Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Backup Dancers From Hell: Dido - “White Flag”

We start out with Dido apparently finishing up a concert at some vague nightclub, waving farewell to the crowd in that totally-fake “we’ll be best friends forever!” way. Cut to Dido sprawled across a bed in a track suit, then she sits up and starts crooning the song, the camera lovingly caressing her face despite an odd pink accent light that makes her look like a Care Bear.

Then she’s marching down a basement hallway, apparently headed to another stage while music people clutter around her and talk on cell phones. She’s still singing, but I suddenly pay no attention because right at 0:26, David Boreanaz walks by, going the other way.

David Boreanaz. As in Angel, the guy who tormented Buffy all those years, and then moved to another town so he could torment Cordelia in that really groovy hotel. I have no idea why he’s in this video, but it instantly has my complete attention. (And Dido instantly becomes my favorite singer EVER for making this happen.)

Anyway, we have more footage of Dido looking depressed in what might be a hospital waiting room, and then sitting on the bed with the horrible accent lighting. She gets up off the bed long enough to snatch a framed photo from a shelf, but we can’t quite see it. When she flops back on the bed, we can see other framed photos behind her. Are those of David? Too blurry to tell. Hmm.

Random shots of David sitting and standing in places that require him to wear a hat and glance at us seductively, while Dido flops around on that bed and continues to do nothing important with her life. Or change clothes.

Oh wait, my bad, she just put on a new blouse, and this inspires her to walk through a revolving door and go outside. On the street, she signs an autograph for some guy who is either a fan or is trying to raise money to get himself a better haircut. At the same time, David is nearby, scribbling his name out for one of his own fans. When Dido glances over to where David is standing, he’s no longer there. Oh? But…

Next up, Dido and David pull up in separate cars at an intersection. Dido and her hair pretend not to notice David and his cell phone, and he does the same, both of them looking away from each other just before getting caught. It’s kind of sweet, but loses a bit of its cuteness because we’re distracted with wondering why Dido would put that ugly headband on her head.

A bit later, D and D run into each other in a bar, where they continue to pretend that they aren’t invested in getting together, fiddling with their drinks and awkwardly squirming. Dido suddenly marches off, leaving David standing there, looking all sad and hurt. She should have to die for this.

Now we’re at some event or opening that requires Dido and David to give separate, glamorous interviews to gossipy reporters. The two continue to glance the other way and pretend that the other isn’t even there. Look, this is starting to get a little old. Do they want each other or not? Are we on the playground at school?

Then we have Dido again, wearing that track-suit thing so I guess she’s used up her wardrobe budget for this shoot. She’s wandering back to her apartment, lugging a sack of groceries that she manages to drop while walking past David in the hallway of the floor where they both apparently live. He keeps walking and doesn’t even bother to stop and help her pick up the baguettes scattered all over the floor. (Symbolism, much?) Is he over her?

Well, she’s not over him, apparently. She gets back on that boring bed that we now hate, and we see that, yep, all those framed photos are of David, all over the place. Poor thing. Then the camera pans next door to David’s, and he has even more pictures of her, completely covering one wall. As we zoom in, we see that his collection is a little chilling, with psychopathic rantings and such scrawled on the prints.

Okay, then. Dido done got her a Sunnyvale Stalker. Honey, if that’s too much to handle, just give David my number. I’ll take him off your hands…

Click Here to Watch the Video on YouTube.

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