Children of the Porn: Pitbull – “I Know You Want Me (Calle Ocho)”

Fair Warning: This is a Pitbull video, after all, so it’s fundamentally understood that we are going to be presented with a series of hot women tripping over themselves in their burning yearning to make love to Pitbull. That’s just how it works with him. Somewhere along the line, probably about the same time that his parents failed to properly rear their child, Pitbull reached the misogynistic conclusion that every hoo-hoo on the planet was automatically within his Eminent Domain.

But in the interest of fairness, we shouldn’t automatically assume that the buxom beauties parading around in this video are unworthy of our empathy and compassion. After all, they have managed to appear in a music video, albeit without proper clothing, and this is an admirable accomplishment that admittedly surpasses the achievements of their high school friends who were satisfied with becoming a cheerleader and then becoming pregnant during the Homecoming game, symbolic of America as that may be.

So let’s shove Mr. Bull aside for a moment, as many actual singers would like to do, and let’s try to focus on the backstories of the cavalcade of misguided women who are ill-advisedly flashing their wares in the hopes that Mr. Bull will remember their names in the morning. Perhaps we can find the inner beauty and personal motivation for each of these lovely ladies? It is our moral duty to seek such, and therefore we must hack our way through the Libido Jungle in the hopes of salvaging at least one soul.

First we have a woman in a green and gold cheerleader outfit-thingy with yellow high heels. She’s apparently proud of Brasil and she wants to dance about her patriotism. This tribute includes running her fingers through her long hair and making seductive faces. She also has the ability to clone herself at random, a surprising development that might end up with her on a terrorist watch list at some point, but for now we’ll assume that this is just symbolic of her fertility.

Insert Pitbull showing that he can count, looking all gangsta. If you’ve ever seen a picture of Pitbull, then you’ve already seen the one look he is able to muster for the camera, and there’s really no need to go into any detail.

The cheerleader is back and she’s making out with the Brazilian flag. (She loves her country!) In America, there are certain things one should not do with the national flag. Apparently the guidelines are a bit looser in Brazil. As for the cheerleader angle, it seems that both countries send their blossoming sports enthusiasts to the same school, where they are taught that everything can be sexualized in some way, and if you have a belly button you might as well show it to everyone even if they didn’t ask to see it.

Then we have another woman in what appears to be a black-leather airline pilot uniform. Her dance seems to indicate that when she grows up, she would like to help people fly around the world to see their loved ones. She is able to count as well, flicking her digits to the rhythm of the song, but she seems a bit surly about it, so she might not be as nice as her interpretive dance initially indicated. You probably don’t want this particular flight attendant caring for your needs in transit, especially if you are sitting in Economy. She’s never going to bring you that vodka and tonic you ordered an hour ago.

There are brief glimpses of a woman in some black spandex clingy outfit. We don’t really see enough of her to fully understand her aspirations in life, but she can wiggle her hips and pout her lips. I’m thinking there are a few careers where she can utilize those talents without any fear of retribution, so I’m sure she’ll be fine with the career decisions she makes during her brief sober moments.

We also get a few shots of a woman in what I believe is called a “baby doll” dress. It probably has a fancier name. She doesn’t seem really invested in being in this video, since she’s not smiling or anything. She’s possibly been assigned the “hard to get” role in the script (as if such a thing existed, I realize I’m being overly generous), but she just looks bored, like she’s tired of men objectifying her as she twirls around in a flimsy negligee and licks her lips.

Oh, look, they just did a tribute to the “Brady Bunch” with the hot women stacked in boxes like the opening of the TV show. That’s cute. This probably represents the online menu that Pitbull uses each night as he selects a playmate, a menu that he wouldn’t have the password for if he hadn’t been in the right place at the right time and he mystifyingly exploded on social media, like the Kardashians or The Tea Party.

Then we have more shots of Pitbull acting all street, counting with fingers that have been places you don’t want to know about, messing with a video camera, and allowing the hot women to touch him in suggestive ways while he stands there and looks disinterested. Because nothing says “attractive” like a man who thinks the mere ownership of a penis gives him godlike status and a platinum upgrade on American Airlines.

