Article by: Shoshana Akins
Before this review gets down and dirty, I must admit that I am a fan of Lady Gaga. Others believe she is just the psychotic vomit of our media-soaked, gratification-based age, having no real talent and no brains to boot. But I believe in her. I love what she does, from every speck of glitter to every bedecked teacup, and I think she’s quite genius.
Having said that, “Telephone” is an upstanding video. Whether or not you’re a little monster (the pet name she has for her fans, for those of you on the other side of the fence,) this video is nine and a half delicious minutes of pure entertainment. The video includes studded thongs, prison fights, killer dance moves, make-outs, mass murder, bright colors, constant action, and cutthroat fashion. What more could one ask for?
Though the concept of “Telephone” is maybe bit hard to grasp for the general public, what makes this video universally pleasing is the fact that it is not a wildly exclusive creation of the Haus of Gaga, the singer’s music/media/fashion empire. The video was made by the same twisted minds that let her kill herself on stage and wear head-to-toe rouge lace, but it also features many of the other pop culture masters who have punched the past few decades in the face as well.
Quentin Tarantino screams through every scene, from the style of the subtitles to the awkwardly silent single-person shots to the cameo of The Bride’s “Pussy Wagon” (which apparently Tarantino directly told Gaga to use.) Gaga’s prison strut in next-to-nothing with short-cropped, bleach-blonde finger waves models Madonna in almost every manner. Beyonce and the Lady running away from the police in a final stand of female solidarity? Can that be any more Thelma and Louise? If anyone is still confused about the definition of postmodernism, just watch “Telephone.”
This greatly anticipated video certainly had its fair share of product placement (Virgin Mobile, Diet Coke, Polaroid, and Wonderbread, just to name a few…) But Lady Gaga has never established herself as being pure of heart when it comes to her music. She wants to live the life of the rich and famous, dance in disco heaven, and have someone take a bite of her bad girl meat (to quote a few quips from “Fame Monster.”) She knows what our modern culture can do and all she wants is to harness it, riding it until she gets all the pleasure she possibly can. If that means slutting around with some corporations, she’s game.
In the end, “Telephone” is just a fluff of cotton-candy goodness. Enticing to the taste buds, it’s stimulating in all senses, but will dissolve away just a few seconds after impact. It’s no “Gin and Juice,” and certainly not “Thriller,” but it is one hell of a ride.
