Super Bowl Ad Shuffle

Posted on February 4, 2013 by joash b.

Did Ray Lewis kill the lights? Was it Beyoncé’s lights out performance? Did the city of New Orleans take its collective revenge on Roger Goodell and the NFL for the “Bountygate” punishments? We may never know what caused the power outage in the Superdome, but we do know that the resulting 35 minute delay didn’t stop Super Bowl XLVII from becoming the highest rated Super Bowl in metered market history. While last night’s game may have been a high-water mark for ratings, most of the armchair media critics here at the agency don’t think it was a banner year for Super Bowl ads. While there wasn’t a transcendent, timeless spot, there were some winners, and, of course, some losers. Here is a look back at a couple of themes we noticed and my favorite and least favorite ads:

TELL ME A STORY

Aside from equating the word “bravery” with walking up to a woman and kissing her without consent, the Audi ‘Prom’ spot told a good, culturally relevant story and delivered a pretty resonant message about Audi being an aspirational luxury car brand. Likewise the Mercedes-Benz ad with the impossibly creepy Willem Dafoe as Lucifer told a good story. It managed to engage the audience and take us along on a fun ride. Although, if I’m going to sell my soul to the devil, I want a Ferrari, not a Mercedes, and I’m definitely hanging with a celebrity who is cooler than Usher.

LOW TECH 

It may not have been the best commercial, but GoDaddy.com’s cringe-inducing ad, featuring a computer nerd with an afro and psoriasis sucking face with Bar Rafaeli, was the most memorable of the night. The spot was both fascinating and repulsive. On the flip side, Best Buy’s “Asking Amy” ad was milquetoast and forgettable, while the Samsung ads featuring Paul Rudd and Seth Rogan didn’t show much product but were at least funny. By the way, where was Apple during this year’s Super Bowl? Below is the “unrated” GoDaddy.com spot. Watch if you dare.

CHEAP SENTIMENT

Every Super Bowl Sunday, it’s time to max out the maudlin. “So God Made a Farmer” was Dodge Ram’s entry in the sentiment Olympics. The ad just didn’t work for me. The stirring Paul Harvey speech, the breathtaking photography and the tug at the American heartstrings were all fine, up until the reveal at the end. I felt like my sentimental side had been exploited only to have a Dodge Ram logo slapped on my soul. Chrysler’s Jeep ad, featuring Oprah reading a heartfelt letter from Jeep to America’s service men and women, worked much better. That’s probably because there was some bite to the ad’s sentimental bark; the ad actually introduced the Jeep brand’s “Operation SAFE Return” (OSR), an initiative raising money and moral support for our troops. But I thought the best of the night’s sentimental ads was the Bud Clydesdale spot. The story of a foal, a trainer, and an emotional reunion was a nice take on a Clydesdale theme that has seen more than 100 commercial iterations over the years. As far as tying sentiment to product, this ad hit home.

THE BEST

Taco Bell clearly thinks octogenarians are irresponsible. This ad features great casting (nice nipple on that one old guy who presses against the glass), great music (cool Spanish language version of “We Are Young”), and a fun message that somehow jives with Taco Bell’s late night munchies target audience. Is it a classic? No. But this is a commercial that does just about everything right and will hold up to repeated viewings.

THE WORST:

Many would argue that the GoDaddy.com nerd porn spot earned this distinction. I would argue that GoDaddy’s spot was calculated to offend, and I would rather have a memorable ad than a ‘meh’ spot. That is why I believe the Bud commercials for its new Black Crown beer earned the distinction of worst commericals of the night. If you are going to have your Super Bowl moment in the sun, do something memorable with your ad time. This spot featuring a secret society of douchebags was anything but memorable.

So there are some of my thoughts. Feel free to share yours in the comments section.



 

 

 

 

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Shut Up and Watch

Posted on January 18, 2013 by dayna h.

Upon my most recent visit to the theatres of Cinemark Tinseltown, it dawned on me that I have an uncanny (and probably unhealthy) dislike for movie-talkers. You know, those animated people who believe they can influence the outcome of a movie by instructing each character of what move to make next. Yeah. Those guys.

Sunday night is usually movie night for my extremely exciting friends and me. What better way to unwind from a long weekend of college binge drinking and shameful hangover eating to prepare for a new workweek? No better way to cut back on the self-loathing and wash off the grime from the beach bars than attending a new movie.

One would think that with all the zero-tolerance movie theaters promote involving cell phone disruptions the theatre employees would tap their feet and point fingers at the movie-talkers. They, in my opinion, are much more disruptive than a little glowing light (just turn down your brightness and text away – the movie probably isn’t that good anyway).

