We start off with a close-up of somebody’s chest. This torso is fully-covered in drab clothing that is vaguely grunge-esque, which means that we don’t get to review sun-dappled, chiseled pecs and that most of the teeny-bopper girls in the audience have already turned the channel back to another rerun of one of the “Twilight” movies. This immediately makes me happy because I might just get to watch a music video that isn’t based on who can dance in a nightclub whilst wearing the least amount of clothing or self-worth.
(Side note: We have some percussion-type activity on the song, with clapping and such, which for some reason makes me think of Toni Basil’s Mickey from back in the day. I would imagine that I am not supposed to go there, but I’m just trying to report things honestly from the field, unlike any of the anchors on Fox News, ever.)
The camera finally pulls back enough so we can get some facial-recognition shots, in case there is a crime that we feel compelled to report later, and we learn that the whole band is trudging along in Goth sportswear and looking very sad. Their unhappiness might have something to do with the fact that they appear to be promenading in a land where there is no sun and everything looks very barren, much like Michele Bachmann’s bedroom.
To confirm the wasteland theme, we get a long shot of the band still trudging, with what looks like some Roman ruins or perhaps Donald Trump’s morality off to one side. (Oh wait, maybe that ruin thing is part of a bridge, so I’ll take Donald off the table. He’s never built anything that served any real purpose, especially not something that would help the common people get to where they need to go.)
The guys are walking really slowly, so I’m not sure what’s up with that, but if it was my choice I’d be skedaddling across this stretch of ugly to some place a bit more festive. We get a shot of the ground, to show that it’s all parched and cracked (think Ann Coulter’s soul) and confirming that the guys did not check the right boxes when planning this vacation.
Another close-up shot of the band members’ faces, confirming that there was a booking issue.
Then we get to study the skies, where we have ominous black clouds that would make Lord Voldemort feel at home, then we cut to lead singer Dan in a place that is clearly not on your bucket list of concert venues. He doesn’t seem to mind, especially since he’s wearing a clever necklace that both looks ruggedly masculine and can also double as a protective device to banish warlocks who have become evil from studying posts on the wrong websites.
Another long shot of the band lethargically making their way across an arid nothingness that looks somewhat like parts of Texas in August. (If you squint your eyes just right, you can see Rick Perry getting hairstyling tips from Satan.) Next up, we have the band encountering some black flags that have been shoved in the ground for no apparent reason. The “no apparent reason” part would have me high-tailing past these questionable flags, just because you really shouldn’t jack around with things you don’t understand, but the band continues to plod along like they’ve got a juicy record contract where they don’t have to put out another album for two more years.
Brief shot of some more sand-blasted ruins. (Mitt Romney’s current status in the Republican Party?)
Then we have Dan again, (at least I think so, hard to tell when you’re looking at a man’s butt as he shuffles toward some type of destruction in the distance) walking away from us. But then his buddies show up a bit behind him, and the whole gang is together as they help us understand the plot of the story not at all. Walking is involved, that’s about all I’ve got in my notes. Oh, and a scribble about never visiting whatever this planet might be, even if I get double the miles on my credit card.
We cut to another scene where the band is still half-heartedly plotzing along, although the members seem to have spread out some. (Did they have another argument about the best use of discretionary funds when it comes to alcohol? Personal hygiene issue?) Whatever, they are making their way past what looks like a slave-ship that has run aground in the middle of the desert. (Symbolic of the eventual end of the Tea Party?)
After a bit, the band makes its way to what might be considered a forest in this crappy place that does not inspire folk songs about the joy of living. (The trees look rather haggard and sinister, much like many of my elementary-school teachers who still believed that the best way to mold a student’s mind was to scare the hell out of him.) What treasures will they find in this grove designed by Rush Limbaugh’s pharmacist?
Well, Dan finds a box. This box contains an object which glows without any obvious power source. The radiant egg looks very pretty in Dan’s hand, but my personal opinion is that you shouldn’t put your paws on something that kindles its own flame or that you find on a planet that does not appear in current science books, regardless of whether or not the Texas School Board has edited them to remove any references that are not a plank in the Republican Party platform. Just say no, to quote a certain Republican who only was one because she looked good in red dresses.
Anyhow, the glowing egg convinces the band members to start digging holes in the sandy ground, because that’s just what you do when you find things in boxes that do not belong to you. (Brief cutaway wherein singer Dan does a solo bit while lightning flashes and clouds roil menacingly, further convincing us that this is clearly not a stop we should choose whilst on the subway.) Then we have an image of the egg being dropped in a hole that apparently leads all the way to China, so somebody around here is very skilled at offshore drilling.
Quick scene where Dan turns toward us with a very anguished expression. No idea what might have caused this facial chaos, but I warned him that he shouldn’t touch mystical eggs that are obviously doused in radioactive sauce. Did he not learn anything from watching Silkwood?
Okay, now the guys decide it’s time to pick up the pace, as we have a shot of them running like hell away from the Death Forest where evil chickens squirt out deviled eggs. (Although the chickens do get bonus points for packaging them in hand-carved wooden boxes instead of those cheap cardboard things that the rest of us have to deal with as we check for breakage.) The guys run for a long time, which is a nice way to build up the drama without the added expense of bringing in bit players who can wring their hands and stare at the Devil Forest with method-acting fear.
Then things go boom. We see Dan flying through the air, with explosions happening behind him in a nifty use of someone’s computer graphics program. (He survives and scurries off to one side so he can finish the song, because it would be pointless if he didn’t get to use all the lyrics in the song.) There are mushroom projectiles blowing out of the ground, heading toward the ugly sky that no one should have on their itinerary, with other band members being artfully but unwillingly hurled toward the stars that only Carl Sagan can see in this backwater galaxy.
Eventually, the mushrooming explosion-tentacles reach the clouds, and they break through the ominous overcast and manage to let a little bit of sunlight (or whatever assists this planet with photosynthesis and keeps things alive) come filtering downward. And the dark clouds of Not-Good begin to recede.
Symbolic of the yearned-for moment when the political process in our country is based on facts and not endangered by right-wing, jacked-up white supremacy and greed? Or just Imagine Dragons simply hoping for the time when everyone gets to go on a nice picnic on a sunny day and not have to worry about the effects of eggs that others have laid? You decide.
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