We start out with a very dramatic set piece that somebody spent a whole 5 seconds designing. The four Mary Jane’s have been placed on various balcony levels at some beach house, and they are slow-shakin’ their groove thang while a camera pans over their heads. I feel kinda sorry for the one girl on the lowest level because you can barely see her, but all four of them are shimmying like the offering plate is going around at church while the choir works itself into a frenzy.
We get another angle on this business from outside the house, with the MJ’s doing a really dramatic pose at the same time to the beat. (You know they worked for hours on this move.) Then we cut to all the girls together doing a line dance, then to the lead singer with her Bo-Derek-on-Acid hairdo. She warbles while the other three stand off to the side and do a routine that requires them to touch their heads a lot.
(There may have been more to the choreography, but we are still getting our first gander at the outfits these ladies are wearing, and it’s very hard to focus on anything else, especially the blond chick who apparently walked into a bicycle store and bellowed “Give me all the chains you’ve got!”)
Back to the lead singer doing her thing, and some more shots of the girls on that multi-tiered balcony, where one misplaced platform-wedgie could cause things to take a tragic turn. Luckily, all of them have so much hair product going on that it should cushion things if somebody’s ass goes over the railing. Then the girls split up and we start to learn the intimate stories of the individual ladies, all of whom want nothing more than for us to come up and see them some time. And bring pizza.
We have the one girl in the white combination bustier and wedding dress. She seems to be the stiffest of the backup dancers, jerkily waving her arms like somebody broke one of Pinocchio’s strings. It’s not really clear what her special interests might be, but the fact that she has an irritating flower sewn into her midsection makes me not care at all if her needs are met or not.
One of the other girls is more specific, plopped in the middle of bed and straddling a silken pillow with the tenacity of a bulldog. But she also has a distraction of her own, namely the hideous late-80’s neon-tube sculpture above the bed. Of course, you have to make it past this girl’s amazing amount of ratty hair before you can actually see the thing, but trust me, it’s there.
Brief interlude of more shots from across the street, so we can see all four girls perched on the balconies again, humping the air like there’s a prize if you break a hip, then the girls are lined up on another balcony inside the house, a setting which apparently inspires them to recreate the Dawning of the Age of Aquarius. Then we head back to the mini-stories.
The girl on the bed is suddenly motivated to do a series of high-kicks while lying on her back and wearing sunglasses, then she flops over so we can see that she’s not wearing panties under her very-tight outfit. The snug material is so sparkly that light is reflecting off her butt and interfering with radio reception in the area.
Cut to the token white girl astride a motorcycle. Why this cycle is inside the house, we don’t know, but it doesn’t stop Biker Chick from waving her arms over her head and banging her hoo-hoo against the seat so hard that the gas tank cracks. Then we are treated to the lead singer taking a bubble bath for no apparent reason. (How the hell does she manage to stay above water with all that metal crap in her hair?) Lead Girl is pawing at the window blinds, as if disappointed that she hasn’t spotted a Peeping Tom yet.
Eventually we make our way back outside to the tri-level balcony that we are learning to hate, especially the poor girls who have to crane their necks toward the sky cam so we can see their faces and understand the deep lust that they have for us. Back to Lead Girl in her bubbly hot tub with the strange jar of Easter eggs off to the side. One of her hands suddenly shoots out of the water in a diva gesture, and I’m stunned at the length of her index finger. How does she ever find gloves big enough?
More line dancing in the boring room with the ugly tile.
Then we’ve got… I don’t know, one of the girls, sitting at what might be a rooftop table and drinking champagne. The camera lingers on her for a while, as if she’s about to do something stunning and extraordinary, but she never does. What in the hell is that all about? I was almost HAPPY when they finally cut back to the tramp on the bed with her glittery crotch and waving fanny. Almost.
And there’s the token white girl again, still on the motorcycle and scrubbing the hide off the leather seat with her industrial-strength squeeze box. Whilst astraddle, this girl actually performs the most stunningly inept aspect of the whole video, when she tries to pose dramatically to the music, but can’t even do so ON BEAT. Her momma is SO not proud right now.
Another visit with the Lead Girl in her hot tub, where she’s blowing bubbles at us as if it’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever done in the history of hot water in a giant wooden box. There’s some slight amusement with the fact that no one noticed one of the water jets is bubbling right over her cooter. Or maybe they did. I don’t think these people care.
And that’s about it. The four girls do everything but actually get pregnant on screen while the song drones on and gets annoyingly repetitive. More line dancing, more balcony shots, more of the one girl in the modified wedding dress that seems unable to do anything worthwhile, more of the frozen girl still not remembering her lines while drinking champagne, and more of the white chick with Harley Davidson issues, all of this in a swirl as the song finally ends and nothing is accomplished.
Except for the motorcycle. That seat has been rubbed so hard that the leather has the best buff-shine in a three-state area…
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