Posts Tagged ‘ad’

One Minute Review: Duffy’s Coke Ad

February 24, 2009

Forgive my ignorance, but apart from the opening bars of Rockferry (or whatever it’s called) I hadn’t really heard Duffy’s singing voice. I ran for cover whenever her stuff came on the radio or TV fearing MOR, cod-Motown miserablism.

Last night, the above came on television and I thought I was being hoaxed. Is that genuinely her voice? Is that the caterwaul that garnered three Brit awards?

It sounds like someone’s pulling on her piles! It sounds like someone’s kicking a kitten and farting in a foghorn! It’s the most disturbing cola advert I’ve ever seen! Apart from the New Generation one.

It’s horrific.

Advertisements

Iceland Christmas Advert 2008

December 2, 2008

We live in a world where atrocities occur each and every day. Whether that be the systematic rape and imprisonment of children, the genocide of entire races of people or the false imprisonment and torture of ethnic minorities, few can deny that the world can be an ugly and brutal place.

Despite knowing of the depths of man’s inhumanity to man, despite being aware of the full capacity of evil that exists within human beings it’s still hard to imagine anything – anything – worse than the prospect of having to watch the Iceland Christmas advert again.

When the final city falls, the last creature dies and we are visited by alien beings eager to learn the tragic circumstances of our downfall (much like the ending to Steven Spielbergs A.I., in fact) they will look upon this moment and realise that everything can be attributed to the release and distribution of this advert.

As the souls of the damned burn in eternal hellfire they will be forced to watch this medley of frozen foods, Christmas carols and ITV stalwarts in ear piercing 3D futuroscope. On an endless loop, it will pierce their retinas and they will begin their unanswered cries for mercy, knowing that only an appearance by Christopher Biggins could deepen their pain.

It’s a distant and terrifying world for me; the world where frozen pepperoni kebabs hawked by fake-tittied junkies, self-hating right-wingers and formally famous pop stars can be considered appealing. These are the dregs of the celebrity world; end of the pier daytime TVers more famous for their lives than their talents – yet somehow their endorsements are seen as encouragable.

The planet may be bleeding terror and dying from environmental collapse, the soul of humanity may well be killing itself and bringing destruction upon itself and the capitalistic system may be bringing us to the edge of a societal implosion but real evil – deep true evil, the kind Buffy used to battle – is reserved for inside the cathode rayed nipple in the corner of the room, the glowing box which bears the names Katona, Nolan and Donovan.

Fear them, for they will destroy us all.

Heat

October 2, 2008

How does one sum up the contemporary female as viewed by the gutter press?

Well look no further folks, it’s here.

Being perpetually presented with media stereotypes of women, the new Heat advert is the perfect representation of all that is wrong with how we view the role of the young woman in today’s society. What is more disturbing is how this celeb crap is something women aspire too.

My favourite whipping boy (and she’s got a face like a bloke) is Jordan, the tit-waggling tart who, by a combination of self exploitation and sheer greed, has managed to make a fucking fortune by using the media to reinvent herself at the expense of her own family. As a role-model, the damage has already been done. Every other aspiring ‘celeb’ is only too happy to be seen, cosmetically adjusted for the purpose of the universal proletariat bloke, swaggering about wearing nothing but tooth floss in order to gain the attentions of the paparazzi.

But there is more. After the mutual exploitation has established a ‘celeb’, said celeb will often bite the hand that fed it. This results in violence – think Allen/Winehouse who regularly find themselves having to punch their way out of their own homes or clubs when the monster they’ve created turns to suck the very marrow out of their bones.

It has to be said that the violence is usually dished out by those that, to some degree, have earned their fame via talent (the likes of Jordan and Marsh couldn’t afford to spurn the attentions of the press) but obviously such behaviour keeps the artist in the public eye, which will ultimately result in record sales. young women are left with the notion that it’s acceptable for women to use their fists as well as their tits.

Now the Heat advert. Incidentally, Heat is nothing more than a paparazzi-landfill with a desire to do no more than poke its nose into the lives of those that jangle their enhanced privates / damaged emotions at cameras before dishing out gushing praise or more commonly, screaming vitriol, to nosy gossips and fishwives.

So, after being presented with a typical cover of Heat, an expose on some gits Lumpy Thighs’ for fucks sake, two women start to punch the crap out of one another.

We’re presented with the idea that Heat is of such value that two perfectly normal women are prepared to kick seven bells out of each other in order to read the last available copy. But even within the advert there is more bird-baiting, while these two fairly ordinary wankers roll about on the floor a model serenely plucks the magazine from the shelf looking down at the ‘ordinary’ pugilists with a certain degree of disgust.

Sort of says it all about the magazine, it’s content and it’s readers.

Actually, I could go on and on about this… but I won’t.

KFC – Boneless Bargain Banquet for One

September 24, 2008

Hey you!

Yes, you..!

Are you sick of all the needless bother that goes hand-in-hand with enjoying a meal? Are you bored of having to sit at a table; of facing other people, of trying new and interesting food and having to use cutlery and plates?

