Nausea and confusion, in equal doses, for a big ocean liner stuffed with the proverbial "huddled masses yearning to breathe free." Charlie Chaplin's Tramp is among that impoverished lot, prancing absent-mindedly around the ship while his companions get sick, pick each other's pockets and gamble.

The teetering camera angles, exaggerated to drive home the sickly motion of a sea voyage (and to reinforce Chaplin's silly drunken walks) make this first half rather tough to watch. Too convincing, I guess, because I also felt a little ill. The second scene, a wacky series of bits and gags set in a scrappy New York diner, is more visually appealing, and right in the star's comfort zone. He makes friends with a bashful young beauty, crosses paths with a vaudevillian bruiser (an impatient waiter, played by frequent costar Eric Campbell) and narrowly dodges all manner of near-disaster in his usual charming, creative ways.

Chaplin's hit rate is a bit lower than usual in this outing; a few great laughs resonate (most memorably, his dining scene with a big bowl of baked beans) but those are greatly outnumbered by the bits that merely amuse or fall short. And, given its two-reel length, I'm surprised at how often the plot drags. It's got sparks, but not as much fire as the Little Tramp's best.