In what seems to be a trend solidified by Lana Del Rey featuring the fires of L.A. in the backdrop of her Norman Fucking Rockwell album cover (and perhaps subsequently conjuring that California boat fire as a result), the City of Angels very much seems to be a metaphor these days. And as the unofficial spokesperson for the state thanks to pop culture, its Hades-like tableau of late is a synecdoche for all of California. The place where good girls go to ultimately turn bad in their quest for fame and fortune–or simply just to escape the humdrum existence of their hometown. As such, it’s no surprise that Billie Eilish’s latest video (in keeping with her standout aesthetic for such other offerings as “When The Party’s Over”), depicting her as a fallen angel a.k.a. Lucifer, should take place among the seemingly part and parcel hellfires of California.
To further tie in the aforementioned Lana Del Rey connection, the video is directed by Rich Lee, who recently brought us the visuals for “Fuck It I Love You/The Greatest” and “Doin’ Time.” In this little ocular feast of what it means to inhabit California, however, Lee spares no over the topness with bringing the literal heat. Beginning with Eilish’s back being injected by a bevy of needles and sprouting some mutant angel wings before crashing down into a pit of sludgy oil that leaves her covered in black liquid as she hobbles out of the hole, it’s evident that this is not going to be a song about redemption. For there can be none in hell a.k.a. California. The place people go to sell their soul for the price of a song. In this regard, there is a certain dichotomy to the obsessive health-consciousness of Angelenos, who seem to be particularly concerned with purifying their body as they can’t purify a soul that doesn’t exist.
To this end, the underlying message of condemning conscience-lacking Man for his responsibility in destroying the earth and resultantly creating the effects of climate change is manifest throughout the simple narrative. As Eilish teeters down the street of what looks like a once well-manicured neighborhood, a weak and wheezing sort of aura radiates from her being. She cannot thrive in this environment, even though it’s expected that a girl should be able to if she “really wants it.” What Eilish really wants, in this case, seems to be what the rest of her generation is clamoring for: every effort made to reverse the damage of the corporate juggernauts that they and their forebears have relished up to now. A time when we’re forced to look at the “icky” unpleasantness of a society that conditions material desires from an early age–children being “unwittingly” complicit in making the demands for things that require more plundering of the already picked over Amazon rainforest. Particularly American children.
Throughout much of the 80s, a dystopian portrait was the norm in films set in L.A., most notably in Repo Man, where the endless abyss of interconnected freeways and the occasional smattering of trashcan fires served to punctuate the “anything goes because the end is nigh” vibe of Alex Cox’s masterpiece. At the time, such depictions were deemed an overdramatic representation of the future. Turns out, not really. And L.A. as the hub of where not the Pearly Gates but the Gates of Hell can be found isn’t so far-fetched either. The subversion of biblical imagery throughout the lyrics of “all the good girls go to hell” further adds to that apprehension. After all, “Peter’s on vacation, an open invitation.” Anyone can coerce their way into heaven these days, into buying the illusion that they’re well-intentioned–Jeffrey Epstein was even pretty close to doing so before his exposure. The road less traveled, in many senses, is having the courage to be vilified for speaking the truth, an offense that modern society appears to think worthy of eternal damnation to hell. This is precisely why so many women are told they’re going to go there (hence the tongue-in-cheek title of Eilish’s song), especially when they’re outspoken about shattering an ever-fledgling patriarchy.
One supposes that makes Eilish an all too willing martyr. Thus, fittingly, the fires intensify as she persists in walking along the desolate road–desolate until a slew of silhouetted stripper-like dancers start cavorting behind her within the flames, as though to say that humans have essentially done the same in choosing to ignore the very flagrant evidence Earth has provided in screaming, “Stop torturing me, save me!” (a message seeping heavily into music at the moment, as also evidenced by Grimes’ “Violence”). The wildfires in L.A. that have become the norm are just one such example–one that also materializes in the “Norman Fucking Rockwell” video Del Rey has revealed. Driving on freeways to the backdrop of flames shouldn’t be normalized, yet when one lives in California, this has increasingly become the case. Yet another tradeoff, it would seem, for living in the land of “dreams for the price of a soul.” And there is, to be sure, no soul in Los Angeles, try as celebrities and aging hipsters transplanted from New York might do their best to convincingly tell you otherwise.
Ultimately, even if it at first looks as though Eilish is trying to find a way out of this landscape, she suddenly realizes there’s nowhere else to go. So if hell is on Earth, we are left with no choice but to see the mistakes we’ve made play out in front of us–and maybe, if we still have just a touch of Lucifer’s angel side left in us, try to repair the damage. Otherwise, it won’t be long before L.A. being in flames concludes in the ground opening up and swallowing up all into its gullet.
