As someone who grew up watching Laurel and Hardy films, I have to confess I was going into “Stan & Ollie” a bit biased.

Steve Coogan and John C. Reilly are proven comedic talents, and much like Val Kilmer as Jim Morrison in Oliver Stone’s “The Doors,” they don’t merely play Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy so much as they become the duo on-screen.

I’ve already gone on record opposing mimicry posing as acting in my review of Christian Bale’s performance as Dick Cheney in “Vice.” But Coogan and Reilly clearly connect on an emotional level with the real-life comedians they’re playing.

Coogan, creator of the rich Alan Partridge comic character, portrays the offstage Laurel as a deeply cerebral scriptwriter who invests a great deal of intelligence in orchestrating seemingly improvised and silly physical comedy.

And Reilly, veteran of virtually countless pairings with the more highly billed Will Ferrell, likewise lends a lived-in authenticity to his depiction of Oliver Hardy as a hard-working performer who’s growing weary of their partnership.

The story itself is standard biopic fare, acknowledging Hardy’s health troubles and gambling addiction, and focusing on Laurel’s failed attempts to orchestrate a comeback movie for the duo.

Their obligatory big blowup stems from Laurel’s lingering resentment over Hardy having taken on another onscreen partner years before, when Laurel left producer Hal Roach and Hardy did not.

The film is set during the duo’s two-year tour of Europe from 1952-54, which would be their final live performances. It’s hard not to feel sympathy for them, as they face small theaters with empty seats, all while banner ads for that era’s new comedy duo, Abbott and Costello, indicate how audiences’ tastes had changed.

But their real-life triumph is captured when they sell out the Lyceum Theatre in London, and are greeted in Ireland by church bells playing their theme song, “Dance of the Cuckoos.”

We even get a comic bonus when Stan and Ollie interact with their wives — petite yet assertive Lucille Hardy (Shirley Henderson) and tactlessly brusque Russian Ida Kitaeva Laurel (Nina Arianda) — who generate plenty of laughs with their own odd-couple rhythm.

This is by no means a deep or revelatory biography, but it’s a sweet tribute to two guys who were as much comedic pioneers as Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. Not only is it nice to spend time with them again, but it’s heartening to see how their careers ended on a high note.

Stick around for the credits to see the real-life Laurel and Hardy strut their stuff in scenes that made the extras in their films visibly crack up while the cameras were still rolling.