The piano keeps this opening close and formal, and Bowie is already singing the smallness of the scene.

That little domestic word, "No," tightens the room without making the music hurry.

Now the private room has turned toward the cinema: she reaches the silver screen while the arrangement keeps widening around the piano.

The chorus starts cutting quickly through images now: sailors first, then the show keeps getting stranger, but Bowie's delivery stays lifted and controlled.

The title question doesn't land like an answer. It hangs there over harmony that still feels temporary.

The second verse comes back harsher and funnier, moving from the girl's movie seat into America's face.

"Rule, Britannia" gets folded into the same bright collage; the arrangement holds all this pageantry in a neat, theatrical grip.

When the chorus returns, the command to focus feels even less possible because the song has already given us too much to look at.

The question comes back heavier this time, not because it's louder in the evidence here, but because the scenes behind it have multiplied.

With the singing gone, the ending loosens in pieces; after all that staging, the withdrawal feels blunt.