The hood ornament lifts to the top. A sports car drives off the sandy path in the desert. Post Malone walks in the field, walking towards a cactus.
He holds a basketball in his hand. The net right above him. The sports car is parked only a few feet away and drives off. He raps holding the ball.
Underneath the cactus, wearing a pair of sunglasses, he raps.
Malone dances in the desert, the car parked some ways by him.
Inside a club, he raps by a neon lightning strike.
He sits on the desert as the sports car drives around him. He walks on the sand, the mountains behind him.
The tire marks have etched lines into the sand. The car does figure eights around the area.
With his beer, he stands by the screen, which changes from red to blue, and stares at it while in the club.
Sitting on top of the car, he raps. Driving behind him is an SUV. A friend of his sits near the windshield. Then, they drive alongside each other.
He motions throwing a basketball into the net with the car some ways away from him.
In the club, he sits in the dark, the lightning strike lit white. It returns to red and he stands back, watching the screen.
He smooths back his hair in front of the car window.
His puts his arm around him and they gesture to the camera.
He throws the basketball, without looking, and gets a basket. He finishes spray painting a line underneath the graffiti on a torn down home.
The car continues to do figure eights in the desert.
The line at the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) at the Secretary of State moves faster than the video. Nearly every frame is in slow motion, dragging out each step and hand movement.
Prioritizing what should be the main focus is the issue. It sticks to a color scheme (white, for most of the objects) and changes to a different image, like the lightning strike at the club to break the monotony.
However, it stays with the car for too long. A majority of it is the car performing figure eights over and over. It does show the tire marks in the sand, which are artfully sketched. But it’s a quick glimpse.
The club also doesn’t get much exposure, despite it subverting the cliché of having a crowd inside, dancing, with the harsh neon lights. It’s him, alone, rapping and awkwardly standing in front of a screen.
Director: Van Alpert Year: 2015
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