Of all the tragedy that dominated the personal life of comedian Lloyd Hamilton, the loss of his films is considered the most fatal. It is assumed that only about one fifth of his solo work of the 1920's alone (after he split up with comic partner Bud Duncan) exists today. That being said, there is hope even for a haunted soul. We should be grateful that MOVE ALONG is among the survivors, even though what this film really does is to emphasize all the joy that is lost forever.
In contrast to certain other Ham-comedies from the same period, this film is neatly structured with a coherent story. The premise is as simple as it should be in a two-reel comedy: our unlucky hero is thrown out of a boarding house, and his determination to get himself a meal and a place to sleep is put in jeopardy by the orders of a district cop to "move on." It never fails to fascinate me how some silent comedians were able to milk the most enjoyable material out of the roughest of ideas; a comedy about adventures in Klondike or the Civil War is great, but in this film Hamilton confirms that there is no need for thrilling backups as long as the performer is competent enough. Thanks to his heartfelt portrayal of a lost soul, whose inventive mind is endlessly terrorized by mere fate, even the gags we've seen before seem fresh and provide original, unpredicted twists. The gag which is most often referred to has Ham wanting to do as simple a thing as tying his shoe-laces (this must be in the morning, as he'd probably not have bothered to care about such a matter had he known what mishaps would follow later on through the day). At first he places his foot on a garbage can, which is hastily removed by a litter man. So simple, but so well executed. It's not just an embarrassing situation for Ham; the people around him act so indifferently to him, really as if he does not exist, that one can feel the pain he must be hiding beneath the cap. After many more attempts, he finally solves the problem by giving signal to a streetcar to stop, using its door step for his mission.
The second half is mildly surrealistic, in a gentle way; another reviewer said "dreamy." Ham's bad luck seems to shift direction when he is united with a hungry girl. It begins to snow, and they use the opportunity to build an igloo in the middle of the street. They have no food and the coffee friezes into ice after seconds, but such circumstances suddenly appear romantic in the company of a girl. As Ham has no food to offer, he takes advantage of a rose which he persuades the girl to eat with him, leaf by leaf. Chaplin's famous scene from THE GOLD RUSH in which the starving Tramp eats his own boot comes to mind (in contrast to Chaplin, however, Ham doesn't appear as genuinely enthusiastic about his choice of food). A boot was the best (that is, worst) thing Charlie could eat on his trip in the mountains, and the bit is even more hilarious because of it. In a similar way, a rose suits Hamilton's situation perfectly if we are to take his romantic interest in the girl seriously. It's not as out-ragingly funny as a boot, but very, very sweet.
Sweetness is not typical for Lloyd Hamilton's characteristic dark humor, and it is thus evident that the girl and everything around her, except the mishaps that led up to their "meeting," is a dream. Once again, the man with the duck-walk is ordered to "move on." He's thrown back to his starting point, except that he now possesses a dream of a better life; a dream which he, in contrast to Chaplin's Tramp, can't believe in, and neither can we. The same inventive mind, but without the sparkle of energy and enthusiasm.
I'm sure Lloyd Hamilton made other films just as or even more enjoyable than this one, but MOVE ALONG stands as probably my favorite film of his that I've yet seen (and it's doubtful that I'll see many more than I already have). If you appreciate clever, charming and somewhat "dreamy" silent two-reelers, you might like this one. If you appreciate dark humor, you might like Lloyd Hamilton.
In contrast to certain other Ham-comedies from the same period, this film is neatly structured with a coherent story. The premise is as simple as it should be in a two-reel comedy: our unlucky hero is thrown out of a boarding house, and his determination to get himself a meal and a place to sleep is put in jeopardy by the orders of a district cop to "move on." It never fails to fascinate me how some silent comedians were able to milk the most enjoyable material out of the roughest of ideas; a comedy about adventures in Klondike or the Civil War is great, but in this film Hamilton confirms that there is no need for thrilling backups as long as the performer is competent enough. Thanks to his heartfelt portrayal of a lost soul, whose inventive mind is endlessly terrorized by mere fate, even the gags we've seen before seem fresh and provide original, unpredicted twists. The gag which is most often referred to has Ham wanting to do as simple a thing as tying his shoe-laces (this must be in the morning, as he'd probably not have bothered to care about such a matter had he known what mishaps would follow later on through the day). At first he places his foot on a garbage can, which is hastily removed by a litter man. So simple, but so well executed. It's not just an embarrassing situation for Ham; the people around him act so indifferently to him, really as if he does not exist, that one can feel the pain he must be hiding beneath the cap. After many more attempts, he finally solves the problem by giving signal to a streetcar to stop, using its door step for his mission.
The second half is mildly surrealistic, in a gentle way; another reviewer said "dreamy." Ham's bad luck seems to shift direction when he is united with a hungry girl. It begins to snow, and they use the opportunity to build an igloo in the middle of the street. They have no food and the coffee friezes into ice after seconds, but such circumstances suddenly appear romantic in the company of a girl. As Ham has no food to offer, he takes advantage of a rose which he persuades the girl to eat with him, leaf by leaf. Chaplin's famous scene from THE GOLD RUSH in which the starving Tramp eats his own boot comes to mind (in contrast to Chaplin, however, Ham doesn't appear as genuinely enthusiastic about his choice of food). A boot was the best (that is, worst) thing Charlie could eat on his trip in the mountains, and the bit is even more hilarious because of it. In a similar way, a rose suits Hamilton's situation perfectly if we are to take his romantic interest in the girl seriously. It's not as out-ragingly funny as a boot, but very, very sweet.
Sweetness is not typical for Lloyd Hamilton's characteristic dark humor, and it is thus evident that the girl and everything around her, except the mishaps that led up to their "meeting," is a dream. Once again, the man with the duck-walk is ordered to "move on." He's thrown back to his starting point, except that he now possesses a dream of a better life; a dream which he, in contrast to Chaplin's Tramp, can't believe in, and neither can we. The same inventive mind, but without the sparkle of energy and enthusiasm.
I'm sure Lloyd Hamilton made other films just as or even more enjoyable than this one, but MOVE ALONG stands as probably my favorite film of his that I've yet seen (and it's doubtful that I'll see many more than I already have). If you appreciate clever, charming and somewhat "dreamy" silent two-reelers, you might like this one. If you appreciate dark humor, you might like Lloyd Hamilton.