Posts Tagged ‘Garnier’

One Minute Review: Garnier Ultralift Pro X

November 18, 2008

Davina McCall: As we age, skin loses its plumpness and wrinkles appear deeper. It’s all about bounce.
Man’s voice and subtitle: New Garnier Ultralift Pro X
Subtitle: Proven Temporary effect
Man’s voice and subtitle: Enriched with patented Pro-Xylane – derived from Beechwood extract
Davina: For me it’s the best anti-wrinkle cream
Subtitle: Intense firming anti-wrinkle care
Davina: It plumps up the skin and wrinkles appear pushed up, like this…

[she squeezes stress ball and then relaxes it]

Subtitle:
Dramatisation
Davina: Plumper skin – wrinkles appear reduced!
Man’s voice and subtitle: New Garnier Ultralift Pro X
Davina and subtitle: Take care
Man’s voice and subtitle: (Garnier)

They say the best scripts read just as well as they perform. Shakespeare rolls off the page, iambic pentameters bouncing with vim and vigour. Tennessee Williams’ melodrama shrieks at you as you scan his directions. You can even smell the stale gin on Withnail’s overcoat as you flick through Bruce Robinson’s screenplay.

I’d say the same is true of this offering from Garnier. The subtle combination of Davina McCall’s trusted, earthy personality combined with the voiceover from an unseen, softly spoken male is compounded by the sub-script up onscreen – a clinical white font offering useful additional information on this apparently amazing product. I know, I know – the fact that the stress-ball wrinkle-relief is a dramatisation could be considered a bit of a swizz, but for heaven’s sake! This is Davina McCall!

If we can trust anyone, it is she.

It’s all about plumpness.

Take care.

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Garnier / Topps Tiles

July 30, 2008

For the last few years the bastards at Garnier have been hissing ‘Take Care’ at me. Anyone else find this particular version worrying?

I used to be lithe and slim, I’d never smoked a cigarette in my life and only had a glass of wine at Christmas with the family. On the basis that I refuse to be told what to do by anyone, especially a faceless corporate suit, I’m now so fat I can’t see my own feet (or penis). On most days I’m pissed before 10am and have recently taken up the crack in order to sate my desire to smoke and take class A’s in one convenient package.

I’ll not have the bastards tell me what to do.

So imagine my surprise when, following a night of unprotected sex with a visibly ill 50-year-old European prostitute, another organisation – via the now-pawned TV – hissed ‘take care’ at me.

I thought I must be dreaming (or still whacked, I’d had two and half bottles of cheap Port the night before and had polished off three grammes of really bad speed as Dominika lowered herself for the umpteenth time on my weeping member…) when I turned my swollen head and fleetingingly saw a logo for Topps Tiles fade into the ether.

Of course I was still whacked (or dreaming, not that I have dreams anymore, I hate myself, I’ve nothing to give save sewage) but why the fuck would a company selling tiles want me to ‘take care’?

Take care of what? The tiles? Why the fucking Christ would anyone want to take fucking care of Tiles?

I mean, don’t get me wrong here, I’m not a monster – I’m happy to wipe away the accidental shard of diorrhea or splash of coagulated blood when little accidents occur on what’s left of the tiles in the room with a broken sink and chod bin – but ‘take care’ like that Garnier bird does with her skin? Fuck that.

I can see why someone would want to take care of their hair, or skin, or whatever (penis?). I used to be like that until I waged my one man campaign to prove that I could stick it back to the man as much as his sticks it to me.

But tiles? I don’t understand. Tiles are inanimate. They don’t care, or feel. They’re like my sister since I kidnapped her husband and held him up for ransom for an eighth of skunk and a drink – just a fucking eighth… And a drink.

Tiles don’t give a shit, okay? They don’t fucking care. No one does.

No one

does.