From Fosse to Ari: The Origin of Ariana Grande’s “yes, and?” Video
As long as there have been artists, it’s pretty safe to say there have been critics. The relationship between the two is a complicated one, for it’s the artist who, in an act of vulnerability, steps into the arena (often literally) to present the creation, and with that, comes the (welcome or unwelcome, hopefully at least constructive) critique from the sideline.
An artist who recently commented about this relationship is Ariana Grande, via her latest music video for “yes, and?” from her seventh studio album, Eternal Sunshine, which saw the light of day on March 8. The track’s sound evokes classic piano and hi-hat ‘90s dance music, while the video treatment harkens back to a stylish ‘80s music video and even further back to an iconic ‘70s movie musical, so therefore, Ari’s video is an homage to an homage. Let’s put on our dancing shoes and retrace our steps:
One of the best depictions of this artist-critic exchange was featured in Bob Fosse’s 1979 semi-autobiographical musical-drama, All That Jazz. Broadway director and choreographer, Joe Gideon (Roy Scheider essentially portraying Bob Fosse) is burning the candle (and many cigarettes) at both ends, trying to cast and create a new show, plus complete the editing of a film, all while barely co-raising his young daughter, and popping a lot of pills.
The new show that Gideon is working on entitled, NY/LA, a loose reference to Fosse’s very own, Chicago, features a musical number about airline travel called “Take Off With Us” (a cheeky title already filled with foreshadowing). Gideon invites a few suit-wearing financial backers to preview the song and dance, which starts out with the character of a purser (Sandahl Bergman), along with her crew of dancing flight attendants, touting the exceptional service they will bestow up their passengers (“They only live to service you...”). The first half of the performance is bubbly, which garners smiles, even a round of applause midway through from the straight-laced observers, but unbeknownst to them, there’s a second half that suddenly turns steamy (literally), with one of the dancers welcoming all aboard “Airotica,” Gideon’s ode to the “Mile-High Club.”
The studio goes dim, now lit only via a few flashlights, with the dancers peeling off their clothes (the “take off with us” double entendre now realized), and pairing up to perform a sensual, then overtly sexual, albeit artistic, number, much to the confusion and disappointment of the backers, the realization sinking in about the limited monetary and sponsorship potential that the addition of “Airotica” will bring. “There goes the family audience,” the head backer whispers to his colleague. At the end, Gideon asks what they think, only for the head backer to feign acceptance and approval with a nervous smile.
Ten years later, the dancer and choreographer, Paula Abdul used Fosse’s “Take Off With Us” as the basis for her “Cold Hearted” music video, directed by a then relatively unknown, David Fincher. The video starts out with a group of record-company executives arriving at a rehearsal space, seemingly uninterested in what they’re there to preview. One says it’s a “Bob Fosse kind of thing; it’s gonna be really, really hot,” to which another executive nervously replies, “Yeah, but tastefully, it’s tastefully hot.”
The first two verses and choruses find Abdul and her crew dancing much to the toe-tapping approval of the executives, but by the bridge, a couple of the dancers begin lowering the window shades, thus beginning Abdul’s (understandably much tamer) version of “Airotica.”
A couple of the executives are turned off, a couple of them turned on. Similar to Gideon asking his backers, Abdul asks her audience, “Well, what do you think?,” to which a conservative executive reluctantly replies, “It’s very nice.”
In January 2024, Grande released “yes, and?” as a self-empowerment reminder amid a social-media culture of click-and-critique. The video came at a time when Grande, once again, became the subject of chatter surrounding her personal life, specifically her short-lived marriage, and quick subsequent kindling of a new relationship with a co-star from the film adaptation of Wicked. For the Christian Breslauer-directed video for “yes, and?,” which starts similarly to Abdul’s, a group of jaded critics reluctantly arrive at an industrial space, yet ironically can’t seem to talk about anything but Grande and her signature ponytail, with some of the critics even rehashing, and reacting to, internet-sourced gossip.
As these critics enter the space, an elated group exits. The new batch take their seats in front of a series of stone statues, one of which is in the form of Grande with her hands covering her eyes in a see-no-evil posture. As the song’s beat drops in, the statues crumble into piles of rubble. Grande is released to tell her story, with the bridge reserved for commentary to those who deliver just that about her (“Don’t comment on my body/do not reply/your business is yours/and mine is mine”).
