Strange times we’re living in. That opening line hits different in 2025 than it did in 2019. But the game hasn’t changed – we’ve just gotten better at pretending not to see it.

The Setup: Brighton Pier and One Camera

Money Game Part 1 was filmed under the Palace Pier in Brighton by cinematographer Samuel Perry-Falvey, and the whole thing’s one continuous take. Not “one take” in the Love Actually sense where they cut and pretend – genuinely one unbroken shot, though they ran it multiple times to get it right. Think Victoria, that 2015 German film shot in a single 138-minute take. Same principle: the commitment to staying in the moment matters, even if it took attempts to nail it.

Ren’s moving around Romain Axisa from The Big Push, who’s sitting with a money mask over his face, providing the guitar backing. Ren circles him, rapping under Brighton’s Palace Pier. The whole thing’s DIY – no big budget, just a camera, some mates, and a point to make. And somehow that scrappiness makes it hit harder. When you’re talking about systems that crush people, filming it in a damp concrete tunnel feels more honest than a polished studio setup.

The Mask Stays On

Romain sitting there with the money mask over his face – it’s blunt, sure, but it works. The music keeps playing even when the person disappears. We’re all just keeping the song going, aren’t we? Heads down, playing our part, not looking too closely at what we’re actually powering.

The mask reads two ways: it’s the dehumanization of labour (you’re not a person, you’re a function), but it’s also willful blindness. Sometimes it’s easier to keep your head covered and your hands moving than to look at what you’re actually part of.

Strange Times We’re Living In

“Hierarchy parties, they make us feel inferior / Greed runs through the parliament interior / Devils walk among us, they fit the criteria.”

This was recorded in 2019, but it could’ve been written this morning. If anything, it’s aged better than it should have. The panic and hysteria Ren called out then? We’re drowning in it now. The “eerie theories” that “strike fear in weary minded men”? They’re not fringe anymore – they’re policy positions.

What hits hardest isn’t the anger – it’s the clarity. Ren maps the system without getting lost in conspiracy. He’s not claiming lizard people run the world; he’s pointing out that the people who DO run it are doing it badly, cynically, and with our permission.

The Ball Chained to Your Shoes

“A ball chained to your shoes I’m pained / It’s a cryin’ shame, the pursuit of our own wealth lights a flame / That makes greed a game that lets the whole world burn.”

This is where it stops being political commentary and becomes personal inventory. We’re not just victims of the system – we’re participants. Every time we choose convenience over ethics, profit over people, comfort over change, we’re playing the game. The ball and chain isn’t what they put on us; it’s what we willingly carry because we’ve been taught that’s how you win.

The guitarist with the money mask keeps playing. The music continues. The show goes on. And we keep dancing because stopping feels more frightening than continuing.

Point the Mirror at Ourselves

“But we like to point the blame, blame, blame, blame / It’s easier to blame / But point the mirror at ourselves / We’re all part of this old money game.”

There it is. The line that makes this more than just another protest song.

Ren could’ve made this an us-versus-them anthem. God knows there’s an appetite for that. But instead, he forces the question inward: what are YOU doing? Where are YOU compromising? How are YOU feeding the machine while complaining about its output?

It’s uncomfortable because it’s true. We want simple villains and easy solutions, but the money game works because millions of us play it every day without thinking. We want ethical consumption under capitalism while ordering from Amazon. We want fair wages while hunting for the cheapest price. We want climate action while living lifestyles that burn the world.

This isn’t about shame – it’s about recognition. You can’t change a game you won’t admit you’re playing.

Dear Mr. President

The second half of the track shifts gear – from systems to symptoms, from economics to identity politics weaponized as distraction. “When did freedom become a reason to hate?” hits differently in 2025 than it did in 2019, doesn’t it?

Ren dismantles the immigration debate with surgical precision: we’re all immigrants or descended from immigrants, yet we demonize the latest arrivals as if our own ancestors appeared out of thin air with passports stamped “native.” Britain colonized, was colonized, and now pretends it invented civilization while closing borders. America built itself on stolen land with stolen labor, then calls refugees “illegals.” The hypocrisy is so blatant it should be comedy, but it’s policy instead.

“There’s no left, there’s no right, in the middle we sleep” – we’re not divided by politics as much as we’re united by apathy, distracted by spectacle, lulled into thinking our team versus their team matters when the game itself is rigged.

The Single-Take Choice

The video’s commitment to the single unbroken take matters more than it might seem. Yes, they did it multiple times to get it right (like the film *Victoria*, which pulled off a 138-minute one-take heist thriller). But the final version is genuinely continuous – no cuts, no safety nets, no hiding mistakes.

It mirrors the song’s refusal to look away. Ren doesn’t give you a moment to breathe or mentally check out. He circles Romain, the camera holds steady, and you’re forced to sit with the discomfort of what he’s saying. In an age of 15-second attention spans and dopamine-engineered content, holding the frame becomes its own quiet rebellion.

This Is Just the Beginning

Money Game Part 1 is the setup – the individual reckoning, the personal inventory. It asks: do you see the game? Do you see your place in it?

Part 2 will show you how the game works. Part 3 will show you what it costs.

But first, you have to admit you’re playing.