Madonna may have insisted, “If your dance floor feels dead maybe you’re playing the wrong music” earlier this year (meant as no “real” shade at Charli XCX’s “Rock Music” lyrics), but she might not have accounted for one little thing. Because while Carly Rae Jepsen’s third single from Day and Night, “Don’t Leave Me on the Dance Floor,” is nothing short of dance-pop perfection, there is but one man out on the floor dancing to it (thus, making that floor feel very dead indeed) in the accompanying music video, directed by Jeremy O. Harris. A man better known for his playwriting (and now, screenwriting) than his directing. In fact, this video marks his directorial debut. A testament to not only to Harris’ love of Carly Rae Jepsen, but also his love of his fiancé, Arvand Khosravi. For as Harris announced days before the video’s release, “On my first date with my fiancé he told me @carlyraejepsen was his favorite singer and we liste[ne]d to all of E•mo•tion together. This was my gift to him.”
And a beautiful, evocative gift it is. Complete with casting Alden Ehrenreich as the man being left on the dance floor. Since, as Harris tells Jepsen in a behind-the-scenes-video, “For some reason, the minute I heard the song, I saw, like, a sad man crying.” And Ehrenreich, who plays a character named Freddy (mind you, at no point is this name ever said in the video), is that sad man. Though he never outright cries, instead inferring the sadness through his dance moves.
Oh so important to cultivating said moves is choreographer Marc Crousillat, who helped Ehrenreich “do something with his body that he can’t say with words.” Because, oftentimes, the despair men feel—especially over a breakup or loss—simply can’t be effectively expressed in that way. As for Crousillat’s choreography background, this isn’t his first time working with Harris, having previously done the choreo for the latter’s 2025 production of Spirit of the People. It also isn’t Crousillat’s first dalliance with music videos either, as his introduction to the medium was Clairo’s “Terrapin” (directed by Ayo Edebiri). There’s no comedy in this one, however, with the opening scene coming across immediately like a drama as “Freddy” engages in a phone conversation with the woman that clearly wants to stay his ex (voiced by Olivia Washington).
Before that call, the wistful opening notes to the song tell as much of a story as the set design of Freddy’s room, which the viewer is introduced to with a shot of a fourth generation iPod on the nightstand (Slayyyter would surely be tickled to see this “Old Technology” still in use). That alone gives the immediate impression that Freddy is a man who doesn’t easily let go of the past. In fact, his “monologue” to his erstwhile (or tentative) girlfriend only seems to prove as much, with him pleading with her at one point, “Look outside, we’re not the only people having a hard time right now. You know, when a flock of birds is getting hit on every side by wind and rain, they don’t break apart. They get closer together. They barrel through it… I’m telling you, we’re gonna weather this.”
Alas, his girlfriend isn’t convinced, telling him she’s sorry and abruptly hanging up. This leads Freddy to go right back to bed, rolling over and falling asleep. It is thus that one gets the impression that what happens next is nothing more than a dream sequence, with Jepsen herself opening the door within a wall in the next scene, where she takes the stage at Garabaldina. Which, as Harris called out, is “the same location used for the ‘On Wires’ visuals… we love Garibaldina.” He also added of the location, “I chose [it] not only because my fiancé and I went to a friend’s wedding there earlier this year and I was obsessed” but also because, per Jepsen, it’s part of “sort of this intentional plan to make the world this full-circle thing.”
“The world” referring to the world of Day and Night, which, so far, had only given a glimpse of the “Day” side of things (it’s a double album) with “On Wires” and “After All” both representing that half. But now, thanks to “Don’t Leave Me on the Dance Floor,” listeners are experiencing “Night”—and it’s definitely giving “Day” some competition. Probably because its ultra-danceable, 70s-influenced backbeat is very ABBA coded. And, as Jepsen noted in a press release about the song, “I’d just been recording in Sweden and then traveled to London to see ABBA Voyage. I came home with a mission of making my own ABBA-esque pop song—something with a perfect pop melody, but with some updated production. I wanted a hook that made you feel like you had to participate and sing along.” Which it undeniably achieves, even with lyrics that are filled with the kind of pain that “Freddy” expresses through his solo maneuverings on empty dance floor.
Though, to be fair, he is surrounded by some errant randos sitting in chairs next to the tables on the periphery. Not to mention the presence of Jepsen as the resident “lounge singer” figure with a “Jessica Rabbit” look (as Harris describes it). In this regard, it’s easy to see why the video is ascribed as “Lynchian.” And not just because of the Dorothy Vallens parallel, but because there is a decidedly surreal quality to what’s happening. Not to mention a schizophrenic kind of “toggling” between moods—alternating between sad and joyful—that is achieved most notably through the lighting and camera choices.
To that point, Harris called out cinematographer Todd Banhazl for good reason, complimenting him with, “One of the reasons I wanted to work with [Todd] is because he’s such a camera nerd. I knew that I wanted this to feel of two worlds like DAY AND NIGHT does so we shot on a DVX100 and 16mm. It turned out gorgeous.” With “Freddy” basking in the glow of the different lights, he is at times yearning (even reaching his hand out in Jepsen’s direction as if hoping to conjure his absent girlfriend to the floor), kind of feeling himself and getting into it and, then finally, sobbing into the button-front shirt he took off at a certain moment in his frenzy.
All the while, the people surrounding him in the chairs react to nothing—not his open-wound emotions or Jepsen’s heartfelt singing. This being what lends it that disorienting Lynchian quality. And, in its way, also serves to remind that, often, when someone is at their lowest, others don’t provide much comfort, least of all anyone in the public space. At the same time, “disappearing” into a “crowd” (however staggered) of strangers can be therapeutic in its own way, allowing one to feel all their feelings without the inhibiting fear of being seen by someone they know. This, in part, is why the dance floor is so frequently painted as a place of refuge from the pains of the outside world, whether personal or “global.” It provides a sense of “anonymity.”
Granted, it’s hard for “Freddy” to feel anonymous as the only person baring his soul out on the floor, finally collapsing beneath the slowly rotating disco ball as the video comes to a close. For his emotions have at last completely overwhelmed him. And while some viewers might assume that’s the end as the credits start to roll, the “tag” scene is of his girlfriend walking toward him on the floor and the vocals of her saying, “Hi. Hello” on the phone from before playing once again.
A medium close-up shot on “Freddy’s” face gives one the notion that he’s hesitantly hopeful about what this might mean. And yet, the viewer doesn’t quite feel the same in that it’s not entirely clear if this is all just a dream or not. For the setup at the beginning of the video makes it read as dreamlike for sure. And yet, even if it is nothing more than a sleep-induced fantasy, it’s “positive” enough to note that “Freddy” won’t stop dreaming. Longing to keep love alive. Or, as Jepsen phrases it, “Remember how it feels to be the one to take me home/Come and show me your devotion.” In this regard, too, “Don’t Leave Me on the Dance Floor” is the ultimate anthem for couples who have been in a long-term relationship and need a reminder to “go back to the start,” when it all felt so fresh and full of promise. And that maybe, just maybe, it can again. At least on the dance floor.
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