The music video for Fat Boy Slim’s ‘‘Weapon of Choice’’ begins with
pher Walken sitting, dozing, in an anonymous hotel lobby. The vi
effect depends on our recognizing Walken, who not only exudes e
menace but combines catatonia with explosive
A sampled
riff rises in volume; a cut to a boom box on a stray cleaning cart con
source. Walken glowers sideways at this sonic intrusion, yet his li
neck respond to these rhythms with a will of their own. He stands, h
tions unclear. As the music builds to a crescendo, he moves dramatic
an exaggerated rock dancer’s pose. And when the driving bass track
into existence, his face still locked in impassivity, Walken’s body
into terpsichorean action.
Choreography, camera movement, and montage encompass the
space of the lobby, transgressing its hushed banality and turning
space of increasingly exuberant performance. Meanwhile the p-fun
iar voice of Bootsy Collins, he of the audible smile, turns a stray l
Dune into a funk mantra. Walken’s face remains ambiguously blank
sionally betrays a goofy glee. He glides on a luggage cart, tap danc
the cold marble floors, go-go dances on escalators and tables, spins
elevator, and finally sails over a railing and into the void.
Walken’s body, once leaden with exhaustion, is now lighter
swooping through a weightless space that seems to exist only to pe
motion. The null space of the atrium is invested with drama as Wal
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