Now we have a montage of so many women, I can’t even begin to profile them. They are mostly posing seductively in various states of undress, making sure we understand that they have ample breasts. Duly noted. But for the record, how many Silicone Trees had to die for you to be so anatomically perky?

Then there’s a woman in what I believe is a tinfoil two-piece bathing suit. She seems to be proud of several things. She can move her hips while disappearing off the top of the video, she has a tattoo leading into her butt crack, and she is able to face different directions and still maintain her balance. Other than that, she seems to have no purpose whatsoever. If you squint your eyes just right, she looks exactly like Sarah Palin.

And now we have some biker chicks who really love their big machines. Twelve years of publicly-funded education, and all they got out of it was that when the director hollers “Action!” they should immediately begin to undulate whilst straddling a fume-belching contraption that is destroying the atmosphere. (Did somebody say Ted Cruz?)

Next up, we have several scenes that are beautifully done, helping us understand that Pitbull greatly enjoys three-way sexual encounters. (With women, of course. There’s not another man in this entire video, just tons of busty women that could probably raise the Titanic with all the hydraulics they’ve got going on.)

Warning: Right about two and a half minutes in, a giant breast pokes in from the right side of the screen. It’s somewhat alarming and unexpected, so I thought I’d warn you. I wasn’t emotionally prepared for this development, and it’s my duty as a citizen to point out the emergency exits on this impending train wreck before we reach the moment when cleavage takes its toll.

Luckily, if you’ve survived this far, there are only a few soul-dimming moments left in the video. We have more counting, more confirmations that three-ways (only with females!) are greatly desired by bilingual rappers who shave their heads, and a jarring array of certain women who will do anything to get their two seconds of fame. (That one girl in the inexplicable scene where she is really slicked-up like a lubrication test at a motor-oil laboratory went terribly awry? I hope she understands that she needs to stay away from open flames.)

And the song finally fades away with more dancing, more women realizing their short-sighted dreams, more limited counting (Does anyone in this video realize that there are numbers higher than four?) , and tons of buoyant anatomy saluting the manliness of Pitbull.

But really, folks, if you were just looking for an instructional video to teach your children the joys of counting, stick with “Sesame Street”. Your little urchins will be better off, there’s a lesser chance that they will eventually have a starring role in a police line-up, and a better chance that decent people on airplanes will get served their vodka by a flight attendant who actually cares.

Now, if I can just get that annoying “blah blah blah blah-blah PING” noise out of my head…

 

Click here to watch this video on YouTube.

Originally published on 12/02/19, revised and updated with extra flair for this post.

 

Bobbing for Apples in the Chapel of Love: The Killers – “Mr. Brightside”

We start off with the band onstage in what looks like a cross between a fancy nightclub, a Chinese Buffet and a bordello. There are lots of people off to one side, lounging around in the V.I.P. area of the buffet, with the women all dressed like unfocused hookers. (So much for not objectifying women, eh? Oh wait, just look at the album cover.) There’s one woman in particular that we are supposed to pay attention to, because the camera keeps doing so. She’s got pale-white, baby-doll skin and enough frizzy white hair to fuel Amsterdam for a month.

Hold up, was that Eric Roberts sitting in a throne-like chair and wearing a bathrobe? That can’t be good.

Lead singer Brandon finally starts singing, and he makes sure that we can see his snazzy threads, a mix of Willy Wonka and David Bowie going to church. Then we have another shot of Eric, and a shot of Frizzy Hair looking bored because she doesn’t have a gentleman that she can straddle while all of her little slut friends do such. Suddenly, Eric throws her an apple, which she happily snatches out of the air with uncontrolled lust.

Frizzy is now inspired to start pawing on a few of the gentleman callers, which in turn inspires her little slut friends to up the ante with their provocative poses and thigh-exposure. It’s suddenly very hot in there as people yearn and stretch and wiggle their tongues. Brandon keeps singing about not wanting to see all this mess, but it doesn’t stop him from looking. He might have some unresolved personal demons.

Eric throws another apple at Frizzy (did he bring a basket of them?), since she apparently isn’t being trashy enough. Frizzy gets back to work with her latching on to old men while Eric sweats and smiles. (Like he’s not creepy enough when he’s dry.) I’m just guessing here, but there appears to be an overall vibe that Brandon is not impressed with Frizzy humping everything in sight. Why he’s not impressed is unclear, what with this being a vintage bordello and all, but perhaps Brandon misunderstood the mechanics of an establishment where rich men plunk down disposable income with the intent of sub-leasing an orifice or two.

