We start out with the camera approaching an open window, so once again we are going to be doing voyeuristic things, spying on people performing activities that are considered private when music isn’t playing. Neil Finn is sitting on a bed (probably his, who knows), strumming his guitar. Out of nowhere, a plate comes flying up and smashes against the screen. No explanation is given, but get used to it. Possessed tableware is all over this video.
Neil doesn’t mind the shattered crockery, and just keeps playing and singing. He gets up, slowly wanders across the room, avoids a mysterious shower of somebody’s exploding mail, and goes out the door. We’ve now gone back in time 18 years, where somebody is watching home movies and flipping through photo albums while another plate smashes. This person is also not concerned with projectiles, continuing to gaze at people in black-and-white photos with startling hairdos.
Flash forward 7 years to another room, where a chicken nugget on a stick sails by as folks are packing things in boxes and vacuuming an ugly carpet. More chicken nuggets levitate, as well as giant heads of the band members. This room is incredibly boring, so I’m glad when we move on.
Now we have a close-up of Neil singing, followed by shots of an old radio, somebody looking through a telescope (trying to find an actual script?) and ghostly papers that flutter about. Yet another room, where one of the band members is wearing one of those embroidered half-jackets and you expect a bull to run by looking for a red flag. This doesn’t happen, but we do get shots of a religious statue and some horrid wallpaper.
Now the band is in a 60’s kitchen, where there’s plenty of dinnerware that can fly about. Shots of a partially-eaten breakfast being ignored while someone plays a guitar and somebody else irons a shirt. (People, at some point you have got to show me something interesting. This review is about to self-implode with drabness. We need some stabbing or a fire or a gratuitous shower scene. Something.) But no, more ironing and breakfast-ignoring.
Finally, even Neil can’t stand this room and moves on. Next we have a garage (I think) where all of the band is actually playing their instruments. But instead of the pace picking up and the band jamming and sweating and showing actual signs of life, Neil puts down his guitar, whispers something to the drummer, and then leaves the house.
Once outside, Neil puts on an overcoat and wanders off in the direction of a hill in the distance.
Really? That’s it, guys? Hmmm.
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