Beyonce, Jay-Z – “Crazy In Love”

  We start out in a car, barreling down the street in some unnamed city. (Judging by the lack of any pedestrians on the sides of this somewhat squalid thoroughfare, it must be an Amish community of some kind, and there’s a barn-raising going on.) Jay-Z appears to be in the back of the car, or at least the inside of something, and he’s letting us know that things are super crazy right now. (Like the fact that the cameraman has basically shoved the lens into Jay-Z’s mouth and nobody is safe from his teeth until that stops happening.)

  Suddenly, the speeding car comes across a woman who has chosen to stand in the middle of the road, as if that’s a completely safe and natural thing to do. We nearly run over this woman, but then the car realizes that it’s Beyonce who has chosen to play chicken, and the car slams to a halt, because it doesn’t have an insurance policy that covers celebrity mishaps in Amish towns. Beyonce marches right up to the camera and asks us if we’re ready.

  Well, I’m not sure, Miss B. Will there be a test when we’re done? Is pain involved?

  Obviously, Beyonce doesn’t really need our permission, so she and her incredibly-tight shorts begin sashaying along the street, doing just the right moves to make her hair flip about lusciously in the wind. (The cameraman conveniently provides us a rearview shot to let us know that the rear is something to view.) Meanwhile, Jazy-Z is still hollering in the back of the car, or the sensory-deprivation tank, wherever he is, assuring us that history is in the making and doing something with his hands.

  This is apparently a signal for Beyonce to strut up the ramp to a loading dock, where she commences to do an interesting squat and then launch into her first part of the song. I guess she really, really likes wooden platforms, because she becomes very heated and starts wallering all over the dock. She does an interpretive, lusty dance that seems to be telling the story of what can happen if you straddle a washing machine right when it becomes unbalanced during the spin cycle.

  Beyonce does some spinning of her own on the woodwork, doing things with her fetching legs that make it very clear that she has a staff of personal trainers and/or some amazing genes in her bloodline. (There’s a short montage where B strikes various poses against a chain-link fence, a segment that doesn’t quite fit in with her aerobics on the dock, but I’m sure she had her reasons for this bit.) Beyonce finally ends her relationship with the platform after several more energetic moves, and does so without losing her impressive red high-heels, a magical bit of footwear artistry that brings a tear to the eyes of drag queens who happen to be watching.

  We zip to a new location, one that might be on the top of a building and appears to feature a small landing pad where rich people would park their personal helicopters when they want to impress people with their bank accounts. But Donald Trump will have to find somewhere else to land, because Beyonce is currently dancing around on the pad, sporting an outfit that might have been fashioned out of an army tent and a hairdo that resembles what Tina Turner would have looked like in 1984 if Tina hadn’t been so invested in using enough extra-firm hairspray that she created her own ozone hole. (What’s aerosol got to do with it?)

  Beyonce shimmies on the rooftop for a while, doing some cover-girl poses and coordinating her movements with the strobe-lights that have been strategically placed around her. But before we can get the full story of what this actually means, we cut to Beyonce and some of her Girl Posse strutting somewhere else. We’re possibly in an alley, or maybe the storage facility where Beyonce keeps her awards. In any case, the girls feel it’s very important that they show us what their rhythmic fannies can do when the music is just right, and so they do. The booty-shaking is accented by couture with a theme of “possible baseball tribute with a sprinkle of New Jersey Party Girl”.

  Someone apparently spent some time on the choreography with this section, because all of the girls have intricate things to do, although many of the moves consist of thrusting themselves up against a concrete wall and then breathing heavily. There’s also some random gum-chewing, reinforcing the Jersey flavor. (Is that Snooki in the background, getting drunk and continuing to make bad decisions?)

  Next we have Beyonce somewhere else, but the locale is not really clear because it’s very dark. (Did the lighting technician go on a union-ordered break?) She might be in the backseat of Jay-Z’s ride, just a guess, and she’s very emotional about something, as indicated by the way she keeps raising her arms over her head in personal anguish. Then we get a shot of someone flicking open a lighter, and then this shadowy person throws the lighter into the night where it lands on a street that has been rudely drizzled with gasoline.

  Are we suddenly watching an episode of The Sopranos?

  Cue up the gasoline igniting and the flames racing toward a car that explodes, as (presumably, based on attire) Jay-Z stands there and watches all this happen without calling 9-1-1. We get a quick montage of Beyonce struggling in the back of a car, but, interestingly enough, there are no flames in her scenes even though we have aggressive burning in the exterior shots of the unfortunate car. Bad editing? Beyonce is inflammable? Drug usage on the set? Not clear.

  Whoops, now Jay-Z is doing his rapping bit while standing near the burning car. And here comes Beyonce, wearing an interesting boa, another set of high heels, and little else. (I guess the heat from the burning vehicle is a little intense, so we can forgive her for not dressing properly.) This kicks off an extended scene where Jay-Z is rapping a lot of information that might prove useful if we paid attention, but we’re distracted by Beyonce trouncing around, hormones racing, and doing everything she can to show Jay-Z what an E-ticket ride at Disneyland can mean if you’re consenting adults. She horny.

  Hours later, after Beyonce has professionally air-humped every corner of the set, and Jay-Z has finally completed his long-ass rap about the joys of something or other, we see Beyonce (new outfit, new heels) walk up to a fire hydrant in the dark of the night and kick at the poor thing with her apparently steel-toed footwear. The hydrant starts gushing like Old Faithful, and Beyonce proceeds to bathe herself in the spray, luxuriating in the power of the forceful spurting.

  I guess the wetness does nothing to dampen Beyonce’s libido, because she then launches into another erotic interpretive dance, this one involving choreography that includes self-fondling of her booty, hair whipping that draws a line in the sand with Willow Smith, and at least 74 orgasms. By the time she’s done, the water smokes a cigarette and smiles with satisfaction. Call me?

  And we’re off again to another location, with Beyonce apparently shoving her breasts at a giant turbine fan thing, the blades whizzing dangerously while she undulates. (Really, honey? Is the itch that bad?) Happily, Beyonce finally turns away from the Danger Fan and we can see that everything is right as rain, no slicing and dicing. Now we can focus on her latest outfit, an obviously unfinished mini-dress where the upper section is barely held together by some baling wire and a prayer.

  Beyonce is quickly joined by the surviving remnants of her Girl Posse, all of them decked out in equally-flimsy sherbet-hued ensembles. It’s clearly time for another line dance, and they go at it with gusto. This round of expressionistic cha-cha involves booty-shaking that has been ramped up to a degree that an employee at the local seismographic substation had to pick up the “red phone”, conveying the news to his superior that an earthquake had just hit the Eastern seaboard.

  Luckily for us and the planet, it’s just an exuberant display of unbridled lust, nothing that truly requires a FEMA alert, and we close out the video with Beyonce and the other 30 flavors at Baskin Robbins innocently proffering their tasty goodness to anyone who wants a sample.

  And as we all know, now, it turns out the Jay-Z’s spoon was just the right fit for Beyonce’s ice cream. Mmm hmm.

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