How about restaurants? Aren’t they a pain? The way they make you choose what you want from a text menu instead of brightly lit photographs with combo options. It’s obscene.

And they make you sit inside them too – at tables. All you really want to do is sit at a bus stop bench with a cardboard box.

They’re so arrogant, showing off about having food that you haven’t heard of or possibly may not like.

What about women? So fucking annoying the way they make you spend time with them – listening to what they say or doing what they want and, worst of all, making you break the endless cycle of repetitive behaviour that makes life so easy.

Have you tried cooking? What a waste of time! Buying all those ingredients and then having to prepare it yourself! It’s an insult – making you responsible for your own food. Like you have the time to learn how to do that!

Luckily there’s an alternative to all that bullshit; a way out of socialising and trying new things, a way out of wasting time in the kitchen or spending more than a fiver on food. It’s called the KFC Boneless Bargain Banquet for One and it is the future of culinary delight.

No longer do you have to wait more than two minutes for your snap. No longer do you have to face the insufferable company of your other half and no longer are you bound by the societal constraints of etiquette or manners… it’s finally here! Freedom.

You can sit alone on the kerb and stuff yourself silly with greasy and abused meat from a questionable source and not have to worry about choice or flavour.

Vegetables? Bollocks! Taste? Bollocks! Polite company? Bollocks!

You can now sit in public and wolf down non-threatening food and not have to worry about trifling annoyances like bones or using forks. Look at those poor saps, stuck indoors and having a nice time with the ones they love. Pity them, for they are bound by having to make decisions, pretending to enjoy their fancy-dancy toff grub. You are the real winner, alone and free to enjoy your genetically spliced super meat without restaurants or the effort of cooking.

Have you tried Tennents Super? It’s brilliant – it gets you pissed without the constraints of having to enjoy the drink. How about microwavable burgers? So useful, because who wants to have to wait for longer than a minute and a half for dinner?

While we’re here, let’s mention internet porn… After all, who wants to go to the bother of talking to a woman when all you really want is tits at the click of a button?

KFC are all about the here and now. We’re about instant and easy gratification without the attention to pointless aspects like enjoyment or quality. We don’t bother you with company or pleasant surroundings, we don’t oppress you with plates and glasses – we’ll mainline you with an instant, worry-free hit of MSG and we guarantee you won’t have to talk to a girl, a waiter or another human being in the process.

What’s more, we promise to treat you like a complete fucking troglodyte moron in not only our advertising, but in our restaurants too.

One Minute Review: Vauxhall Corsa

August 21, 2008

YOU WILL TAKE THE STRANGE VAUXHALL ‘C’MON’ PUPPET THINGS TO YOUR FUCKING HEARTS!

They won’t let it go, will they? The advertising agency has decided we’re going to damn well like these … these … whatever the fuck they are, so we’d better get used to the idea. They’ve done tie-ins with soft toy companies so we can all own one of the … of the … what the fuck are they? You can buy key-rings with them on, mouse mats, mugs – anything you could think of that you can stick one of these doo dahs on, you can buy it. Hooray!

NOTE TO VAUXHALL:

You can’t simply decide what the next Flat Eric, ITV Digital Monkey, Crazy Frog etc. will be. The public – fickle beasts that they are – will either warm to your unusual advertising creation or they won’t. Putting the soft toys and the key rings and the tea towels in the shops in anticipation of a countrywide feeding frenzy doesn’t automatically guarantee that feeding frenzy will take place.

Your … erm … whatever the fuck these things are supposed to be… are also-rans. They’re the new PG Tips birds, the new Noid (see? Nobody even knows what the fuck that is); they’re not Churchill the nodding dog, and they’re never going to be.

So, bearing this in mind – Vauxhall, can you please take your ‘C’Mon!’ puppet things away from our screens, and shove them right up your fucking arse?

Thanks.

Coors Light

July 17, 2008

This is one of those odd ones that I hate/like.

A bit like shaving your balls, it’s not nice to do but I like the way it feels afterwards. Or wanking off looking at pictures of your mum, which is nice at the time but after it you feel a bit… well… suicidal.

The advert starts with the usual humourless twattery; bubbles, filters, clean, cool…beer-guff – the sort of shite they wheel out for people too scared to drink proper ale (which should be dark brown, flat, a little cooler than warm and drunk by men – not baseball hatted tossers with three quarter-length shorts and Billabong t-shirts).

We’ve seen it all before. Swirling effervescent liquid glittering like silver sunflakes in tan gutmud with some Burton-deep narration – rich and manly – eulogising over it. Wonderful, delicious etc… hyperbole in a glass.

But wait. No. Something’s not right. The camera has pulled up through this pond of gassy gall and two young men are in conversation… Wait – the one on the right appears to be the one actually narrating… The one on the right IS the man evangelising about the wonders of Coors.

Jesus.

