TV watchers learned over the years that we need to put up with commercials because, well, that’s what pays for the shows. Ads are all over the place – billboards, naming rights, pop-ups on websites. Why, even after you’ve paid $12 for a movie ticket and settled comfortably with your $5 soda and $9 tub of popcorn, commercials appear on the big screen. I know, right? When did that happen? The movie theater was the place you didn’t have to sit though ads for local dental services and funeral homes. Does anyone watching a movie ever, ever think, “you know, Millie, we really ought to swing by Perpetual Peace Mausoleums on the way home and book a couple of drawers.”?
The worst part of television ads now is that they come in clumps. About five to six minutes into the show, you get a whole string of commercials – about eight or nine. The show comes back for a few more minutes and then, wham, another string of them. Sometimes you get the same ad twice in the block. Does that second viewing of that little guy and his blond sidekick really bring home the deal on a sofa? And while we’re on that subject . . . . . .
Why is it that furniture stores rarely hire professionals? These people somewhere along the way never quite learned to speak, let alone write a script or read a cue card, and often look on screen like tornedo victims. They live by the creed “louder is better”. Eyes wide with a touching hint of fear, they deliver their lines with the smooth polish of a rockslide. Local car dealers, particularly purveyors of used cars go for the down home, “dragged somebody out of the showroom to film this” look. I saw one a couple of years ago that was sadly filmed on a day of gale force winds, and I suspect they were using the family video camera. The hair was blowing, the necktie flapping in the face, the sales pitch coming and going with wind voice-overs. This ace film crew didn’t even bother to rent cordless mics, so the cord snaking down the pant leg made this poor guy look horribly deformed, kind of like the Elephant Man. Professionals know how to modulate their voices, how to look calm and poised on the screen. For heaven sake, if you’re going to buy ad time, make it worth our while. Don’t flatter yourself that you know what you’re doing. You don’t. Which leads us in a circle back to . . . .
I’m a bit concerned about some of the messages that are being sent to people in some of these commercials. There’s the one with the little guy that’s moving down the line, cutting hair on dolls and stuffed animals and gets to his little sister. The mother looks briefly disapproving until she realizes that she has her handy sweeper at the ready. Really, sweeping up the mess with a smile on your face is the concern here? How about grabbing the scissors out of the hands of the Demon Barber? Or should we just presume that happened after the floor was nice and shiny? Others that, while amusing, tend to irritate include new car commercials. The kids describe how Dad has really upped his game because the fantastic new minivan helps him get in and out, and thus gets him fully organized and ready to conquer life. Before the arrival of this new wonder machine, he was a total doofus. I say, maybe that person filming those breaking bags of groceries in the pouring rain could have been helping? It’s doubtful all the sports equipment he’s loading into the car were for his personal use. Again, maybe some help here rather than a harsh critique in front of the camera. And we have the commercial where Dad is searching for something to clean up the child in the high chair after a messy meal only to find the dog has done it for him. That one manages to be both insulting and disgusting. We all know as good parents that he should have put the little one in the dishwasher, light wash cycle in the upper rack only to fully remove all those dog germs, but that of course is hindsight. Dad is often presented in commercials as wreaking havoc in the home, unable to cope or get anything done, the parent always drinking beer and watching television while ordering a pizza because he can’t cook, bumping into glass doors and creating great walls of fire on the barbecue when he’s home. Mom, on the other hand, is there to lovingly pick up the kids from soccer practice or swoop in and save the day with paper towel and spray cleaner in hand. Is this really how the advertising world perceives the family unit? Even one car insurance commercial has Mom putting a loving hand around her son, explaining how he was saved from disaster by insurance coverage, while the next scene has the stranded pair late at night, one teenager saying to his buddy, “yea, my Dad says our insurance doesn’t have that”. It’s pretty certain that Dad wouldn’t send Mom out to help change the tire in the middle of nowhere. One of the few that appeals to me because Dad isn’t a lazy screw-up is the suave guy, possibly a CIA agent or a movie star, driving the upscale SUV. At the end, he’s picking up the kids from a pool party. That’s more how many fathers, myself included, see ourselves – a bit below Jason Bourne but well above Dagwood Bumstead.
Teachers don’t often fare well in commercials either. Perhaps the most egregious popped up a while ago, featuring a frazzled teacher who seems to spend most of her time dreaming of her vacation. The kids are running wild, one delightful child is playing with the teacher’s cellphone while another is sitting in an aquarium. Yes, that happens daily in classrooms across America, thank you, Ad People. I also enjoy the commercial for some type of digestive disorder featuring a band director. Clearly, this woman never held a baton before the shoot, and is proceeding to beat the 1812 Overture senseless. Really? Someone on set had to tell her, “Phyllis, hold it in the right hand. That nob on the end is the handle.” You can put her in a band uniform and stand her on a podium, but we all know she barely knows what a band is. Clearly, the actress must be married to someone important at the agency – it’s the only possible explanation.
The latest ad to capture my attention, not in a good way, is a vendor that wants us to “tell them our story” so they can be “part of the narrative” and develop a deep and abiding emotional bond with a website. Again, I say, really?? We just want to buy a vase and possibly a throw pillow. They’re way overthinking this. The agency must be hiring journalism majors with an introductory course or two in psychology, and these newbies are trying really hard to say they’re working “in their field”. I don’t want to be a part of their narrative – in fact, once the throw pillow arrives, my narrative is finished. No more family photos, no reunions or Christmas letters, in fact unless they’re hacked by someone using a Compaq in Uzbekistan, I’ll be their lost orphan. Don’t “reach out and touch” me because you’ll get cyberslapped.
In case you haven’t been paying attention, “branding” is the buzzword for burnishing a corporate image. It means that you create a positive “concept” to build customer loyalty. Remember when your parents and grandparents used to buy their cars from the same dealership since 1936? Or had the same insurance carrier since Queen Victoria started wearing black? Well, that isn’t happening any more. Younger generations are shopping around and using the internet to look for the best deals, so the brand name may or may not factor into the equation. Established names have been drifting into oblivion faster than Pontiac, MCI, and E F Hutton. I guess that while E F was speaking, nobody was listening too much, so corporate logos are more defined and plastered across the universe, slogans shortened and projected with alarming frequency onto the big and small screens of life. I’m stopping here because I don’t want to overpower my brand, which is to enrich and enlighten. I’ll send out a survey later to see . . . . . oh, wait. That’s another column.
I'm Thinking...No! 