Through confident lyrics and cohesive choreography, Grande and her dancers persuade the critics to drop their metaphorical stone exteriors as well. Yet just as this is achieved, she and her dancers within a flash assume their statuesque personas once again, perhaps symbolic of the thick shell needed to navigate the current, all-too-easy, drop-a-comment culture. As the newly elated converts leave, yet another cluster of critics enter, they too soon to be shook.
In summary, the common threads between the three depictions are as follows:
The critics arrive.
Principal female character with a group of dancers.
Principal character dressed in black, and wearing a black hat with brim.
Stripped-down, industrial-looking rehearsal space featuring scaffolding structures.
Principal character on top of the scaffolding structure.
The controlled critics sitting on chairs as the audience, as opposed to the creative artists “in the arena.”
There’s always a moment when the critics are enjoying what is presented to them.
The rehearsal space goes from light to dark for a version of “Airotica.”
When it comes to Ariana Grande’s “yes, and?” video, there’s no place like homage.
Photos 1, 8, 9, 10: Ariana Grande in the music video for “yes, and?,” directed by Christian Breslauer; Photos 2, 3, 4: All That Jazz, directed by Bob Fosse, cinematography by Giuseppe Rotunno; Photos 5, 6, 7: Paula Abdul in the music video for “Cold Hearted,” directed by David Fincher.
The Pop Zeal Project (Track 83): Carole King: “I Feel The Earth Move”
A determined pounding of the piano keys starts Carole King’s “I Feel the Earth Move.” The singer-songwriter-musician had already co-written tracks made famous by The Shirelles (1960’s “Will You Love Me Tomorrow”) and Aretha Franklin (1967’s “[You Make Me Feel Like] A Natural Woman”), but with her second solo release, 1971’s Tapestry, King continued to make her voice—and her piano-playing—heard.
With the Women’s Liberation Movement already in full force in the early ‘70s, King’s material weaved its way into the hearts, minds and spirits of young women in particular, allowing Tapestry to stay on the charts for an astounding six-plus years. On “I Feel,” she freely described, through expert lyrical and musical constructions, the emotional and physical experiences of new love, from a female point of view. The most provocative lyric is toward the end when King describes the ecstatic fever that comes over her when she’s near the person who rocks her world, going vocally high at “I get a hot and cold” then quickly dropping to quietly repeat “all over” four times, like a vocal gyration, until the track ramps up to the chorus once again.
Whether it was The Shirelles’ song, conveying hesitancy—or Aretha’s, expressing certainty—in a relationship, or this smartly crafted track, best believe that when King felt something, you didn’t just hear it, it was damn near palpable.
Album photography: Jim McCrary
Time Passages: Musical Signposts in Paul Thomas Anderson’s Boogie Nights
Music. Score.
For 1997’s Boogie Nights, director Paul Thomas Anderson used music as a “scene partner.” Early on, ‘70s soul (“Best of My Love”), pop (“Brand New Key”), funk (“Jungle Fever”), rock (“Spill the Wine”) and disco (“Boogie Shoes”) represented the frivolity of the sexually liberated era.
Soundtrack on Capitol Records.
“Jack Horner, filmmaker.”
Set amid the production of pre-A.I.D.S. adult films, Burt Reynolds’ Jack Horner is the creator of “exotic pictures,” which were shot on film at that time, lending, as Horner would argue, artistic credibility.
Far Gone
While his “family” of fragile performers are kept close, it literally takes just a few seconds before the countdown to 1980 for Boogie Nights to go from glory days to gory nights, with William H. Macy’s Little Bill committing a series of disturbingly matter-of-fact violent acts at a New Year’s Eve party. It’s also Horner’s “wife” and “kids” descending into drug addiction, and the arrival of a new “cheap” format known as videotape, that signify the start of the downward spirals.
Bad Vibrations
Anderson begins to add harmless ‘80s pop into seriously unsettling scenarios to create further disconnect, and to convey a non-sexual loss of innocence for Mark Wahlberg’s Eddie Adams and John C. Reilly’s Reed Rothchild. (Night Ranger’s “Sister Christian” and Rick Springfield’s “Jessie’s Girl” have never quite sounded the same since.) Yet Anderson’s most effective use of music is the faint, pulsating bell chime that serves as a warning that the past has come back to haunt Adams. His Dirk Diggler alter ego resorting to back-alley exhibitions like the ones he did as a dishwasher in the Valley in ’77.
