Fans and spectators from all over the multiverse gather excitedly in the Senmerí Festival Arena as they glance at their watches and silently count down to the opening. Two weeks ago, the auditorium they are stood in was an aircraft hangar. Tonight, it is the multiverse's biggest stage. The lights suddenly switch off, causing the audience to cheer and applaud and, in some cases, rush to their seats. Suspended above the stage are large LCD displays showing helicopter shots of Chámelíyálí countryside; vast jungles, majestic peaks, windswept plains. Spotlights illuminate a veiled figure on the stage accompanied by a small orchestra.
Parichay (Prelude) - Senmerí City Orchestra
Canis Lupus - Alexandre Desplat
Canis Lupus - Alexandre Desplat
Silent, the audience is enraptured by the natural beauty of Chámelíyá presented before them and the delicate voice accompanying it. They clamour to work out the identity of the anonymous songstress, edging forwards on the seats hoping to steal a better glance of her. But alas, as soon as they find a suitable vantage, almost on purpose, the LCD displays begin to descend, enclosing the orchestra and the mysterious performer. The LCD displays fade to black and the audience, unsure of what is unfolding before them, remain speechless. A message appears on the displays, 'MUTU BÁTA', which subsequently fades out and is replaced by 'FROM THE HEART' which in turn fades away. Suddenly, a familiar voice is heard and the LED displays, now showing people standing near various Chámelíyálí sights waving coloured smoke bombs, begin to ascend revealing a woman in an avant-garde dress.
You - Mátangí
Cruel - St. Vincent
Cruel - St. Vincent
Mátangí is alone in the middle of the stage sat on a rusting park bench. The camera slowly pans in on her as she tries hard not to smile. Her win of the World Hit Festival had landed her in the centre of the multiverse's consciousness and her victory tour around Chámelíyá had sold out in hours. Now she was in her home town singing the song that had started it all.
I guess it’s nice but there’s so much more I want from you
The camera focusses in on Mátangí, her eyes looking wistfully back into it. She holds her head in her hands and rests her arms on her legs and begins to sing with her distinctive twang.
Forever here we do sit but I want more
Not just friends, be my one ally, you
You
Mátangí falls back on her bench with an air of resignation and idly smooths out her skirt unaware of the small crowd of men, women and children, all dressed in white t-shirts and jeans, gathering around her.
I guess it’s nice but there’s so much more I want from you
Can you not feel it too?
The crowd gathers around Mátangí, some kneeling down, others leaning on the bench and listen to Mátangí intently, hanging off her every word. Still not noticing her entourage, Mátangí continues to sing vacantly into the camera.
Hours are not enough for getting closer
I need you, dear, eternally, infinitely, you
You, oh
You, you, oh
The crowd gets onto its feet and leads Mátangí away from the bench towards the front of the stage. Placing Mátangí in the centre of their throng, the group jostle around her, dancing freely to the music. Coloured smoke begins billowing from the stage's perimeter and, with the assistance of the wind machine, drifts gracefully across the stage. Amidst the motion, however, Mátangí remains still, eyes focussed on the camera.
I guess it’s nice but there’s so much more I want from you
Can you feel it too?
So much we could do
Suddenly, members of the crowd start slinging handfuls of bright powder paints into the air and at each other. The group breaks into a frenzy of colour but Mátangi continues singing unmoved and undeterred by the chaos around her - her motionlessness and expressionlessness in stark contrast to the energy and movement surrounding her.
Just take my hand, understand, be my man and lay me down, oh
The sand is running out, there’s not much time so just do it, take me please, oh, you
You, oh
You, you, oh
The camera pans slowly away from Mátangí, still stationary, and the joyous crowd. Bursts of colour continue to rise up and smother the group as all memory of the white clothing they wore is buried under the riot of hues caking them now. As the music begins to wind down, Mátangí allows herself to break into a smile and waves to the admiring home crowd, "Dhanyabád Senmerí. Welcome to the World Hit Festival!'.
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