Now this is fucking annoying. At this stage of proceedings my exasperation dam has broken and a flood of rasping sighs gas into my living space like a farting cow. The tit on the left castigates the ‘narrator’ on the right for ‘doing that’ but by now my tolerance is repaired, something wonderful is about to occur…

I really don’t understand why this has happened; I can’t comprehend why any part of my being seismically shifts as it does. I mentally down tools and like a five-year-old waiting for the steam train to round the mountain, I freeze in anticipation for the narration to continue off-camera. The two protagonists look at each other in silent astonishment, then look behind.

Approaching them, extolling the virtues of the ‘clean crisp taste’ in exactly the same throaty tones as the narrator is a plain looking girl with a rather large mouth. Sweet Christ, no.

SHE’S the narrator, it’s her!! She’s nothing to look at. She’s mousey and a little rotund but something about her, the way she walks and the manner in which she ‘speaks’. The coquettish way she chinks her bottle at the end of her sentence. Dear reader… I FUCKING LOVE HER!

I’m left sitting there in silence, grinning from ear-to-ear like an utter twit, like I’ve just been touched by the hand of Christ. Why has this happened?

Oh beautiful Coors girl, be mine, be mine, you fat frog.

Ad Nauseam

March 7, 2008

Commercial Break 

It bothers me how much time I spend writing about adverts for this blog. I’d love to use it more wisely, perhaps writing about actual television programmes and works of art instead of the intermediate bursts of consumerist affirmation that punctuate them. However I can’t. Adverts fascinate, appall, offend, excite and pique the curiosity much more than most media these days. After all – culture is transient but commercials… well… I find them to be the true reflector of our society. We can go on about social change, about emerging trends and about legal precedents all we like, but until the most prevalent format begins to reflect them we may as well just keep quiet.

That said, I am trying to cut down on my own advert ramblings a tad this year and have decided to condense all my bile and pithy complaints into one easily digested post. No reams of material here, just a few biteback comments about the adverts which are really grinding my goat right now.

Pedigree Kennel Drive

Aaaaaw, look at the sad puppy with the voice of Bob the Builder…. aaaaaaw, animals are so cute… aaaaaaw, look, Pedigree are raising awareness by donating money from each pack sold to help homeless dogs… aaaaaaw… hang on, what do you mean 1p from each pack sold? For just three months? You tight bastards… that means if that EVERY person in the country who owns a dog buys 1 pack a month they’ll only receive 200 grand? That’s less than your poxy advert, celebrity appearance, PR company and airtime cost. Why not just not make a flat out donation and get the free publicity from your good naturedness?

Oil of Olay Definity Test

Classic example of ‘here’s the problem you didn’t know you had and now here’s what you need to solve it’. Money please. I’m reminded of that great Mitchell and Web sketch about toothbrushes.

ASDA

Why pay more? Because you’re a corrupt, unethical, slave-labour using, minimum wage endorsing, union-busting, tax-evading corporation. That’s why.

Kinder Bueno, A Little BIt of What You Fancy

This is not the 1970s. Or were you just angling for a featurette on Tarrant on TV for being cheeky? Jesus Fucking Christ… switch the genders and you’d have a full scale controversy.

LV Life Insurance

Read the small print; amount paid back will be less than paid in, fail to make a payment and the money is ours to keep, no payment until a year after your death so we have a full 12 months to bury your cash into all manner of highly dubious financial risks and ensure that the money isn’t available to pay for funeral costs and other expenses. Cilla Black, for shame – and the trawl through the Sixties audio is cringe-worthy.

Stella Artois – Pass Something On

I. Just. Hate. This. Fucking. Advert. Give the man his hat, or shoot him. Just get to the end of this piece of shit before I explode… that music…just thinking about it makes me want to cry inside.

Skoda Cake Car

Another advert I just despise… informing the public of a product or service is one thing, but this incessant branding is beginning to wear down my lifeforce. Not content with just presenting themselves anymore, we now have to suffer through a thousand ego interpretations of how Nike, or Sony, or Skoda (for fuck’s sake) want us to think of them. It’s a car! It’s a fucking car! Tell me about the fucking car, don’t subject me to the tedious artistic vision of a bunch of ad men. Either sell me a product or fuck off, stop being whimsical and aloof because it’s not big, it’s not clever, and it’s certainly not making me warm to you as a conglomerate.

Halifax feat. Thomas from Leeds

I will never have an account with Halifax, and it is solely because of these adverts. Full stop. Never. Their branding has done the opposite of the intended effect and has driven me from their stores, never to return and filled with hatred for them. Want to know why bank charges are so high? It’s so they can pay for their staff to CGI surf on TV and not even have the decency to buy their dignity with money – just ‘an opportunity.’

Halifax are dead to me now, as are Lloyds for their ‘want it/buy it’ commercials. These aren’t people, they’re relentless pathological extortioners.

Davidoff

Ewan McGregor, why? Did you want a second home or something? Money is surely no object to you, so why did you feel compelled to sell yourself off to a fucking perfume-maker? And to think I used to have respect for you…

THE END