Rolling in the Deep
However, this ominous alarm is at its most anxiety-inducing during a scene involving Horner and Heather Graham’s “Rollergirl” in a limousine joy ride with a random guy as part of a new adult series, to be recorded on grainy videotape no less. Boogie Nights’ cinematographer, Robert Elswit shoots part of this scene as if the viewer is looking through the videocamera’s viewfinder, bringing us into the backseat, watching the moment Brandy’s past comes back to haunt her as well.
Amber Waves of Pain
It also marks the beginning of Brandy’s future that may play out like Julianne Moore’s Amber Waves (Maggie as she’s known from her previous life as wife and mother) and Don Cheadle’s Buck, both of whom deal with public scrutiny as they attempt to rebuild non-porn private lives. The “heyday” has reached The End, or more fittingly, its climax.
The Pop Zeal Project: The Rolling Stones: “Angie”
Whether it was in the ‘60s when The Beach Boys sang about Barbara Ann, or in the ‘80s when Toto sang about Rosanna, women have been the source of inspiration behind many songs. Recently, Lady Gaga dedicated an entire album to her departed aunt, Joanne, and even with 2020’s Chromatica, Gaga includes a song entitled, “Alice,” and the list goes on.
But for today, we go back to 1973 when The Rolling Stones released “Angie,” with Mick Jagger lamenting to Angie that “ain’t it time we say goodbye,” although ironically still claiming to love her and that there “ain’t a woman that comes close to you.” There’s much continued speculation as to who the inspiration is for this track; one theory is that Jagger’s lyrical contribution is based on his breakup with the singer, Marianne Faithful, yet most of the writing credit steers more toward Keith Richards, who around this time became the father of a daughter who would eventually be called Angela. Richards claimed the song “wasn’t about any particular person.”
The track is perhaps more memorable as one (of many) that features Jagger’s exaggerated vocal delivery, as he calls out (and at one point whispers) Angie’s name quickly, followed by elongating the first syllable in the name for dramatic effect. As far as breakup songs go, “Angie” is one for the ages.
Disco Playlist: Thelma Houston: “Don’t Leave Me This Way”
Thelma Houston’s “Don’t Leave Me This Way” starts seductively slow through its intro and first verse, only to be offset by a powerhouse chorus. These slow and fast moments create a beautiful balance, all while showcasing Houston’s passionate vocals to convey that necessary tone of desperation. Musically, the disco era embraced violin and bass as prominent instruments, and this track features both, providing another merge of classical meets club. Yet it’s when the tambourine comes in at the outro that the song is at its fullest, a perfect companion to the drums, poppin’ bass and Houston’s commanding vocal run.
Bob Marley: “Three Little Birds”
The first verse of Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” is so good, it just has to be repeated in the second. This sunny 1977 song, which paints a happy start to a new day, was originally featured on Exodus, and later appeared on Marley’s 1984 greatest-hits collection, Legend, which is one of those rare albums that, dare to be said, should be required in everyone’s music library. It’s hard-pressed not to feel better or even happier after listening to the track. The lyrics, “Don’t worry/about a thing/‘cause every little thing/gonna be alright” is the leading reason, plus the soothing sway that reggae can inspire doesn’t hurt either.
Kylie Minogue Shares Golden Moments
Kylie Minogue’s Golden Tour is full of golden moments indeed, like the opening reveal. “Don’t you feel that sun on your face?”:
There’s also an homage to disco and Studio 54, featuring a medley of her songs, including “New York City,” which Kylie couldn’t find a home for on Golden, and this version of “The Loco-Motion,” which samples a recognizable lyric from Donna Summer’s “Bad Girls.”
Disco Playlist: Donna Summer: “Spring Affair”
From “the first lady of love,” for the first day of spring, take a listen to Donna Summer’s “Spring Affair.” Released in 1976, it was part of her Four Seasons of Love album. The Giorgio Moroder/Pete Bellotte-produced track is the best way to welcome the new season.
