Madonna, Justin Timberlake, Timbaland – “4 Minutes”

  We start out with Timbaland on a stage somewhere, standing in front of a giant clock display. The clock is supposedly showing us the four minutes that we’ve got left to save the world from… well, it’s never made clear, but it actually appears to be showing us four hours. Unless we’re counting the milliseconds? Why would we count those? Those things only matter in Tom Cruise movies where he has to push an important button right now or Manhattan will be turned into a decaying wasteland, just like the Republican National Convention.

  Odd clock aside, Timbaland is currently invested in making some interesting noises that go along with the ominous opening notes of the song. But more importantly, we get our first images of this creepy triangle-based mass that appears to be eating parts of the set around him. Timbaland doesn’t seem to care, since he’s got the music in him and that’s all that’s important, but we get a close-up of a dusty speaker component that is trembling in fear because he’s further down on the cast list and will probably be the first casualty. (Maybe he should have had a better agent.)

  Brief montage of some gears spinning and cocktails on the verge of being spilled. No idea.

  First image of Madonna, wearing some form-fitting night-night clothes and facing away from us. (I guess we should have purchased the higher-priced concert tickets if we wanted to see more.) Then Justin debuts, again not facing us, wearing basically the same outfit that he has worn since moving on from the Mickey Mouse Club. Interspersed with all the introductions are shots of Timbaland still enjoying the noises that his mouth can make, then we cut to a fancy car rolling towards somewhere.

  Oh look, the car is being pushed by Madonna, now wearing a black outfit that involves parachute pants and a matching puffy blouse that practically scream “1984”. But we can forgive the debatable fashion choice, because you really shouldn’t question couture decisions made by a woman who has thighs capable of repositioning vehicles. (I guess it really does pay off to have a personal trainer who will holler in German and force you to do enough leg lifts that you could raise the Titanic.)

  Okay, I guess Madonna loses interest in impressing us with the number of squat thrusts that she’s apparently done in her day, so she sexily slides off the front of the car onto… a dinner table where a random and sad-looking family is eating leftovers. The family pays no attention to what is actually happening in the real world (do they watch Fox News?), slurping their soup and ignoring the woman on their table who already has more secrets in her parachute pants than they will ever have in their lives.

  Meanwhile, we keep getting quick glimpses of the Triangle Monster munching on everything in its path and not caring what it swallows. I could make a Rush Limbaugh reference, but that would be too easy.

  Madonna marches away from that set where all the lonely people are, and launches into her part of the song. This requires her to wander through a loft apartment where a young couple is preparing for a bath and kissing one another. (No idea, part two.) Cut to Justin in the same apartment, singing to himself in a dirty mirror and admiring his nifty neck-scarf that one would normally wear in an artsy movie where British people talk about nothing and wait for redemption that never comes.

  Cut back to the kissing couple who apparently don’t mind having international superstars show up at unexpected times, and we can see that part of their flesh is missing as they smooch, showing bone and such. This is possibly the least erotic thing I have ever seen, and I’ve been to some very questionable websites. Then we’re back with Madonna somewhere else in the apartment. (Is she in the couple’s bedroom? Not clear, but it’s definitely not a place where she or her staff would ever sleep.)

  Madonna rips off her puffy parachute jacket (my prayers worked!) and possibly straddles the bed, but then we cut to the kissing couple again and they are missing more flesh, so we are now basically watching two of those life-size dissected-body models from high-school biology class sucking face.  With tongues involved. Ugh. This is a world I would not want to save, I don’t care how many minutes we have.

  Then Madonna and Justin meet up and hover around the bed where the Skeletors are procreating, and just as quickly hop out some convenient windows that are nearby. Outside, they find a bunch of cars parked in a haphazard manner, with two guys wearing red plastic doing street moves on top of one of them. This is an additional sign of the apocalypse, so our stars should just keep running, but they don’t. Justin has to get something important out of the trunk of the car where the jacked-up Oompa Loompas are gyrating. (Is it his recording contract? Yeah, probably should grab that.)

  Madonna, on an agenda of her own, as she always is, decides that she needs to jump in and out of some of the cars in a sexy but unclear manner. Not to be outdone, Justin decides to run across the top of the cars using the same mysterious motivation. They manage to meet up in the front seat of one of the cars, where Madonna briefly flirts with Justin, whispering in his ear and either hinting at a future hook-up  or promising that she will one day make a movie that doesn’t require serious editing before it can be released.

  The frolicking with the cars continues for some time, with both of them proving athletic prowess and the ability to strike poses right on the beat, but without anyone explaining the critical bit about what needs to be done to save the world or at least make the two dudes stop dancing on the one car. Those guys really need to find a better purpose in life, because they are just a few online votes away from surpassing The Skeletors as Most Invaluable Players.

