Let's Sway: Paul McCartney "Dance Tonight"

Another excellent opportunity to ramble about Gondry...


Paul McCartney "Dance Tonight"
dir. by Michel Gondry
Michel Gondry's humour is often overshadowed by his veritable ingenuity and finesse behind the camera. His lo-fi aesthetic and technical wizardry have made him the most well-respected and influential director in the history of music video. Even when we applaud the playful absurdity of his images, we tend to dissect their meaning on an emotional level before we discuss the importance of comedy in his work.

Of course Gondry wouldn't have it any other way, as the power of his drama is indebted to the laughs that accompany it (though not always vice versa). In his video for Paul McCartney's "Dance Tonight," he hires Mackenzie Crook of BBC's legendary comedy The Office to inject a distinctly British sensibility into the set-up (afternoon tea and all). As the piece grows increasingly chaotic and visually arresting, we are whisked away into a fantasy that seems as lightweight as the lyrics of the song.

Yet if we peel back the layers of pop shine, McCartney's insistence on making "everybody dance" in the current climate may be aimed at defusing conflict rather than simply having a good time. He's in a recollective mood, enjoying the company of spirits on a secluded farm in the English countryside - rather than the high-speed city from which the postman has arrived.


The postman's is the first voice we hear though, and he is in fact the protagonist of the story. As the final shot suggests, he may have taken a fatal turn on route to delivering mail down that country road. But when the soul of McCartney's mandolin rises up from its empty box, it's no coincedence she momentarily appears to have wings (it also helps that she is played rather angelically by Natalie Portman). Just as obsessive Beatles fans dream every night, McCartney seems to open the door to the after life (though apparently the real party is down in the basement). More than anything it's an introduction to a world that inverts stale expectations - where music can carry you wherever you like.

We've strayed from our focus on humour, though not as far as you'd think. It's impossible to define, but comedy - in both the classical and popular sense - has much to do with misunderstanding. The climax of this video, in which many the personified objects return to the "wrong" place in the house, is both silly and enlightening. In many ways Gondry has an affinity with Kafka or Camus (as does frequent screenwriting buddy Charlie Kaufman) - a love for all things absurd. Life doesn't fall perfectly into place like knives in a kitchen drawer or books on a shelf, it's a jumbled house of mirrors* where anything goes. Through this dance at Macca's house the postal worker finally expresses himself and escapes the sterility of his previous life - perhaps too late for him, but not for us.

* technique used to create ghostly aura in house

Opening Doors to the Self

Science of Sleep director Michel Gondry applies his signature home made special effects to the wacky world of Beck’s “Cellphone’s Dead” in this trippy video that falls somewhere between existentialism and the singer’s own brand of Scientology.



“Going through the motions/Just to savor they did it/Treadmill's running/Underneath their feet…”

When we imagine being lost in the desert with a “dead” cell phone, we immediately think of the horror of being completely disconnected from society. In the age of the Internet it’s paramount to not just have a cell phone, but to stay linked at all times in every way possible. We don’t just have answering machines; we have e-mail, Facebook and instant messaging to make sure we never miss a chance to interact with each other. But even as the world seemingly shrinks daily, actual human connections don’t seem to be increasing all that rapidly. In fact, what Gondry and Beck hone in on is this ironic feeling of isolation in an increasingly “connected” world.

The often ramshackle-nature of Beck’s lyrics may imply nonsense, but they are not intended to be so (except to perhaps underline the alienation of the theme). He sings, “God is Alone,” but we soon see that so is everyone else. The video begins with a tilted shot of a cardboard world in traffic jams, then moves around to focus on the entering Beck, dressed in his worst car salesman get-up yet. What we notice right away is that the viewpoint of the camera is not with Beck, the typical protagonist. It’s viewing him from somewhere else, perhaps somewhere in his own mind, but distinctly separate from the physical Beck as well as the two “creatures” that enter the room.

The camera spins gloriously around the dimly lit apartment without ever making a distinct cut, instead relying on camera tricks and animation to smoothly transition from one scene to the next. Gondry has now mastered these techniques that he previously implemented in a number of videos, as well as in his major pictures such as Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and the aforementioned The Science of Sleep. The low-fi aesthetic of the camera work gives the video a strange feeling of simplicity and “naturalism,” when in fact its’ themes revolve around feelings of disenchantment with modern technology-obsessed times.

Beck enters the room paranoid, as if being followed, but he also seems to be looking for something. He turns the music up but the “radio’s cold,” and soon enough strange things start to jump through the window. There are two other main characters in the video, one is a building (perhaps a representation of the corporate, or “federal dime”) and the other is a wooden door, both inanimate objects come to 3-D life. The three characters begin to merge and fold into one another, matching the fluidity of the moving camera with a series of closing and opening of doors, windows and dressers. The implication here is that these three are one in the same, representing the different natures of one human lost in a city filled with “hybrid people” – trying to find himself.

There is a futile sense to the video as it endlessly loops around until finally the three beings crash into each other and we are left with the car salesman on his couch wailing, “eye of the sun.” There’s a hole in Beck’s heart, and it emerges from a distinct feeling of isolation from humanity – but there are no phones ringing to reconnect him. There is only the sun, which perhaps is a call to rediscover our natural roots, or maybe it’s a reference to Beck’s own faith in Scientology. Regardless, it’s clear that with the video Gondry is picking up on this simplistic urge, and underlining the difficulty of finding a soul amidst the “juggernaut” of modern times.

Moreover, the sad final image of the dwindling singer in his chair staring at a sun out of it’s “socket” implies graver consequences for our obsession with communication than the death of cell phones - and I’d like to think it has more to do with Al Gore than L. Ron Hubbard.

VIDEO: "Cellphone's Dead" Beck