Disco Playlist: Vicki Sue Robinson: “Turn the Beat Around”
Vicki Sue Robinson shines as a vocalist on 1976’s “Turn the Beat Around,” but the spotlight gets put on musicians and their instruments. From horns and violins, to the guitar scratch and percussion, even the flute player is given rock-star status, the song is a celebration of all the components that go about creating a sound that “carries all the action.” It’s a latin-disco classic, made all the more fun by attempting to sing along to Robinson’s rapid-fire vocals, and lyrics such as “syncopated rhythm” and “rat tat tat…”
Space Jam: Jack White’s “Connected by Love”
The musician, Jack White recently released the powerful single and video for “Connected by Love.” Haunting synth evokes a sci-fi Kubrick film, or a Blade Runner score that would make Vangelis proud. Quick to follow are hints of the Stones in the ‘60s: the gospel feel of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”; soulful backing vocals reminiscent of Merry Clayton’s on “Sympathy for the Devil.” The experimental sound of the ’70s courses through too (passionate rock-opera-inspired vocals by Mercury and Daltrey come to mind). As already noted, “Connected” feels sci-fi cinematic; its accompanying video similar in part to the 2011 Lars Von Trier film, Melancholia, about the complex relationship between two sisters, as a planet sets out on a collision course with Earth.
With White threading together various musical styles, he blends the past with the present, and the (futuristic) video highlighting the unconditional bond between parents and children from all walks of life, while White’s character sits alone in a hotel room with his regrets (”What have I done?/I have pushed away everyone”), the importance of connection, plays a starring role.
Pop Playlist: ABBA: “Mamma Mia”
One is reminded of how powerful the brain can be when a song is featured in a film, and even 20-something years later whenever the song plays, the film and the scene, are immediately conjured. So is the case with ABBA’s “Mamma Mia.” However, the film is not Mamma Mia, based on the stage play, and starring Meryl Streep, but 1992’s The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
With Felicia (Guy Pearce) a big fan of the Swedish pop group, it was only natural that a song (“Mamma Mia”) would find its way into the film, and it does during the finale. The scene is a celebratory one that has the drag-queen heroes, Felicia and Mitzi (Hugo Weaving) returning home from a long journey into the Australian desert. Geographically, they’re happy to be home, but the bouncy, cheerful-sounding tone of “Mamma Mia” also reinforces how much the duo are also at home in their hearts, doing what they do best, surrounded by the people who love them. The song-scene pairing is also a testament as to how ABBA’s masterful creations can still instill a warmhearted sense of comfort and at times (euphoric) joy.
Pop Playlist: Madonna: “Vogue”
Arguably, Madonna’s 1990 hit, “Vogue” is her signature song, one that will always come up in conversation when discussing the icon’s contribution to pop (music) culture. With its theme of dance floor as place to escape life’s “heartache,” Madonna and co-writer Shep Pettibone paint a scene where fantasy, through imaginative (fashion-pose) voguing, serves as inspirational recharge for one’s own reality, a space that gives “new life.”
The documentarian, Jennie Livingston had already been exploring similar themes in the New York gay underground of competitive fashion-fantasy balls and voguing “battles” years earlier, with her groundbreaking film, Paris Is Burning. Yet Madonna was the one to bring elements from this world into mainstream visibility (“Life’s a ball”). While the powerful documentary delves into far grittier territory, “Vogue” focuses on the glitzier aspects of old-Hollywood glamour. It becomes more than just a catchy dance song or stylish video, it’s indicative of how a savvy Madonna took something subculture and crafted it into one of her most mainstream successes, in turn, also influencing the pop-culture lexicon, the word not just a noun anymore or the name of a magazine, but now a familiar action verb.
David Fincher’s masterpiece:
A clip from Paris Is Burning, with the legendary Willi Ninja. Take note at 1:15 - 1:25, which features a young Jose Gutierez, who a few years later would appear in the video for “Vogue” and be a part of Madonna’s “Blond Ambition World Tour.”
Talking about Bassline
One of the elements that makes Selena Gomez’s “Bad Liar” a good pop song is the bass-guitar sample featured at the very beginning. Taken from the Talking Heads’ 1977 song, “Psycho Killer,” its smooth, cool sound is just like its creator, the Heads’ legendary bassist, Tina Weymouth. While the group’s lead singer, David Byrne was also part performance artist, with his unique vocals and delightfully intriguing stage presence, it was Weymouth, normally off to his back left, who usually played it chill… and played it well.
