At a time of his career when he was desperately pretending to be straight, George Michael released this majestic ode to menstruation. It’s a truly great song, with a beat impossible to resist and a stratospheric chorus. Its video remains in the medium history due to the artist formerly known as Georgios Kyriacos Panayiotou not appearing, lip-synched by five of the six or seven supermodels of the time. This is an intriguing slice of life indeed. One is puzzled. What the heck were Claudia Schiffer and Helena Christensen doing that day?
Four very beautiful women co-rent a shabby loft with two male models, no interaction whatsoever being involved but light lesbian S&M. They are dirt poor and can’t really afford clothes or even an electric kettle. First room mate Linda (Evangelista) does not even own a chair and she sits pantless on the floor while she boils water on a radiator. Think Dickens without coal.
A male version of George Michael unconvincingly peels an orange he doubtlessly stole from a food cart, unable to find a comfortable position on an armchair placed too close to a wall. Second room mate Naomi (Campbell) makes a dramatic entrance, unafraid to die electrocuted by the longest cabled headphone ever (that was filmed before wifi, kids, even remote-controlled CD players are considered as futuristic here), twisting and turning among water leaks. She’s so poor she can only afford the neck of a turtleneck and she’s topless. With combat boots. Fierce.
Third room-mate Christy (Turlington) makes another dramatic entrance. She’s so poor she only wears a king size bed sheet. She also is a witch, coyly revealing herself through pyrokinesis. The male George Michael auditions for Spiderman and scratches his ass while a twink version of Benjamin Franklin discovers the wonders of electricity.
Fourth room-mate Cindy (Crawford) is so poor she can’t even afford water to take a bath, so she has to make with the steam coming from the weirdest plumbing system ever. They are so poor, see, that they can’t afford a plumber, so water leaks anywhere but in the tub. She has a shaving mirror, though, maybe she could sell it to buy some rags?
Appears dishevelled fifth room-mate Tatjana (Patitz), one of the most gorgeous woman to ever have walked the earth. She’s so poor she only has a négligé to wear and a tiny heater to warm her, perilously placed close to the bed in which she smokes dreamily. Lady, are you on laudanum and/or do you have a death wish?
Ben Franklin, having mastered electricity, tasks himself to invent the aircraft. Ensues a lesbian S&M piercing ritual (since Linda had unexpectedly come across Christy) confusingly edited to deprive it of any depravity. Having tasted blood, Christy morphs into a zombi panther on the prowl.
At the 5:30 mark, the plot thickens, confronting women with their nemesis: clothes. Well, fabric, since they are so poor. Linda-the-piercing-witch fights for her life not to be eaten alive by a cannibal sweater; Cindy’s towel attempts to kill her; Christy’s sheet has left her for a Wurlitzer. Finally, innocuous Naomi proves herself the most powerful witch of the covenant: she can make stuff blow up by saying the magical word: Freedom!