Filmed in black-and-white, Keith Urban plays his guitar and sings into the microphone inside the local dive bar.
A woman jostles the door and opens it. She parades inside and sits at the counter, a glass of liquor made for her. She sits at the counter and cries, her mascara smeared underneath her eyes.
She gets up from the stool and stands at the jukebox. She sways to the music as the fan blows in the corner. She dances away from the jukebox, taking tentative steps and crossing her arms over chest. She raises her arms over her head and closes her eyes.
Urban watches her as she shifts her feet back and forth, moving closer to the stage. She dances, with her back to him, staring into the distance. She puts her hand on her neck and then looks at the floor. A faint smile crosses her face as she touches her hair. She throws her head back.
She turns around to watch him again, her right hand on her left elbow. She smiles again, wider as she dances with her back to Urban.
Her mouth becomes a straight lines and her eyes hollowed. She stops and looks through the window. She leaves.
The woman is looking for a connection to something to help her heal. She has been crying for months. The bar is one place where her melancholy has a refuge. Her co-workers ignore it. Her family tells her to snap out of it.
When she puts her hand on her neck, her intent is not to seduce Urban but a form of comfort. His music is soothing her and it’s what she needs to her to get back to herself again.
Keith Urban, though, seems to have written the song for her. Seeing her in the bar, day after day, sobbing at the counter and stumbling home, was wrecking him inside. He reassures her that the anguish will someday end. He needs her to believe she’s a person again, not a damaged mess.
Urban seems to have reached her as she leaves the bar without taking a sip. She experiences an epiphany after the song. It’s as though a new version of her is taking shape. Urban hopes to see her again but under better circumstances.
Director: Carter Smith Year: 2016