The video opens up to a flip book that goes over the days of the week with worn out cliches about each day while the semi techno song ramps up its vanilla beats with the building force of a ice cream tsunami. Meanwhile, a singer with the vocal range of someone with serious rhinitis sings several bars with a mixture of the words "yeah" and "ooh" like a chimp who just discovered language. You can see her awkward stilted face blended with an edged detection Adobe Photoshop filter belting out low confidence often seen in "make your own video" booths at county fairs.
Her name is Rebbecca Black, which might have made a better goth porn nickname than the bland Mediterranean teen tart that will be the main presentation of this video. No one told her not to look directly into the camera.
The focus changes, when the magic day is reached in the flip book to a badly rotoscoped LCD clock in a font that hasn't been popular since Colecovision. Rebbecca apparently sleeps in full makeup, which she probably does so she doesn't have to wake up at 5:30 to put it on. Her hair looks almost normal, but the speed of the film is so jerky, I expect "Yakkity Sax" to play at any moment while Benny Hill runs around the room.
We cut to Rebbecca in her foyer, signing while people hopped up on far to much caffeine get ready for the day behind her. Her hair has gone completely flat, suggesting a sudden drop in humidity, which also makes her lips swell like she's trying to be a duck or her braces just got removed the day before. The lyrics read like a literal reading of Otis Redding's "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay," except it has about as much soul as half a zombie doing the Foxtrot. She turns away to join the generic blur behind her and
SUDDENLY A BUS STOP
She is alone at the bus stop suggesting the teen in the foyer probably gets private school because he's the one in the family with promise and not the blank stare of a cruise ship counselor with a lobotomy. But even though she waits for the bus, she suddenly sees her friends driving a car that is more packed than a van full of migrant workers. She squints, possibly due to sun blindness reflected from her lip gloss, and recognizes her friends: the cast from a Tommy Hilfinger ad. Somehow she gets in, after dealing with the hardest question she has had to face since her lip gloss stopped being sold in bulk: front seat or back seat? Rosa Parks never had it so good, as she chooses the back seat. Apparently this is the school of the mole people as every girl in the car has a facial blemishes the size of beetles on their faces. A choice of teen models that could fill a stadium in LA and Ark Music Factory couldn't find a teen who had heard of Clearasil?
It is at this point I realize Rebbecca says the word "Friday" with the irritating forced palate of a choir boy trying to grasp onto the remnants of his pre-puberty voice. "FRYEE-DAY FRYYEE-DAY" she says over and over again; forcing herself to remember that the next day she doesn't have to go to school and endure the mockery of passers by in her neighborhood as she waits by the bus stop in the rain.
That's when I realize the kid driving the car is 13.
The video also realizes this, and panic-cuts to the night scene where Rebbecca is riding a car in a 1940s car chase studio set with the "Metropolitan" backdrop often used in 1980s Sears Senior Picture photos. Rebbecca sings in the back seat with her friends who awkwardly bob along with her, but the face of the girl who Rebbecca claims is her friend to her right is barely 12 and scared for her life because the "non-friend" to the left is apparently wearing the fabled cursed Hope diamond. The curse apparently makes people have RLS by "kicking" in the front, while those in the back had legs so stiff, they sit in the back seat like cheaper starter Barbie dolls that don't bend at the knee.
I expected some "Scarlet Highway" ending reminding people to use seat belts, but to quote Morticia Addams turning the page to "Cat in the Hat" while reading to Pubert:
"Oh no... she lives."
Cut to teen parking lot party. Rebbecca, who wears more eye shadow than half the drag queens in the greater LA area is still breaking the fourth wall by staring dead-eyed into the camera while her back up singers suck down more helium. Rebbecca is so white, she actually pronounces the hard "n" in "patryin'" like that's how that word is supposed to end. And she's wearing a garbage bag poncho because she got confused when dumpster-diving behind the Limited Too.
Back to the flip book, where Rebbecca's OCD again has to repeat the mantra of days as they pass, often skipping essential verbs in some strange autistic ritual. It's one thing to say, "we so excited" when one comes from "da hood," and can not remember a day when they slept on a mattress someone bought from a store, but Rebbecca doesn't understand the finer points of street culture, so her missing words make her sound like her cue card writer skipped a words.
Then, just as she starts using lyrics that reminds me of the people who wrote for PBS kids shows for kids under 6, a rapper breaks in and actually tries to add some Wu Tang flavor to whole video which is now so white, it smells like bleach at a dry cleaner's. But they don't focus on him, because demographics for the Midwestern states this video must be aimed for knows black folk scare the children of the corn, so Rebbecca is back on the fashion stage of movie, "Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead." You know, where Christina Applegate hosts a fashion show in her own back yard? I swear, it's the same set.
I now realize that Rebbecca may only know a few words as she repeats lyrics more than M.I.A. did in the song "Paper Planes." Perhaps they think you pay per word. The song fades away like the film off your car window, sometimes showing the 35+ year old rapper for no reason, before cutting back to a light show reminiscent of British new wave videos in 1982. I am looking at you, 'Til Tuesday.
This video may be banned in some areas by the Geneva Convention.