1993: directed by Julien Temple

entirely in black and white.

We open on the Thames, seeing someone floating in it. Apparently, it's Damon, and he's singing and looking like an alabaster Roman sculpture (not to mention slightly traumatised). Then Damon's in London, dressed in the heighth of scruffy post-mod-mod fashion, swinging from the back doors of double decker buses. This is all slightly reminiscent of London New Wave films like Georgy Girl. It's the whole London bit - Trafalgar Square, gallery steps, hordes of pigeons, Blur larking about like a bunch of students in shabby chic.

And the people of London are singing too, old ladies in the salon, various troupes of schoolgirls in uniform, young kids... everybody. It's a London love-in, and Blur are your hosts, as they are also unable to keep themselves from miming along.

Then it's night, and Damon's walking along the road dressed in his too-small suit, looking like the finest rent boy in the Isles in 1912, except that it's the nineties and he just looks a bit poor and eccentric. Also, he's leading a horse. No reason. A Justine-esque analogue comes ballin' up behind Rent-A-Damon in a snazzy Rolls, and gives him that look that means "A hundred bucks an hour." Damon's all "Yeah, I guess so," and he leans (singing) through the window giving her the most tender, melting glance that the Author has seen in some time. She gives this awful, posh, smug little smile. She gloats. I would too.

Back to the magical world of the London streets, where everyone is still singing the chorus and bopping around looking exceptionally happy and embarassed. It's so wonderful how the music of Blur appeals to all walks of life. Quite a few of them are girls, and a lot of them seem tipsy. The Author wonders how these things manage to come together. Damon continues to float in the Thames, sometimes flapping about. It's a London smorgasbord; "let's drown ourselves in London", the song and video seem to say...

Before things get too sentimental, Graham executes a giant slo-motion high kick and knocks over a trash can.

Then non-Damon Blur are flying kites on the hill (where the Author actually visited, and it's quite grand), dressed in grunge Victorian twee, like a bunch of grown-up chimney sweeps on holiday. They are all so darling in this get-up and the Author seriously doubts that the group ever actually used to dress that way, though she has not yet given up hope. Damon is still on his back in the Thames, flapping about a little more vigorously now as he approaches the end of the song.

In the Author's dreams, the ghosts of Blur past still inhabit this hill, still flying kites, marvellous abstractions.

"James gets something outside the car..." Damon has gone into a flat with a moderne spiral staircase in the centre of the room. He sprawls on the floor in front of the TV, which smokes a little bit and reads "Modern Life is Rubbish". Not in London, it's not! "Then Susan comes into the room..." Our FauxJustine comes in and sits down on the floor next to Damon, who apparently was the one smoking and not the TV at all. He has the most wonderful expression on his face - too certain to be a leer, but too excited to be just a smile.

Then Dames and FauxJusty are on that mythical hill with a television that's still on the "Modern Life Is Rubbish" channel and a shepherd dog, and he gives her a significant look, grabs her, and rolls down the hill with her. They roll over and over, into grassy eternity, while the ghosts of Blur past go about their business of flying kites and being twee and perfect.

CUTE FACTOR: extremely high, esp. with Justine.
VIDEO QUALITY: Julien Temple's a pro, having worked extensively with Bowie and directed a few movies. This is, however, very much a video, and all context above that I've worked out is utter bullshit that I tell myself to make the video less pointless.
FUCKED UP FACTOR: possible, though not really obvious.
OVERALL GRADE: B-