Maybe I seem like I am 90 years old, but movie talking probably irks me more than anything — more than open-mouthed chewers, open-mouthed breathers, or even personal bubble invaders.

I’m sure the group of 17-year-olds, excited to finally be “of-age” and attend the R-rated “This Is 40” (the so-called sequel to “Knocked Up”) had no intention of harming my twenty-something-year-old posse and me. However, I must say I have never so terribly wanted to chuck my seven-dollar Cherry Coke at a movie screen (sorry, Paul Rudd). Luckily, I’m not one to be wasteful – and I feel bad for the people who would be held responsible for cleaning up my mess.

Come on, moviegoers. This is quiet time. Some of us are here to enjoy an exciting cinematic adventure or tear-jerking rom-com without the extra racket. Be courteous of your neighbor – hold it in. I’m sure you know Meg Ryan’s destiny much better than the rest of the world, but please refrain from ruining the climax for the rest of us. We had no idea that she would end up with Mr. Right. Continue reading →

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Along Came A Spider (From Mars)

Posted on January 10, 2013 by joash b.

Around 10 years ago, David Bowie went all J.D. Salinger on us. There was no fanfare, no grand announcement – the Thin White Duke silently slipped away, bereft of any fanfare or pomp and circumstance. Years of silence led to plenty of speculation: was the Thin White Duke gravely ill, was he tired of the music industry, had his formidable artistic powers deserted him or had he simply turned into a recluse?

Well, on Tuesday – his 66th birthday – Bowie broke his silence in a big way. In the same inconspicuous manner with which he disappeared, Bowie reappeared. His website offered up an early morning premiere of a new song, “Where Are We Now,” along with a video by a sculptor-artist Tony Oursler. All this was accompanied by the news that Bowie will be releasing a full-length album in March. The return of Bowie came as quite a shock to many of his fans, myself included.

A couple of people have asked me what I think of the new song and video (they are kind of a package deal). First off, this is the best conjoined puppet video you’ll ever see – there is simply no debating that. As far as the song, it is a grower. At first listen, I found it a bit wonky, but I’ve since come to enjoy its beautifully evocative beginning – piano chords that float around with strange, decaying synth sounds that remind me of the late 70s Berlin recordings that resulted in three of Bowie’s best albums. The lyrics suggest someone looking back on life, with multiple references to a Berlin that was lost in time when the Wall that divided the city came down.

Then, around 2:30 in, the beautiful, sweeping bridge of the song hits you. Rolling drums and sweeping synth sounds jar us back to the present, where Bowie makes a hopeful declaration about the future: “As long as there’s me / As long as there’s you.”  The centerpiece of the song is Bowie’s voice. That baritone we are all used to is gone. It has been replaced by a croon that is full of tenderness, nuance, and best of all, a lot of confidence. It almost feels as if Bowie is entering the “1970s Frank Sinatra My Way” stage of his career, where his past is precedent. This new single leads me to believe Bowie is not fighting Father Time, but welcoming his embrace. We are the first generation that will be watch rock stars live out the twilight of their lives. This song seems like an implicit acknowledgment of that fact. Unlike Rod Stewart, The Rolling Stones, The Who and others, Bowie has no interest in trying to remind us of when we were young.

There is still something to be said for artistic dignity and mystery. The way Bowie just reappeared in cyberspace with a song and video that reveal so much while revealing so little, demonstrates the way Bowie understands celebrity, media, the recording industry and his fans. In an overexposed digital age where carefully calculated hype and build-up are somehow supposed to herald “the return” of an artist – witness Justin Timberlake’s recent “countdown” announcement – Bowie has shown the youngsters how to make a comeback by speaking softly and just delivering artistry that sticks.

 

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Four Lessons About Jacksonville

Posted on December 27, 2012 by sarah b.

Returning to Jacksonville after almost a decade in Tallahassee was something of a culture shock. What happened, Jax? It’s like the city went to summer camp and came back blossomed, energized, and rumored to have a hidden tattoo. When I moved, I knew I didn’t know this place anymore – but that I wanted to.

Tomorrow marks the last day of my four-month internship with Brunet-García. Rather than simplifying the wealth of knowledge BG has offered me into one blog post, I am opting instead for a list of what I’ve learned about Jacksonville – one lesson per month.

1. Gainesville & Jacksonville have an attachment disorder.

The ratio of UF to FSU graduates in Jacksonville is astounding. I’m not sure if Jacksonville is pre-or post-Gainesville, or both, but the sensation of being surrounded by Gators is never more prevalent than when entering a sports store to dig out the token Seminole jersey from the back of an ignored pile of clearance items. The benefit is that now I can ignore the tired rivalry as a point of survival.

