Joe Jukic:
Nelly, I gotta ask you straight—why do you keep sabotaging me? Every time I try to get close to someone, there’s one of your songs in the background, cutting me down. Is this a game to you? If you like me, then let me take you out on a date. Simple.
Nelly Furtado:
Joe, you think it’s sabotage, but my songs aren’t daggers pointed at you. They’re just me, my cage, my label, my truth.
Joe Jukic:
No, Nelly. Stop squawking in your bird cage and grow a pair. I’m not asking for riddles in music videos or cryptic lyrics. I’m asking for you. Look, I’m leaving this starving country of Canada soon. I’m out. I’m gone.
Nelly Furtado:
Leaving? Where?
Joe Jukic:
Home. Croatia. For Christmas. But before I go, you’ve got one shot. Make that concert in Victoria. Prove to me you can escape from that record label cage you’ve been locked in. Show me it’s not all smoke and mirrors.
Nelly Furtado:
You think a concert could set me free?
Joe Jukic:
No. You can set yourself free. But if you don’t… don’t expect me to still be here when the snow melts.
Nelly Furtado:
Joe… you’re right. I don’t want to squawk in a cage anymore. I want to be free. Free from the handlers, free from the therapists, free from everyone who thinks they know me better than I know myself.
(She steps closer, her voice softer now, stripped of the stage mask.)
You’ve got what it takes to set me free, Joe. I know it. I feel it every time you call me out. You don’t treat me like a product. You don’t treat me like a broken bird. You see me.
Joe Jukic:
Then prove it, Nelly. No more shadows, no more excuses. Come with me to Victoria, and when I go home to Croatia for Christmas, maybe—just maybe—you’ll remember what freedom tastes like.
Nelly Furtado:
Joe… I want that. I don’t want the stage lights, the handlers, the therapists with their cold notebooks. I want soil under my nails, sunshine on my face, and quiet mornings where nobody owns me.
(She takes his hand, trembling but determined.)
You’ve got what it takes to set me free, Joe. Take me with you.
Joe Jukic:
Croatia isn’t glamorous. It’s not the gilded cage you’ve been trapped in. But it’s real. A kitchen garden, a home by the sea, Christmas with family instead of contracts and strangers.
Nelly Furtado:
That’s all I want. To grow something real. To plant seeds and watch them rise, instead of being told what to sing, what to wear, what to be.
Joe Jukic:
Then come with me. We’ll grow our own food, our own freedom. You’ll see what it feels like to breathe without a script.
Nelly Furtado:
Yes, Joe. Take me to Croatia. Let’s plant our freedom together.