Posts Tagged ‘Advertisement’

Newsgush – Total Recall

October 21, 2008

In our irregular, slightly unpopular news item we take a little look at Marketing magazine’s Adwatch feature, this time dated 15th October. And what a cracker it is this time around.

So – if you’ll do us the honour of casting your mind back – you’ll remember Adwatch gathers information from those rotten swines, the general public. Then –using computers – it figures out which ads are more easily recalled in the empty, addled and simple minds of the unwashed masses (that’s us).

Let’s have a look at the Top 5. At this point, please imagine ‘The Wizard’ by Paul Hardcastle playing in the background. Or click here if your imagination is feeble. 

5.) Greggs
I don’t actually remember ever seeing an ad for Greggs appear on my TV. I’m finding it difficult to believe they actually advertise, as the Greggs near my manor is essentially a doss-house for crackheads and ageing ladies of the night. Every time I walk past, it’s scattered with the flaking imagery of the Hackney undead. Perhaps they’re attracted by the delicious cream horns.

4.) Subway
Balls to Subway and their revolting food. Have you ever been in one?
It’s ridiculous. You stand in a queue and go along on a meet-and-greet with the chain-gang employees (no doubt being paid tiny peanuts) trying not to be pernickety about how many kernels of corn you want in your ridiculously elongated bap. If you ask for steak and cheese, they put a small tray containing a mass of what genuinely resembles bum-pickings into a microwave. It’s deeply unappetising. I can’t recall the advert.

3.) Hovis
Again – this one’s gone straight over my head – if I’ve ever seen it. Do people really buy bread based on an advert? I can’t say I’ve ever seen a loaf on TV and made a mental note to purchase one the next day at dawn. There are too many other thoughts banging around my brain like ‘if I don’t do some work in the office tomorrow I will get fired‘, ‘they should, one day, make a gameshow with a skyscraper made out of jenga blocks‘ and of course, the perpetual repeat-playing of the question ‘have I got a terminal disease?‘.

2.) Marks & Spencer
That’s more like it! Of course I remember this. M&S have pulled off the trick of putting a piece of crumpet in their advert, running around in her underwear again. The fact they do this every single time means this is a successful campaign. I like the fact that, in the new one, she’s running around a fairground in her smalls. If she’d tried that in any of the travelling fairs I attended as a child she’d have promptly been dragged off to a dark area behind a lorry by the feral-looking monster who ran the waltzers. Someone should have a word with that naughty French siren – and I’m volunteering.

1.) Confused.com

ARGH. AAAAARGH. AAAAAAAAARGH!
This advert makes me want to kill, maim and die. dot com. Lobotomised spectres walk around a white nothingness.com, containing only badly rendered cardboard-cutouts.com painted by children.com. It makes me confused.com and I can’t bear it. (dot com)

So there we have it. Once again, we see that the adverts we remember are, on the whole, the ones that…

a.) make us want to kill, or
b.) show us perfect-looking ladies running around in their pants.

Advertisements

Studio Line

October 14, 2008

It’s okay, even though it seems like last week this advert is 22 years old…

Finished throwing up yet?

No?

Done now?

Good.

I thought I’d mention something about this quite amazing piece of advertising because, for some reason, whenever I heard the word ‘L’Oreal’ (and without wishing to go into detail, for work reasons I do) my mind always automatically responds with ‘S-S-S-S-Studio Line’ then the final part of this commercial mentally reveals itself to me like vagina dentata. Specifically, the models bursting through the desperately 80s styled wall, miming playing instruments with less conviction than Julian Sands doing Hamlet in jelly.

That last part is possibly the most irritating thing ever, and I mean ever, put on television.

But I’m finding it hard to criticise it. Twenty-two years later I can still remember the fucker as if it was yesterday. Every drop of the advert is in me. It lives inside me like some sort of dreadful turd I can’t shit out.

That, sadly, is the point of advertising. To make a brand stick in the mind by foul means or fair and whilst this advert seems harmless enough, maybe I’m now convinced beyond doubt that the makers of the ad deliberately ballsed up the ending in order to make us (me) recall the product via inexplicable anger at the sheer naffness of it all.