  Hold up, now Madonna and Justin have made their way (via modern technology) to a supermarket of some kind. We have an extended scene with the two of them alternately flirting with or threatening the various products lining the shelves of the aisles, nuzzling up to the granola and slapping the canned tuna. They eventually reach the front of the store, where each of them jumps on a conveyor belt at the checkout counters so they can dance while essentially running on a treadmill. (Is it always about physical competitions with Madonna? Honey, can’t you prove your supremacy with a non-strenuous card game or maybe a nice round of Jeopardy?)

  Happily, they both give up with whatever they were trying to accomplish in the checkout lanes at Wal-Mart, and they both suddenly appear on that stage with the clock that I don’t understand. (Timbaland is gone, so he’s probably off at yet another awards show.) Madonna is back in her naughty night-night ensemble, and Justin is back in the outfit that he’s never changed since Mickey.) They are both breaking out some serious dance moves here, but it seems a bit odd that they are rarely in the same shot. Do I smell a contractual clause of some kind? (“I want 36 flavors of vodka in my dressing room, 24 varieties of massage therapists, and only 12 moments when I am in the same room as my co-star.”)

  We have some quick scenes here and there of someone wearing aggressive high-heels and stomping around an office environment. We’ll just assume it’s not Justin. Not that there’s anything wrong with that if it’s really him.

  Wait, now Madonna has just stormed into a public bathroom. She’s back in part of her black outfit, so I’m not sure where this fits in the space-time continuum. And now she’s looking in the mirror and Justin is staring back at her. They do some mess where it appears that they exchange clothing but they really don’t, with each of them throwing the unwanted garments off toward the less-popular toilet stalls. Then they tromp out of the restroom without even bothering to leave a tip for the attendant who is probably hiding in a corner, weeping and wishing that s/he had paid attention to their mother  when she proclaimed “do your homework or you’ll have to listen to people pee for the rest of your life.”

  Okay, NOW we have Madonna and Justin on the same stage at the same time, and they seem to be involved in yet another dance-off. Justin is very good with his street poses and arm-flipping, but he’s up against Madonna, who was already artfully thrusting her crotch when Justin was still trying to figure out which end of his baby bottle offered the most promise. Still, they’re both very energetic  and each manages to hold their own, despite Justin’s insistence that he keep wearing that scarf from the British play where nothing actually happens.

  As we roll to a close, Madge and Just-In start ripping parts of their couture off of each other. In most diva camps, this would result in a drive-by shooting, but they both handle the ripping and flinging in a professional manner. Then Timbaland arrives back from his awards show just long enough to holla “breakdown” on the soundtrack, which sends M and J into overdrive.  They amp up the dance moves, trying once again to prove who has the most flexible whatever while Timbaland makes noises off to the side.  The “oh yeah, we almost forgot about that” Triangle Monster arrives onset and starts chewing the scenery, as well as our illustrious co-stars, causing flesh to disappear without leaving a forwarding address.

  Our last image is of Justin, with an exposed rib cage, leaning in to kiss Madonna, who has an exposed jaw. Just like Romeo and Juliet. Only completely not…

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Justin Timberlake - “Rock Your Body”

  Editor’s Note:  At first this looked like yet another dance video where people try to act all street as they bop about. Then I realized that Justin is actually telling the sad story of aliens taking over the planet, and it goes something like this…

  We start off in what initially looks like a giant cube where people can dance while pretty colors flash on the walls and ceiling. But this seemingly innocent room of rhythm is actually a communication transponder that the aliens use to spread their evil message. This can be confirmed by concentrating on that one dancer in black who keeps crossing his arms and striking thug poses. He’s actually instructing the people at Fox News to keep doing what they’re doing, because it will help them destroy the Earth at the proper time.

  Justin is wearing white so that we know he’s the good guy trying to fight the invasive force, but he has to be very careful and not blow his cover as a pop singer. So even though it looks like he just wants to sing and dance all the time, he’s secretly recruiting an army of resistance fighters. Part of his efforts include doing flips in mid-air, because that’s the international symbol of resistance fighters for “time to run get your gun, Bertha, them critters done landed”.

  And when Justin wiggles his hips and kicks his feet out to the side, he’s letting that underground group of freedom fighters in Oklahoma know that it’s time to initiate that procedure they talked about, the one involving all the cows. When Justin whips his jacket out of the way so we can see his studded belt, he’s signaling the sleeper cell in Arkansas to start loading the trucks with flammable moonshine.

