“I miss the old Ari. You know, the singer.” So says one of the many invitees (all critics) to Ariana Grande’s performance art piece in Montauk (the location of which is given via the latitude and longitude coordinates on the business card shown at the beginning of the video). This milieu being significant because Grande’s seventh album is titled Eternal Sunshine—an obvious nod to Michel Gondry’s beloved 2004 film of the (almost) same name. Considering Grande’s dating history, the premise of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is rather on point. As is her choreo (courtesy of Will Loftis) throughout the heavily-inspired-by-Paula Abdul video. Indeed, one might as well call “yes, and?” a “modern update” to Abul’s 1989 video for “Cold Hearted,” the fifth single from her debut album, Forever Your Girl.
Directed by none other than David Fincher, “Cold Hearted” continued the trend (established by Madonna, as usual) of pop stars dancing in front of elaborate industrial set pieces (see: the “Express Yourself” video, also directed by David Fincher, and the “Rhythm Nation” video). “yes, and?” builds on that by centering the premise around a “living art exhibition,” of sorts. So it is that, just as is the case in “Cold Hearted,” “yes, and?” offers a caption at the beginning. But instead of reading, “Tuesday 9:45 a.m. The Rehearsal Hall. The Record Company Executives Arrive,” it reads, “11:55 AM. The Critics Arrive.” All of them with something snarky to say (in the spirit of the intro to Missy Elliott’s “Gossip Folks”). Including two critics who have the exchange, “Did she really do that?” “Well I read it on the internet so it must be true.” This replacing the once more relevant go-to line of sarcasm: “I saw it on TV so it must be true.”
They then enter the warehouse-y space where a series of “stone sculptures” stand in highly deliberate poses as the critics take their seats. The “Ari sculpture” is at the center of them all, posed with her hands over her eyes to indicate the classic “see no evil” philosophy. Or, in this case, “see no haters.” As the critics start to get impatient with what they’re supposed to be getting out of this little “exhibit,” the sculptures break apart and fall to the ground as the actual people they’re modeled after appear on the scene. Directed by Christian Breslauer (marking his first collaboration with Grande), the camera then focuses in on Grande’s feet before panning up the length of her legs to then reveal an aesthetic that is entirely reminiscent of Keira Knightley’s in Love Actually. Because what is Ari if not adept in the art of pastiche (though perhaps not as much as her one-time collaborator, Lana Del Rey)? As any post-post-post-post-post-post-modern pop star tends to be.
Continuing to emulate Abdul and co.’s fierce, defiant choreography, Grande offers occasional moments of “Renaissance painting poses” to keep reiterating the notion of being living art. Or, as Del Rey said, “I had a vision of making my life a work of art.” As such, that technically means she can be critiqued herself as much as the art she actually puts out. Hence, the presence of the critics subbing out Paula Abdul’s record executives.
Critics who can’t help “gagging” when Grande urges, “And if you find yourself in a dark situation/Just turn on your light and be like/Yes, and?” The musical breakdown just before she urges people to “turn their light on” sounds a lot like the one in Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy.” But considering Grande is giving a massive homage to dance and house music of the 90s in general (including, of course, Madonna’s “Vogue”), it’s not out of the question that the “nod” is deliberate. At the moment she talks about people turning their (inner) lights on, a heating lamp lights up above the critics’ head, as though to envelop them in the same warm glow she’s chosen to bask in no matter what gets said about her. Some critics don’t exactly “like” it, with one starting to sweat profusely as he wipes his forehead with a napkin in a manner that could also indicate Grande’s body (“too thin” or not) is getting him hot and bothered (the same way Paula Abdul gets the record executives in her video).
As all the art critics proceed to start removing articles of clothing under the heat of the lamp, Grande approaches with, let’s call it an “aura tuning fork,” as she calmly recites the bridge of the song: “My tongue is sacred, I speak upon what I like/Protected, sexy, discerning with my time/Your energy is yours and mine is mine/What’s mine is mine/My face is sitting, I don’t need no disguise/Don’t comment on my body, do not reply.”
Of course, that demand likely won’t stop the usual barrage of body commentary that rakes in the millions for the beauty and fashion industries. In the final line of the bridge, Grande then wields her coup de grâce, “Why do you care so much whose dick I ride/Why?” Probably because the dick is Ethan Slater’s and it’s kind of weird/non sequitur (Wicked co-star or not). Even more than choosing “Cold Hearted” as a piece of pop culture to emulate.
But anyway, the “yes, and?” then concludes with another shot re-creation from the “Cold Hearted” video, with the curtain dropping off the window while Ariana and co. return to their same positions as statues made of stone to then await the next batch of critics they’ll perform for. The first batch, meanwhile, has turned from the stone statues they were before walking into the warehouse and into warm hearted lovers of Ariana as one of them shouts with delight to the others going in, “You’ll just love it! You’ll love it.”
The same “conversion” from hater to lover goes for the record executives in “Cold Hearted,” who enter the building with the cynical exchange, “So have you even seen this dance?” “Uh, I haven’t but, uh, it’s a Bob Fosse kind of thing [that it is, inspired by the “Take Off With Us” sequence in All That Jazz]. It’s gonna be really really hot.” “Yeah but tastefully. It’s tastefully hot. And hey, if there’s any problem, we can always make changes.” The director of the video nervously reminds, “Uh, we’re shootin’ tonight.” But of course, there’s no need to change a thing because, by the end (just as it is the case in “yes, and?”), the execs are left with their jaws dropped. Though, of course, all they can say is it was “nice.” So it is that Abdul’s video concludes with the caption, “The dancers laugh.” Probably at the fact that it’s so hard for critics to admit when something is good (though, in their defense, that’s quite possibly because things rarely are). Especially when the artist in question’s personal life has a tendency to cloud the focus on the work itself.
In this sense, pulling from Paul Abdul’s video arsenal does make some sense when tying this message back into the concept of the “Cold Hearted” premise.