Oh wait, Frizzy and Brandon have now run behind a convenient curtain, and they seem to have reunited and it feels so good, so I don’t know why Brandon is still even singing this song. Hmm. We’ll have to figure that out later because, based on some signal that I must have missed, all the slut girls dismount from their aging partners and head out to the dance floor.

Once there, the harlots start doing some choreography that mostly involves twirling without letting their massive hairdos unravel or their body paint to start flaking off in a rude manner. (Patrons of Red-Light Emporiums generally do not care for airborne effluvia, unless they purchased the “Jazz Hands” package.) Whoops, the Ladies of the Evening just lifted their tawdry dresses so we can see their barely-clad crotches. Then they do the same with their hind quarters. Apparently you don’t really have any status in this place unless you advertise your accessibility.

We get a quick shot of the patiently-waiting but as yet unattended gentleman callers in the V.I.P. lounge, with their angst at not being immediately serviced clearly evident. (Most of these men are old and decaying, which would explain the Hesitance of the Harlots, but there is one dewy youngster among the waiting cavalcade. He looks exactly like LeAnn Rimes, which is perhaps the oddest thing about this odd video.)

Anyway, while the Slut Dancers finish up waving their love boxes, we cut to an outside balcony where Brandon hooks up with Frizzy again. They clench hands romantically for 3 seconds, and then Frizzy runs back inside and hops on Eric’s lap. Frizzy really needs to make up her mind. To be fair, maybe she can’t see with all that hair, so she’s sleeping with everybody just to make sure she gets around to her real boyfriend at some point.

Well, it seems Frizzy can’t keep her eyes off Brandon even while she’s riding Eric, a distracting element that Eric really can’t ignore, so he throws her to the ground in a rather dramatic dismount. (Don’t worry, her hair cushioned her fall and she’s just fine.) The director throws in a pointless montage of debauchery to lengthen the running time of the video, but a few scenes later we have Frizzy meeting up with Brandon in yet another secluded area of this apparently mammoth bordello. They fondle each other with unregulated (and unpaid for) lust, possibly rekindling whatever fire they once had, but we have some serious trust issues with Frizzy and her wantonness. There are still a few men hanging around that she hasn’t sampled.

And there she goes, snagging up yet another beau so they can do a sexual tango in some ballroom, which quickly morphs into Frizzy and Brandon dancing, then back to Frizzy and Alejandro, then Frizzy and Eric, then back to… oh, who cares. Lots of people are dancing, that’s all you really need to know.

The Waltz of the Multiple Personalities goes on for a bit, with absolutely no resolution so I’m not sure what the point was, then we’re once again on that outside balcony, where it’s now daylight and Brandon is clutching Frizzy, who has managed to find another outfit, probably borrowed from that odd LeAnn Rimes boygirl.

Aw hell, here come the Slut Dancers again, hooking it out to the dance floor even though you know they’ve got to be tired by now. This time they are even more invested in showing us their personal jewelry collections and flashing their underwear at the Peanut Gallery. Some of them even hold one foot over their heads while belching the words of the chorus with their hoo-hoos. It’s really inspiring.

Cut to Eric and Brandon playing chess, because that’s exactly what I would do in the middle of a Chinese Bordello Buffet. I guess Brandon’s not a really good sport, because when he realizes that he’s going to lose he knocks the table over and stomps away in a little snit, while Eric licks his lips and sweats some more.

We end the song with a whirl of images. We have gauzy scenes of a couple getting married but we really can’t see their faces. (If any of the guys are marrying any of the girls up in this place, they better get a pre-nup.) Shots of Brandon and Frizzy having a tender moment, even though we know she’s only resting before she couples with the next man who walks into the place, even if he just needs directions to Wal-Mart. She’ll offer him the bonus plan.

Final shot is of Brandon walking away and leaving little Frizzy, bereft and all alone with just her raging libido and insatiable hair to keep her company. Poor thing. Oh wait, someone else just came through the door. Yay!

 

Click here to watch this video on YouTube.

Originally published on 02/08/11, revised and updated with extra flair for this post.

