in this world.