  As we all know, you can’t trust the media anymore, except in a few rare cases. They’re just going to lie and say the aliens are good for the economy. So when Justin turns to his left and does that scissor action with his hands, he’s spelling out the call letters of the one secret radio station that will tell us the truth about what’s going on. Of course, I can’t type those call letters here or I might be killed.

  Wait, did you see that one black-clothed thug giving a thumbs up? That’s bad. He just let Rick Perry know in Texas that all stealth operations are a “go” and he can finally take off his mask. We’ve got to hurry or things could get really terrible, fast.

  Okay, good, Justin responded by twirling his finger over his head, which means that Columbia just joined the resistance. They may not be able to fight all that well, but at least they’ll bring some decent coffee when they show up.

  Now Justin is standing on that sparkly box. This means that people living in low-lying places should head toward the nearest mountain, pronto. The aliens are planning to flood the country, just like TV producers are doing with all those reality shows. Be sure to stock up on batteries before you leave the house.

  Justin just opened his jacket to show that he’s not packing a weapon. This is important information, as the aliens must have activated one of their death machines that causes gun ammunition to control your mind, making you want to just stay at home and not vote, just like lots of people did in the last election. We can’t have that. We will have to resort to the solar-powered weapons that we have been secretly building at progressive colleges across the country.

  Oh my, one of the alien leaders is trying to hypnotize Justin with her breasts. This could get nasty, but don’t worry, Justin has been fully trained in evasive maneuvers like suddenly flying to a hole in the ceiling or moving to France. He’ll be fine.

  Whoops, the evil alien temptress has brought in some reinforcements, with her scantily-clad minions trying to seduce the rest of Justin’s posse. (Of course, this method of attack won’t be effective on roughly 10% of his posse, but that’s not good enough. And his buddies aren’t as well-trained as Justin is, or this album would have their name on it, not his.)

  Side note: Justin slapping the floor is not to be confused with Justin slapping his knee. They indicate totally different military moves, and people should not get confused and accidentally destroy the wrong CD’s in their collection. Consult your Resistance Fighter manuals for more detail.

  Okay, good. Justin is now trying to negotiate with the alien leaders by speaking to them in their own language. We’ll just have to be patient and see how this goes, because one should always try diplomacy before deciding to kick extraterrestrial butt. You don’t want to be the idiot that blows up the planet, only to find out that the aliens really did “come in peace”. It wouldn’t look good on your resume.

  Hmmm. Justin seems to be grunting and gesturing quite a bit here. This could be a good sign, meaning that the aliens are at least listening to what he has to say, or a bad sign, that perhaps Justin didn’t use the right syntax and just antagonized the leaders with threats of Brazilian waxes and repeat viewings of “Hee Haw”.

  (Clarification: Justin just used the phrase “rock your body” amidst the grunting and hand motions, but I assure you that this does not mean what you think it does. My translation skills are a bit rusty, but “rock your body” in alienese really means “yes, you can have Sarah Palin back, we don’t even have to argue about that one”.)

  Okay, the verbal diplomacy is now over, and judging by the way Justin is now twirling in mid-air, instructing the resistance fighters in Tibet to put on their snowshoes and wake up the yaks, things didn’t go so well. And once he landed, Justin pulled his hood over his head so that countries like Switzerland can go ahead and declare their neutrality and continue to make chocolate like the world isn’t burning.

  (Those wisps of smoke floating across the screen? The aliens just destroyed the entire stock of hair products in California, so they really mean business.)

  Update: By Justin squatting and pumping his arms, he just sent a message to Congress that we need an emergency expedite on alien-deflection funding. The Senate responded by barely passing the bill. The House of Representatives responded by successfully blocking any votes. Glenn Beck responded by quickly announcing that there are no such things as aliens, deflections, funding, honesty or souls.

  And I’m sad to report, as you can see by the developments on your screen, that the aliens have just fired their Anti-Happiness laser into Justin’s studio, instantly turning him into an army of thoughtless droids bent on taking over the country, creating endless misery where nobody gets to wear cute clothes any more, and taking PBS off the air.

  We are entering a dark time, my friends. The only thing I can say is that you have to keep the faith, continue to do the right thing, and never answer the door if you don’t know who’s knock-

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END TRANS>

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Timbaland, Justin Timberlake - “Carry Out”

  So we start out with a couple of scantily-clad women bouncing around in front of a giant neon sign for some “Drive-In”. I guess this video was made in California during one of their infamous “rolling brownouts” because the lights keep flickering and it’s really not clear what anyone is doing.

  Then one of the heavy-breathing girls moves out of the way and we can see a second part of the sign which informs us that this Drive-In serves “Hot Cakes”. I think we’re supposed to take that as a not-so-subtle reference to the sluts on parade, but all it did for me was make me want breakfast.