 

I Kissed a Zebra and I Liked It: Katy Perry – “Hot N Cold”

We find ourselves at a church wedding, where Katy is about to get married to someone that we have never seen before, so our investment is minimal at this point. (For the record, her near-future spouse appears to be about 12 years old, so there might be some issues here that have been swept under the anointed rug.) The music hasn’t started yet, so we’re not yet sure if this is supposed to be an artsy sequence or if someone forgot to turn the sound on. But one of the bridesmaids is a drag queen, so I’m thinking things will perk up in a bit.

Looking innocent and glowing, Katie and her mascara-doused eyes say “I do”. Then it’s time for her beau (whose name is Alexander, which is probably the least important detail in the whole story) to make his own commitment. Alexander and his adolescent skin pause for a very long time, eyes furtive and throat gulping. (We get reaction shots of concerned people around the church, eyebrows raised and mouths gaping. Even the little flower girl is looking at him like, dude, we just practiced this last night, before all the big people got drunk while I had to go stay with my one aunt who has too many cats.)

When it becomes clear that he’s having second thoughts (which might be the first time that he’s ever had more than one thought), the music finally kicks in and the whole church starts to boogie as Katy launches into her accusatory song. (This is a perfect reflection of the modern generation, turning an uncomfortable moment into yet another opportunity to perform a line dance instead of working through the problem.) Katy, who should be emotionally devastated, has no problem dissing the scumbag who was her true beloved just two minutes ago, warbling and hand-gesturing her way through the first part of the song.

As we get to the chorus, Alexander-Boy makes a break for it and runs down the aisle, not so much that he’s afraid of Katy but more that he wants to get away from old people trying to break dance. Since Katy clearly isn’t finished with her song, she has no choice but to chase after him, dashing out the front door of the church in her oddly-athletic wedding dress and running down the sidewalk. Since this is Hollywood, where ill-advised marriage ceremonies take place all the time, the pedestrians on the street ignore the commotion and keep searching for the sushi restaurant which promises to be trendy for at least two more days.

As Katy and the giant bow she is wearing clatters along behind him, Alexander rounds a corner and slams into a man dressed as a hot dog. I don’t know what message was intended by this little mishap, but I’m glad it happened. People dressed as food are creepy, and they should be knocked to the ground whenever possible. (Two wafer-thin D-list actresses attempt to assist the Downed Dog in his predicament, which is probably not the first time they’ve handled a strange wiener on a public thoroughfare.)

Katy realizes she’s getting nowhere fast in her pinchy high heels, so she steals a pink bike conveniently left near the violated hot dog man. After a tense moment wherein a stack of watermelons is rudely disturbed, Katy catches up to Alexander as he slips in the back door of some building. (There are no signs to indicate where we are, so either the budget was very low or the prop people were drunk again.)

It turns out that Alexander has stumbled into one of those nightclubs where people inexplicably jump up and down in rapture while a no-name group performs a no-name song that will never be performed again because the entire band will check into the Betty Ford clinic the next morning. The people in the audience immediately grab Alexander and crowd-surf him toward the stage where, in an astonishing example of illogical plotting, Katy is standing there with a microphone, bellowing more of the song. The wedding dress is gone, and she’s now decked out in some retro-80s vinyl and metal gear. We keep getting close-up shots of Katy’s quadruple-belted waist. No idea why.

Understandably, Alexander is not particularly impressed with this development, apparently just wanting to have a quick gin and juice with 500 of his non-closest friends in a bar dripping with regret and bad choices. He struggles to get away from the anonymous hands hoisting him asunder, while Katy continues her mid-grade channeling of Debbie Harry onstage, and he eventually slips out a door that leads to who knows where. (Just like marriage!)

Actually, it seems that the door leads to another round of the chorus, taking place in some studio backlot where they really didn’t spend a lot of time on the set-decorating. Katy has morphed into her wedding dress once again, accompanied by several backup dancers also dressed as trampy brides who found their dresses in the discount section of the Victoria’s Really Bad Secret catalogue. They all have really runny mascara, and they are waving baseball bats to the beat, sure signs of the Apocalypse. While Katy stands in the front seat of an unexplained convertible, the dancers do some crappy moves involving the alarming bats and a lot of finger pointing.