Weymouth’s other noteworthy musical contribution came in the form of the band, Tom Tom Club, with its early-‘80s “psychedelic and funkadelic” hit, and well-sampled in its own right, “Genius of Love.” Footage below was part of (the late) Jonathan Demme’s 1984 Talking Heads concert film, Stop Making Sense. Here, Weymouth is on lead, showcasing her signature bass playing, and her own whimsical presence, alongside the backing vocalists, Ednah Holt and Lynn Mabry, and the Heads’ drummer, and fellow Tom Tom Club member, Chris Frantz, who Weymouth has also been married to since 1977.
Pop Playlist: Fleetwood Mac: “Over My Head”
“But it sure feels nice” is not just a lyric from Fleetwood Mac’s 1975 single, “Over My Head,” but essentially the subsequent end result after every listening session. The distinct, soothing lead-vocal style of the band’s keyboardist, Christine McVie is always a comfort to the ears, even as she sings of the lows of love, and the realization of being in a relationship with someone who’s not reciprocating what’s deserved: “Your mood is like a circus wheel/You’re changing all time.” McVie’s lyrics capture that struggle between head and heart in a simple, yet creative manner.
An Australian in Paris: “…That Sweet City Woman”
Kylie Minogue’s cover of the Bee Gee’s classic, “Night Fever” (from Saturday Night Fever) utilizes her upper upper-register, in order to capture Barry Gibb’s distinctive vocal style. In the live performances below, Kylie showcases her authentic, live-vocal capacity, even amid a backing track for (background-vocal) effect. When Kylie sings, “Makin’ it mine,” she’s makin’ it hers.
The staging, styling and choreography is nothing short of chic, paying homage to Parisian glam-pop-disco in the ‘70s, while the two female dancers sport voluminous hair and seductive moves of the period. Kylie joins the dance party at “I got fire in my mind/I get higher in my walking,” and can’t help near the end to do a funky four-step.
Timeless from “Time Life”
An infomercial can easily pull you in, especially when it’s one of those 30-minute “Time Life” music collections honoring the “Soul of the ‘70s.” The format, with its montage of short performance clips, mostly from vintage “Soul Train” episodes, just works to keep the attention after that initial allure—and of course most of the credit goes to isolating those catchy sound bites from some of the best R & B, soul, funk and disco productions. One in particular stood out: “(Every Time I Turn Around) Back in Love Again” by the band, L.T.D., fronted by Jeffrey Osborne. The singer’s distinct vocal clarity on top of a tight horn section, a pre-chorus popping bass chord, guitar scratch, tambourine, and soulfully angelic female backing vocalists are the ageless components.
Loud and Clear: The Police: “Message in a Bottle”
The Police’s 1979 hit, “Message in a Bottle” is their reggae-pop-rock take on isolation and alienation. It’s the (allegorical) story of a castaway on an island who sends out a communication, an “S.O.S. to the world,” and in return receives a uniquely poetic form of salvation.
The lead singer, Sting goes on to tell about how “Love can mend your life/But love can break your heart.” Yet one morning after more than of year of solitude, the castaway wakes to find “a hundred billion bottles/washed up on the shore/Seems I’m not alone at being alone/a hundred billion castaways/looking for a home.” Seemingly it’s validation and a sense of camaraderie between the faceless message writers that serve as (spiritual) rescue.
Pop Playlist: The Beatles: “Let It Be”
When the subject of The Beatles comes up in conversation, the discussion has the potential to turn futile when its participants theorize as to what song could be considered the group’s best. Why? Because there are just so damn many. “In My Life,” “Yesterday,” “Something” and this track, “Let It Be” are strong contenders, yet to continue adding to this easy-to-compile list would only reiterate the earlier point. “Let It Be,” the 1970 Lennon-McCartney classic, features a comforting piano, Paul McCartney’s heartfelt vocals, and spiritually centered lyrics of acceptance and faith.
The first verse and chorus have a downhearted feel, made evident by the aforementioned piano and vocals, plus these introductory lyrics: “When I find myself in times of trouble…”; “And in my hour of darkness…” Yet it’s the addition of the cymbal in the second verse, and soon a fuller drumbeat, choral backing, distant horns, Billy Preston’s church-inspired keys, and later the guitar breakdown, that serve to communicate a more promising feel, indicative of the effectiveness of the three-word advice and subsequent emotional comfort provided by “Mother Mary.” This caring character is represented as McCartney’s own departed mother who came to him in a dream, or in the traditional religious context of the Virgin Mary, or perhaps the listener’s own mother or guardian.
