User Reviews

This may well be the definitive Lloyd Hamilton comedy. That's not to say that Move Along is the funniest or the wildest of Ham's surviving films, but it's the one that best conveys his screen persona: a Born Loser who tries to cope but is thwarted at every turn, a well-meaning guy trapped in a world full of hostile cops, grasping landladies, and passersby on the street who look at him and laugh for unknown reasons. Hamilton's work doesn't suit all tastes. There's a strong element of melancholy just under the surface—in fact, in this particular film the melancholia isn't hidden at all, it's right out in the open—but he was a droll performer who is a pleasure to watch, even when his screen alter ego suffers through one calamity after another. Hamilton had a rich comic imagination, and his films are full of clever gags that were often "borrowed" by other comedians subsequently, but his films can be surprisingly sad and disturbing for two-reel comedies. You laugh while watching this guy have the worst day of his life, over and over again.

Move Along begins with an introductory shot of our star that Harold Lloyd would rework in his talkie feature Movie Crazy in 1932: Ham (whose character name is Walter Rawleigh here, for some reason) appears to be riding in the back of a limo, chatting amiably with a prosperous-looking gent in a top hat, but a long shot reveals that he is riding alongside the limo in a humble horse-drawn cart. When the cart hits a bump he's dumped into a puddle. It's soon clear that Walter is broke and hungry, but he's no bum: when he sees that jobs are available at the employment office he quickly gets in line. When a young woman comes along who looks even more desperate than he is, however, Walter gallantly offers her his place in line, and thus assures that she will get work while he is left out in the cold. The young woman seems to be the only friendly person in the universe, and offers him sincere thanks for his sacrifice. But Walter can't pause to savor the moment, for a brutal cop keeps after him, clubbing him repeatedly and barking "Move on!"

No sooner does Walter return to his seedy apartment and flop on the bed but the landlady barges in and demands the rent. Told that he can't pay, she enlists the help of two burly men who roll Walter (still on his bed) outside and fling his meager belongings after him. Undaunted, Walter establishes a residence of sorts on the sidewalk, under the awning of a dry goods store that is closed for the night. When it begins to rain he manages to deal with that, and when the rain turns to snow he deals with that, too. Move Along turns increasingly surreal in this final section, as Walter sets up housekeeping in public with the girl from the employment office. The gags become cartoon-y as the atmosphere turns dreamlike, and we're not too surprised when Walter's reverie turns out to be a dream after all, rudely disrupted by that cop with his billy-club.

From this bare description the film may sound unrelentingly bleak. Thanks to Hamilton's fertile comic creativity there are steady laughs throughout, but there's no getting around the fact that the laughs punctuate a story that is harsh and depressing. This was the Lloyd Hamilton style, to find humor in the dark side of life, but I can see why he's not everyone's cup of tea. Ham was a comedian, but he was not a merry soul. It may be significant that, around the time Move Along was made, Hamilton's messy personal life was tipping out of control. He would soon get into serious difficulties that would precipitate a steep and irrevocable decline. This short was produced at the pinnacle of Hamilton's career, just prior to that downward slide, and stands as a testament to his talent and to his Sad Clown screen persona.

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.

When I was at school one of the hardest lessons to learn was that something that broke a rule "proved the rule!" Well, Move Along is a movie that breaks the rule I formulated for Educational Comedies, namely that they were neither educational nor comic. Move Along is funny. Very funny! It's filled with fast-moving and often ingenious gags, timed to perfection by master writer/director, Norman Taurog (who was later to win the 1931 Best Directing award for Skippy, defeating Josef von Sternberg, Clarence Brown, Lewis Milestone and Wesley Ruggles). In one brief snip, for instance, Ham stops a streetcar in order to tie his shoe-lace! Move Along could also be described as a whimsical, sad, heart-warming yet humorously off-beat little fantasy, in which Lloyd Hamilton and the rest of the cast really shine. Ham is absolutely first-rate. The way he walks, his expressions, his blind acceptance of a cruel world in which he is constantly forced by an officious cop to "move along", mark him out as a clown of power and genius if only handed the right script and given the right guidance from a sympathetic director. Here he projects a dignified pathos that reminds us of Chaplin, yet without C.C.'s excessive effervescence. Helen Foster too is just right for the girl of Ham's fantasy. The rest of the players-even the fast extras who prevent our hero from making use of the pavement garbage tin-are, as said, perfect! AVAILABLE on DVD through Grapevine (included as an extra with Larry Semon's The Perfect Clown). Quality rating: 7 out of 10.