At some obscure cue from the director, Katy and her entourage all converge on Alexander, and Katy sings vehemently in his face while the dancers march in a big circle around the duo, with the bridal nymphets making what looks like rude hand gestures expressing extreme displeasure. Obviously, nobody lost any sleep over whether this choreography made any sense.

In another time-jump within the logic spectrum, all of the slatternly bridal dancers manage to find some matching pink bikes, with everybody straddling one, looking all demonic and wobbly, barreling toward the clueless and clearly typecast Alexander. He runs for his life, or at least for another bar, but he suddenly stops to answer his cell phone. Like any reasonable person would do when being chased by estrogen on wheels.

Naturally, it’s Katy on Alex’s phone, because nothing can stop a woman who wants her revenge served as cold as it can be. Apparently home boy has a really good data plan with his provider, because there Katy is in high-res living color, wailing away in her veil-accented bid for attention. (Katy does her best acting here, really loved the hand motion during the “roller coaster” line. As for Alexander’s acting? I’ve seen better emotion from a crock pot. I hope he has a Plan B or a financially-sound trust fund.)

Alexander finally hangs up, because you can’t really protect yourself from she-demons whilst perusing social media. He runs some more, then he turns a corner onto a sound stage that’s supposed to look like, I don’t know, a not-so-classy playground in the Bronx. Katy and all the backup dancers are now sporting the latest street-wear from a designer that nobody will remember tomorrow. To soften this awkward transition, Katy sings the next bit of the lyrics in a sedate whisper fashion, but we’re distracted by the fact that her eyeshadow matches the color of the leftover prop from Burning Man in the background, circa 2003.

Still, all the dancers seem to be having fun in this segment, all gussied up in their vibrant outfits and doing lots of dance moves that seemed important at the time. It’s almost relaxing, after the frenzied intensity of the preceding scenes, like a back-alley yoga class where they serve Pabst Beer instead of chai tea.

Then all hell breaks loose as we start jump-cutting all over the place. The bride dancers show back up, doing something confusing in a V-formation. (And, natch, Katy is right in the middle of that V, waving her arms and bellowing, although it does seem that Katy went to a different school than the other girls.) We also have some mess going on with small children hula-hooping like their lives depended on it. (Perhaps a few people on the production staff were having issues finding proper child care and they just threw them in the video to keep them occupied?)

If you don’t blink, you’ll also catch two women doing something on roller skates, but the duo is easy to miss because they’re competing with Katy doing The Running Man in her Daisy Duke bridal gown (or what’s left of it). And in the background of some of the scenes, behind chain link fences, we apparently have people auditioning for the role of Zombie #23 on “The Walking Dead”. It’s as if the director gave up on having any smidge of control on this shoot and went to go have a bagel with a shmear, telling his assistant to call him when people stopped bouncing or there was a pregnancy scare.

The “song” part of this shindig ends with Alexander either tripping over something or being shoved to the ground by an unknown assailant. (Perhaps the Hot Dog Man put out a hit on the Pretty Boy? It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened in Hollywood.) In any case, Alexander ends up flat on his back with his legs spread wide (Also not a first for Hollywood.) As he glances up in confusion, Katy, looking very maniacal in her Mary Lou Retton-on-acid gymnastics outfit, comes walking up with a zebra while a rainbow fills the sky behind her.

Suddenly, we’re back in the church, and Alexander does a dramatic blink, the first time he has actually exhibited any thespian qualities. Looks like the last four minutes were due to a poorly-timed narcolepsy episode, none of it really happening, and everyone in the church is still waiting for Alexander to say his “I do”. Dripping in sweat and forever traumatized by imagery of the Hot Dog Man and the Body Surfing and the Zombie Brides and the hula-hooping and the soul-killing Zebra, Alexander quickly agrees to be bound to this woman through sickness and health and possible stays in mental institutions.

The whole church erupts in cheers, especially on the Bride’s side of the matrimonial divide, because Katy is now HIS problem and everyone else can get on with their lives. The happy couple then runs down the “Price Is Right” red-carpeted aisle, Katy waving her neurotic bouquet, on their way to their first therapy session…

 

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Originally published on 09/26/09, revised and updated with extra flair for this post.