By the way, y’all know Tebow is NEVER going to sign with the Jaguars, right? (And if, in some alternate reality, he does come to Jacksonville, the first round of gator tail is on me.)

2. Beach culture is real.

This might seem like a “duh” statement, but I’ve always thought beach culture was something reserved for Katy Perry music videos and inspirational Disney surf flicks. It’s not. Before transitioning to Riverside, I was fortunate enough to stay in Atlantic Beach and felt positively prudish for bothering to put on shorts for dog walks in September.

One amazing thing about the laws of skimpiness is that they don’t discriminate. – Does your chest double as shag carpet? Groovy! Working on a six-pack? Well, I won’t believe it until I see it. Ah, and I will see it… from its initial beer belly to the matured keg-gut.  Let us all revel half-naked, sun burned, and a little buzzed at the astounding natural wonder of the Atlantic Ocean.

3. The Jaguars are the Cubs/Red Sox/Angels of football.

I suppose I had this figured out from a distance, but it just feels so much more painful from the seats of EverBank Field. At least the Jags, ubiquitously “all in” (no snickering, please), aren’t blaming the 2-12 season on a curse from goat enthusiasts or a lack of cherubim in the outfield.

I won’t ignore the highlights of the season, either. Remember that one glorious Hail Mary thrown by Gabbert early in the season? (Hell, remember the preseason?) Remember when MJD was healthy? And isn’t it practically criminal that Cecil Shorts got injured just 21 receiving yards short of 1,000?

If only we could convince Drew Barrymore & Jimmy Fallon to film a romcom about how painful it is to be a devout Jaguars fan…

4. It’s ALIIIIVE! The arts, that is

It’s never been more unpopular to professionally pursue the liberal arts in Florida than it is now.

Well, that could very well be a boldfaced lie – how would I know? – I haven’t been around as long as Florida has, and I doubt that anything with the word “liberal” in it was ever accepted across the board in the Confederacy. But it certainly hasn’t been encouraging when some politicians insist that liberal arts studies are damaging to our economy, and art programs have a mortality rate akin to medieval peasants with the black plague.

And while I wouldn’t think of Jacksonville first when considering an artistic community, that might not be far down the horizon. April 2013 will see Jacksonville host One Spark, “The World’s Crowdfunding Festival,” which could very well put us on the map for innovators to call home. Let us not forget the economic impact 22 art organizations had in 2011 – generating $66 million from less than $3 million in grant funding… and need I mention how cool it was to see an Andy Warhol exhibit at MOCA, whose contents came from a Jacksonville local?

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An Ode To Journalism Professors

Posted on November 6, 2012 by kate h.

My college journalism professors were advocates of learning through forced practice. Walking into a classroom and being told, “Turn around, go back outside, find something newsworthy to report, use at least three sources, and you have three hours to turn in your article,” sure puts hair on your chest.

With 10 point deductions for each misplaced comma and 50 point deductions for each “fact error,” it’s clear why the number of students who failed or dropped out was greater than the number who passed. That’s a lot of math for one sentence.

The reason I bring this up is not to brag about being one of those who did pass (even though I did!), but to express gratitude. My professors at the University of Florida were the cream of the journalism crop. They hailed from newspapers like the St. Petersburg Times and magazines like Men’s Health. They knew how to make you think, make you tick, make you laugh and, every once in a while, make you cry.

Though I certainly never took them for granted – how could I when one of my assignments was to write their obituaries with the cause of death of my choice – only now do I truly realize what their sharp wit and, sometimes, harsh words did for me. My mind was opened to new, exciting knowledge with each assignment. It took me a couple years of working in a “real job” to miss all of the education and, at the risk of perceived embellishment, the life lessons that were constantly at my fingertips:

My history of rock and roll professor taught me that I had to open my ears to the blues before I could truly appreciate rock and roll. Oh, and also to say, “All hail King Dylan,” before playing a Bob Dylan track like “Lily Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts” to study some brilliant writing.

My editing professor drilled AP style into my brain while feeding me pixie sticks during my 7:25 a.m. lab. “They’re better and far more effective than coffee.”

The chairman of the journalism department expanded my library with classics like “Bonfire of the Vanities,” the political feather-ruffling “Spanking the Donkey,” plus a few Hunter S. Thompson novels that can only be described as whirlwinds.

Now, I have to actively seek out these nuggets. I guess my trip down memory lane is meant to encourage you to open your eyes to the everyday knowledge that is all around. Hard facts and statistics can only get you so far. The rest is unconventional – and, in my opinion, that is even more critical. Some call it “street cred.” I call it living.

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