Moonpig, anyone?

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.

Just a Thought – Daytime TV Adverts

September 15, 2008

Who said the credit crunch was a bad thing? It certainly isn’t if you’re a daytime TV watcher – that’s for sure!

Y’see, thanks to a bunch of Americans not being able to pay their mortgages, the unemployed, the self-employed, the students, the housewives and the ill of this land no longer have to put up with those bloody consolidation loan advertisements … huzzah!

No more Carol Vorderman advising us to put all our eggs into one easy-to-pay basket, no more Picture Loans man being amazed at how little he and his family need to pay, no more hurdlers from all walks of life being turned down for a loan because they’re retired or have bad CCJs. They’ve simply disappeared!

So, let’s all raise our glasses to the credit crunch, ladies and gentlemen! And here’s to it causing the arse to fall out of the ambulance-chasing market next.

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: Dolce and Gabbana

June 10, 2008

Hello. I’m Matthew McConaughey, you might remember me from lots of movies… or you might not… very few people actually went to see my movies, although I’m quite famous for once being arrested for smoking a joint and playing the bongos naked in my living room. Oh, I’ve dated a few people who you might have heard of – maybe that’s how you’d recognised me. Trust me, I’m famous and thus desirable to women and admirable to men. I am, I swear…

Anyway. I want you to buy this new… um… is it aftershave? I’m not quite sure, it doesn’t say what it is in the advert – but either way, I want to you to buy it and I believe in this… um… product so much that I’m prepared to put my name to it. Yes, it’s that damned good. You trust me, don’t you? I said I was famous, you must trust me.

The advert is all about my life – the constant hassle of being incredibly famous, the admiration heaped upon me for said fame, the stream of photographers always wanting to get a snap of me because I’m so famous and admired… and if you had this life, which you don’t, you’d be able to deal with it as effortlessly as me by using this product… this aftershave, I’m sure it’s aftershave I’m selling.

You see, when a company asks someone really famous and admired to be the face of their product it’s because they see an association with the star’s persona, they see a mutual affiliation in style and ethos. When Dolce and Gabbana asked me to be their face I was flattered because it meant they clearly saw me as the height of sophistication, and not as a has-been no-talent who no-one ever really cared about. It meant they didn’t see me as just a ‘person who was in some films no-one saw’ and more as an emblem of their international image.

After all, to sell an international product (I am, like, 99% sure that it’s an aftershave) you need an international celebrity – and who’s more world famous than Matthew Motherfucking McConaughey? I know that it looks like that my film career is in freefall and I have to do adverts just to remind people that I exist, but that’s not the case at all; I have loads of films coming out and some of them star people you like. I’ll be around for a long time yet, so don’t worry.

Thank you for listening, I’m Matthew McConaughey.

P.S. It’s definitely aftershave, I checked the website – although there was this moment when I realised it could also be suits or sunglasses – that was a scare.

SEE ALSO:

Pierce ‘I used to be James Bond, y’know’ Brosnan

One Minute Review – New Dyson Advert

April 21, 2008

Dyson's BallCrap vac

“Hello, I’m James Dyson.

I made a big deal out of the fact my overpriced vacuum cleaners were made here in Britain, got loads of praise for supporting the home team, got myself a knighthood, then made 800 workers redundant when I greedily shifted my manufacturing operation to the Far East.

“Even though I’ve already charged you vast sums of money for one of my old vacuums, I’ve now had the revelation that they were all shit because they don’t pivot around on a ball, like the new one I came up with in 2005 does. I even say in my new advert that there was a problem with the way all old vacuums moved around – that, therefore, includes my old cleaners.

“But you can swivel if you think I’m offering you a refund for selling you a shit vacuum last time. And you’ll not get an apology, neither.

“I’m James Dyson. Buy one of my new vacuum cleaners, and ignore the fact I’ve admitted I sold you a bum deal last time around.”