I admit bregrudgingly that part of this blog's purpose is to highlight the underrated works in Madonna's ouevre. Why "begrudgingly," you ask? One, it's a fun word. Two, I do such a good job trashing this woman. It's almost a letdown to acknowledge that I, er, devote much of my unsteady income to Madonna for a reason. Face it, you're disappointed.
Let's reestablish some givens right now: While I jest about Madonna's vascillating taste level and borderline-retardation, she's also -- in my humble, fascinating, correct opinion -- one of the few artists interesting enough to deserve lengthy scrutiny. She stands as the first artist to hone superstardom as its own artform. She's easily the best music video artist of all time. She's probably the fourth best gay man of all time. That said, many critics define Madonna's legacy only by her exploration of sexual politics, and that... sort of sucks. Especially when she made excellent music videos like "What It Feels Like for a Girl" that intentionally eschew overt sexuality.
In 2001, Madonna had a marriage with film director Guy Ritchie to defend, so she quickly embarrassed everyone and decided to collaborate with Ritchie on a movie. Their labor of love, a staggering shit-fortress called Swept Away, earned almost enough money to pay off Lourdes' eyebrow sculptor for a week. I said almost. Queerly enough, before Swept Away prompted Madonna to give up acting forever (fingers crossed), she and Guy collaborated successfully on her 2001 music video "What It Feels Like for a Girl," which was banned after only airing once on MTV.
Life's greatest journalist, Kurt Loder, broke the news during a 2 a.m. MTV news update that "WIFLFAG" wouldn't play in regular rotation. Those of us lucky to catch that announcement viewed the video the next night, and unless you were my professionally prude mother, you pretty much dug it.
This time, Madonna "plays" a stoic, guiltless woman decked in smoking-gun tattoos and tight, trenchy clothes. It's a hardcore redux of the pinstriped pantsuit from "Express Yourself," which garners applause from this fag.
Ever the environmentalist, Madonna mans the wheel of her Lamborghini (or something, don't fucking ask me) for a spin, and Guy Ritchie aims for subtlety by flashing the car's license plates, which say "PUSSY" on the front and "CAT" on the back. Do you see, world? She is a REBEL whore now. And that's two grades above the run-of-the-mill whore she usually is, 'kay?
In the car, Madonna remains expressionless and points her gloved hand out the window like a gun. Alright, we get it, Madge, you're pissed. We understand this video isn't the triple-perky sequel to "Cherish." I don't anticipate mermaids coming into the picture.
Our possessed heroine then stops by a nursing home, which is honestly called "Ol Kuntz Guest Home." Again, the theme today is subtlety. During Madonna's trip to "Ol Kuntz," she doesn't run into Leona Helmsley or Janice Dickinson, but she does find a kindly nonagenarian lady who occupies her time with jigsaw puzzles. But what to do with her? Steal her for a joyride in the Pussy-Cat roadster, obvi LOL!
Yeah, then the real "controversial" shit begins. As the daylight winds into night, Madonna and her elderly companion proceed to collide into a car full of alpha males at a stoplight, tase a bro at an ATM, steal wads of money, and befuddle a duo of police officers. No telling yet whether this video is just lifting episodes from the life story of Dana Plato.
It's important to realize that Madonna's character lashes out only at males. After mugging the man at the ATM, Madonna stuffs his money in the apron of a waitress at a drive-thru. You see, there is a little thing in life called oppression, and Madonna believes that women sometimes endure it. HARDY-HAR. If you liked that folk tale, Brer Rabbit's got a whole batch of others for you.
Anyway, after ramming her yellow speedster into a dreadfully unprepared cluster of street-hockey players, Madonna pulls up to a gas station and spots a cute red muscle-car with a thunderbird print on the hood, looking cuter than David Banda in a pit full of puppies. She must steal it. So she does! Gasoline spills everywhere, Zoolander is inspired, everything blows up behind her, and Madonna's off for the final act.
The last minute of the video flashes by in quick edits -- including frames of Madonna's fake IDs from multiple states, a tattoo on her neck that reads "LOVED," and speedy clips of bruises on both Madonna's body and the old lady's (Oh yeah, she's still in the car.) And then, as the hurtling trance music culminates, Madonna and her companion crash head on into a pole, and in slow motion we watch the car's red hood and windows shatter. A blazing suicide. Cute!
Also important: The last few seconds of the video provide a necessary parallel between Madonna and the old kunt. We see them strapping on bustiers, leg braces and other "confining" apparatus. The point being, both women find themselves bound; Madonna's the one lashing out, while the granny was letting it kill her. AND BETTY FRIEDAN CRIED.
What's special about this video's garish nature is that it gives way to a pretty well-executed message. None of this feels heavy-handed. And Madonna, for the first time in several centuries, gives a convincing performance. I mean, I wish the video didn't resemble that car commercial Ritchie directed (also starring Madonna), but, uh, this isn't bad stuff. You kind of don't stink right now, Madonna, and I don't know how I feel about it.
Oh-effing-wait. That bitch just dedicated her performance of "Like a Virgin" to the Pope. You see that sidebar at the top of the page? DID I NOT CALL THIS SHIT? P.S. You know Benedict XVI is more a Bedtime Stories homo, anyway.
2 comments:
i read your review first, and then ended up liking the video way more than i thought i would. i can't believe i had never seen this before!
we had a class at depaul called "deconstructing the diva." lots of madonna talk (and how the diva must die). i would say you would have been the star of that class, but i think you'd have died and gone to diva heaven after the first day.
Um, this "Deconstructing the Diva" class... was I secretly its inventor? Because that sounds right up my rainbow-streaked alley.
Also, I know, this vid's kinda-almost-decent-and-not-necessarily-a-whore-demonstration, amirite? By the way, STILL laughing at your blog's recent stoner entry. STILLY.
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