Another music video review from the archives…

We start out with some couple just getting married, dashing out of the church while bystanders throw rice and probably gossip about them, because that always happens at weddings. Cut to the lead singer off to one side, watching the goings on but clearly not part of the procession. Perhaps if he had combed his hair he might have gotten an invite.

We’re suddenly in a tabloid office, with people wearing skinny ties and rushing about. They’re prepping some headline story about a “Surprise Wedding!”. We don’t know enough yet to really care, so I’m not invested. (Which is, essentially, my philosophy on life. Get to the point, because I’ve got a pot roast in the oven.)

Back to the lead singer, who is tromping along and looking sad. He walks up to one of those newspaper stands, and he rudely snatches up the tabloid and begins reading it without paying for it. (This is how nations start to crumble.) He seems stunned when he sees the story about the surprise wedding, even though he was just there when it happened. Maybe he’s a little slow, yet another reason why he wasn’t invited to the damn thing.

Cut to what appears to be a press conference, with some woman wearing a stupid little hat and too much lipstick. We can’t hear what’s being said, but the lead singer is there, so maybe he can fill us in later. Suddenly, the woman gets all bothered about something and runs out of the room. (Maybe she saw a reflection of her hat in someone’s camera lens?)

Hat Girl runs across a nice lobby area, too anguished to relax and take in the fake tropical beauty, while people chase after her and reporters continue wearing skinny ties. (The lead singer stays behind in the now-empty conference room, singing, so I’m still thinking he has some mental processing issues.) Quick tabloid picture of Running Girl wearing that hat, so she’s not going to be able to live down her unfortunate accessory choice. People talk.

Back to the lead singer, who is now wandering across some street and nearly gets hit by a car, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Okay, maybe he’s just drunk, not stupid. He wanders into a café, where he spies some woman dancing with a man. (I’m not sure if it’s the same woman, because her hair looks different and there’s no hat, but who knows.) She laughs it up with her dance partner, but it seems fake and she keeps glancing at the lead singer to make sure he sees her pretending to have fun. He broods, she twirls.

Once again with the tabloid office, where now the story is “Seen Last Night!” and it’s the dancing couple. Next thing you know, hordes of paparazzi are racing to the café and interrupting the waltzing duo. (News sure travels fast in this town. Or maybe people dance for a really long time.) Dancing Girl is thoroughly unpleased with this development, hiding her face and knocking things over to get out of the building. She thunders down the street while poorly-dressed reporters hold their hands in the air while running behind her. Is the hand thing supposed to make her slow down? Or did they all suddenly decide that they needed a taxi?

Meanwhile, Lead Singer stays behind in the café and just watches. If he really wants to hook up with this girl, maybe he shouldn’t spend so much time worrying about emoting the lyrics and leaning against walls in a defeated state. Move your ass, buddy.

Montage of the tabloid office, the wedding, the stupid little hat, newspapers being printed, people running through a mysterious sheet that somebody draped in the way, and a frightening close-up of the lead singer’s mouth. He really shouldn’t have let us see that, because it’s not pretty. Look, if you want to stop those nasty rumors about British people never getting their teeth fixed, then stop showing us examples of British people who didn’t.

Oh wait, new tabloid headline: “Courtroom Drama!” We see some extra riding a bike and throwing a copy of the tabloid against a door. The door opens, and the lead singer, wearing jammies that no grown man should wear, peruses the story while still not worrying about ever brushing his hair. Here’s a tip: “Bed-head” only works if you’re already cute to begin with. Otherwise, you’re just doing more damage.

Cut to some (presumed) court building, where Mystery Girl comes running out, knocking those hateful paparazzi left and right as she fights her way to a waiting car. We see Lead Singer wander up, still singing and not really doing anything to fix whatever his issue is with this woman. She drives off, and he leans against a pillar, looking like Sylvia Plath just before she was late for dinner.

Shots of what I’m going to assume are reporters dashing to file a report, using phones that scream of a different time period. (Rotary dials, folks. Remember those?) Lead Singer also picks up a now-ancient phone, but of course he sings instead of getting his depression medication refilled. Despondent, he lets the receiver dangle forlornly, representing the sorry state of his love life and his probable impotency.

In a nifty transitional trick, we cut to another dangling receiver. This one is in some trashy apartment where Mystery Girl is hurriedly getting dressed after an apparent tawdry night of slap and tickle. She races out of the apartment in a flurry of primping and garment-tucking. (Does this woman ever walk anywhere calmly? Settle down, honey.)

And we have another montage. Lead Singer being sad and voyeuristic, that wedding again, Lead Singer missing opportunities to converse with the Mystery Girl because he’s a slow-ass twit, the press conference where Mystery Girl apparently saw the image of the devil in a tortilla, Lead Singer singing to a potted plant (which actually might be a compatible relationship for him), and Mystery Girl dancing with that man and pretending she likes him, even though she doesn’t and has no plans to sleep with him. At least not right now.

We end with Mystery Girl walking down a sidewalk, Lead Singer Puppy running after her, and Mystery Girl turning to pose for another tabloid photo before racing off to destroy some other reporter’s self-esteem and search for a more appropriate chapeau. So, she actually likes the attention, but pretends that she doesn’t. Uh huh.

Dude, she is SO not worth it. Move on.

(And get your teeth fixed.)

Click here to watch the video on YouTube.

Previously published in the original version of “Backup Dancers From Hell.” Some changes made for this post. Personal trivia note: Despite their association with the wretched fashions of the 80s, I still like skinny ties, when they’re done right. Those really-wide things that are all the rage now? Those aren’t ties. Those are bibs.