The Glenroy Brothers, one a neatly attired athletic type, the other a tramp, have at each other like giddy boys; on the stage this is merely Vaudeville, but inside the Kinetoscope they, like Annabelle and her
Serpentine Dances, become children. The tramp especially gets to flop around like a rag doll, at one point cartwheeling his way to the left, then lifting his opponent by sliding his head under the other's arm. But even the athletic type cheerfully regresses, batting at his silly brother ineffectually while the other expends a great deal of energy to inflict no harm at all. Children themselves can be like puppies as they tumble—and sometimes someone is hurt, an all-but-imagined bruise, small but tearful. But no one lays lasting blame, and the tears subside, and they continue. So I put in another coin and renew the match, and the Brothers once more forgive each other their footloose cuffs and scrapes and tumble on.
The Glenroy Brothers, one a neatly attired athletic type, the other a tramp, have at each other like giddy boys; on the stage this is merely Vaudeville, but inside the Kinetoscope they, like Annabelle and her Serpentine Dances, become children. The tramp especially gets to flop around like a rag doll, at one point cartwheeling his way to the left, then lifting his opponent by sliding his head under the other's arm. But even the athletic type cheerfully regresses, batting at his silly brother ineffectually while the other expends a great deal of energy to inflict no harm at all. Children themselves can be like puppies as they tumble—and sometimes someone is hurt, an all-but-imagined bruise, small but tearful. But no one lays lasting blame, and the tears subside, and they continue. So I put in another coin and renew the match, and the Brothers once more forgive each other their footloose cuffs and scrapes and tumble on.
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