A car drives down the expressway, passing an exit as it heads into the city. Wearing a black striped long-sleeved shirt, Nelly Furtado sings against a salt painted wall.
She sits in the recliner in her apartment, watching the screen turn white on her tube television and runs her left hand over the blanket near her head. The image from the wall is superimposed over the family room. A metal ruby red flower dangles on the wall.
The air conditioning cools the bedroom as it hums. A file cabinet covers half of another window. In the bathroom, she watches the light from the ruby red flower reflect on the mirror. She dances and then sits by the window, holding a mirror to her chest. Leaning against the sink, she places her hand on her chin.
Walking down the hallway, she touches a string attached to the ceiling and puts the mirror by a lantern. A painting of a daisy hangs in her apartment. She moves her head from left to right as she continues to watch the light. A book sits on the windowsill.
She gazes at the street while she grips the wooden frame on the window and then walks to her balcony. As she leans against the wall, a book wide open in her hands, she stares back into her family room.
A rusted chandelier hangs from her ceiling. She examines the spots of water on her mirror and then tilts her head back. She continues to watch the light.
The job wasn’t working out. Nelly Furtado had relocated, moving hundreds of miles away from her family and had taken it with the assurance she would get reimbursed for it. Her employer was giving her excuses each time she asked.
During her drive, she recorded herself on her video camera. She figured years later she would watch the VHS tape and laugh, while she sat with her husband and dog, explaining that she got lost halfway there and stopped at a themed burger place with singing servers.
However, as she wanders her new home, she thinks of calling her parents and asking for help. Her paychecks hadn’t been right and her boss has been pouncing on her every mistake. She thinks she’s going to get fired soon.
Her friends have been asking about a housewarming party. But she’s been fending them off, saying she has overtime. On the weekends, she stares into the bathroom mirror, chiding herself for getting behind on her bills and wondering what she’s going to say to her friends. She thinks of what her mom would say: “honey, you can always come home.” It’s her first chance at taking care of herself and being a responsible adult. She can’t tell her mom she’s failing at it.
Director: Jake Elliott Year: 2016
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