As the post-bridge chorus and final verse play out, McCartney begins to add optimistic vocal runs, plus he sings: “And when the night is cloudy/There is still a light that shines on me/Shine until tomorrow,” which evokes that image of a guardian angel keeping a watchful eye. He also speaks about the clarity that can result upon facing another day (“I wake up to the sound of music…”), leaving those “times of trouble” and “hour of darkness” in the past. In the outro, the forlorn piano prominent at the beginning of the song is eclipsed by Preston’s soulful organ and electric piano.
It’s also to be noted that at this time—1969, 70—The Beatles album, Let It Be was to be the band’s final venture. The song works as an encouraging sentiment for the listener thinking about his or her day-to-day challenges, and the acceptance and faith that hopefully comes along, but the track more so documents McCartney’s statement to the rest of the members of the band.
“Let It Be” is an indelible, universal reminder of how music can be a source of easily accessible inspiration; a secret confidant, whispering “words of wisdom” through a pair of earbuds. Take ease in knowing that if The Beatles comes up in that eventually futile conversation, there is “an answer” or at least a solid, credible argument in the selection of this profoundly poetic track.
Innocence Found: Tom Petty’s “American Girl” in the Movies
There’s nothing like the 1977 Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers’ song, “American Girl” to inspire a feeling of carefree, sing-along abandon in its fans. Appearing on their debut album, this popular track from the late ‘70s had enough staying power to go from radio to film, making appearances in the 1982 classic, Fast Times at Ridgemont High and the 1991 masterpiece, The Silence of the Lambs.
In Fast Times, “American Girl” plays over a montage of the first day of school. For some it’s a return to another year of popularity; for others, like Stacy (Jennifer Jason Leigh), it’s the start of a challenge. As soon as Stacy appears in this montage, the lyrics begin: “Well, she was an American girl/raised under promises/She couldn’t help thinking that there was a little more to life/somewhere else.”
She meets a handsome older guy named Ron (D.W. Brown), a stereo salesman in the mall. Stacy lies about her age and agrees to a date with him, 26. Stacy has abandoned her rule-following American girl. She sneaks out and runs to meet Ron on a street corner, who picks her up in his car. As Petty sang: “After all, it was a great big world/with lots of place to run to.”
As this young girl in Fast Times wanted to quickly become a young woman, the placement of the song in The Silence of the Lambs, shows how a young woman can quickly revert to being a young girl. Catherine (Brooke Smith) is driving by herself, singing along to “American Girl” on her stereo, her familiar nature bonding the viewer to her. Catherine pounds along on the steering wheel and not only sings the lyric, “Make it last all night,” but also tries to sing the backup at the same time, which only makes her all the more endearing. She stops singing, and the camera remains focused on her face, allowing for a final look, warning the invested observer that this carefree American girl, safe in her protective environment, will soon be anything but. She helps a man (Ted Levine) outside her apartment, her heart in the right place, yet her naivety gets her in serious trouble.
Although both films are different—Fast Times, a sharp, slightly unnerving comedy, Silence, a chilling, totally disturbing thriller—the choice to include “American Girl” is a testament to how well the song works in capturing wide-eyed innocence. Thankfully, both characters come out the other side as stronger American women.
Hook, Line and Singer: The Knack: “My Sharona”
Its thunderous drumbeat; deep bass chords; that stuttering guitar riff: It was clear that 1979’s “My Sharona” was going to be a hit. Especially in pop, it’s all about selling that repetitive hook that connects with the public; the aptly named band, The Knack knew about that and didn’t just rely on this holy trinity of instruments to do the hook work. They pushed further, allowing the vocal delivery, even the lyrics themselves, to stand out as well. The group didn’t throw together a pop song, but, in turn, crafted a definitive, engaging pop experience that still resonates. This one-hit wonder was chock full of so many smart, memorable hooks, it just couldn’t be shelved at the start of the new decade. Although its sound became synonymous with the ‘80s decade, it’s gone on to live several lives, most notably, as endearing pastiche, in the 1994 film, Reality Bites.