  Now we have some shots of Timbaland and JT standing around, wearing ball caps and leather jackets because the costumer designer on this gig is just really original, we’ve NEVER seen that getup before. I suppose they’re trying to dance in that down-low way where they just sort of twitch, but I may be mistaken.

  This is followed by Timbaland sitting in a car, with some dude that I don’t recognize. I don’t know where JT ran off to, maybe it was time for him to host “Saturday Night Live” again. There are several chicks skating around the car, acting like mobile waitresses trying to take orders on cute little pads, but I seriously doubt any of them can actually write. The waitresses do, however, know how to lean over and practically shove their breasts in the car windows. Everybody needs a skill.

  Oh look, JT’s back, and he and Timbaland are doing the standing around and looking cool thing again. Now it’s time for them to do the “me, you, you, me” part of the song that gets really monotonous. They try to spice it up with some hand movements as they say each word, but it’s not really working out and just looks stupid. Is there actually a director on this video, or is it really somebody’s assistant recording all this on his cheap cell phone?

  Now we’re presented with a montage of lovely ladies cavorting about like their lives depended on it. One poor girl in front of the Drive-In sign starts jerking so wildly that I’m concerned she may have stepped on a fallen power line. There’s another featured “dancer” wearing puffy pink pajamas and wrapped in so many necklaces that I don’t see how she can breathe. Maybe that’s why she drops to all fours and wiggles. The guys think she’s being really sexy but she’s actually motioning for someone to call 9-1-1.

  More montage scenes, with the rolling waitresses still trying to get the order right, some line dancers who are very proud of their crotches, and the boys still thinking that making hand gestures somehow improves the lyrics. And the girls seem very invested in taking off bits of clothing. It’s apparently hot on that stage. The brownouts must be affecting the AC as well as the lights.

  Then we have an extended scene with JT being worshipped by salivating women. First he just stands there while two women paw at him while wearing modified baseball uniforms (meaning panties instead of pants). These two are also trying to lick their lips while looking provocatively at the camera, but they don’t seem to know where the camera is located and they come off as a little simple.

  Then JT apparently gets tired and has to sit in a white chair. As he recuperates, trollops in French-maid outfits proffer him desserts and such. He doesn’t seem to be hungry, so the maids dance around holding the unconsumed food. There’s a close-up of one girl with a cherry in her mouth and a mourning veil over her face. What, was she on her way to a funeral when she got the casting call and she made a U-turn?

  Meanwhile, Timbaland has secured his own chair and his own personal troupe of gyrating hoofers. He shows that he’s a true professional, managing to continue with his singing while yet another horny dancer maps out the side of his head with her tongue. Timbaland doesn’t even blink. Maybe he’s used to this sort of thing happening.

  And once again we have some more of the “me, you, you, me” crap. This time around they’ve decided to just do a whole bunch of jump cuts: Timba and JT with the hand gestures accentuated with leaning left and right to the beat, a really high-strung dancer in red fishnet stockings who is prancing about so energetically that she could probably power the city of San Bernadino, and a whole assortment of lesser-dancers whose signature move is struggling to keep their breasts covered as they twirl.

  Then JT joins the line dancers in front of the Drive-In sign. The girls are all involved in some synchronized choreography that features a lot of squatting and thrusting, but I guess JT didn’t pay attention during rehearsal and is just winging it. He resorts to holding his hands out a lot and stomping his feet around like he just saw a cockroach.

  Cut back over to Timbaland, who is still in his chair. (Maybe he’s anemic?) Here comes face-licker girl again. She must have missed a spot, because she’s back at it with her power-drill tongue while also waving her fanny at the camera. She is VERY talented. I hope she goes far.

  Another long sequence, this one with Timbaland and JT presumably dancing. I’m not really impressed with this “I’m too cool to actually DANCE” style of dancing. They are taking one step forward, bouncing a little bit, then taking another step forward, more bouncing. How do you stay ON the dance floor if you’re doing that? Have these people not seen “Dancing with the Stars?”. They would be SO voted out.

  And yet another montage. (Seriously, there’s no director on this thing, right?) Basically, more of the same stuff. There’s only two new things of any interest. One involves a startling scene where somebody’s leather-clad hips come flying through the air at the camera (was there an explosion?), and a new dancer sporting a giant afro and apparently titillated by the helium in the odd, why-are-they-there balloons floating behind her.

  We wrap it up with Timbaland and JT just standing there, flipping their hands in front of their chests, simulating heartbeats as the final notes of the song play. Great suggestion, guys. Let me just punch the button on my medic alert bracelet. Hopefully, some EMT will race in the door and use those jolting paddles on my chest to try and bring me back to life.

  Because I need it after that mess…


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