Sunday, 17 October 2010
The other night I noticed that I had spent a substantial amount of time getting frantically angry about the adverts barging their way through the programmes I was relaxing to. I have a strange relationship with adverts, they have a sensational effect on me. Part of me loves them, understands them, so much so it was suggested at school I go "into it". I loved the recent Hovis advert where one young northern lad legs it home to his mum with said loaf stuck under his arm. His journey took him through defining moments in British history and swelled my pride more than The Last Night of The Proms. Grans must have loved it. I also love the Natural Confectionery Company adverts, I have a soft chewy spot for genius, simple humour.
But most of the time I despise them and could list the ones that offend me until I die.
I hate having those drainingly unamusing 118 men jogging onto every film that has the insult of being shown on ITV . Ghostbusters is my favorite film in the whole world, but those adverts are seriously close to obliterating the joy of that soundtrack along with any perfectly pitched tension some genius film director spent years sweating and weeping over. I don't take part in fun runs, not because I'm unfit (I am) but because I fear the sight of participants dressed as the 118 people will ignite some feral urge to attack. Going to prison for maiming a charity fundraisers is just not cool.
I also roll my eyes until they ache at any advert that attempts to update nice and lovely things from the past into something knowing, hip and happening. I will be turning off my TV and leaving the room each time this bastard of an ad comes on:
Who does Argos think it is? I'm not Bing Crosby's number one fan or anything, but there are some things that you just don't demean like this. I'm sure Argos would tell me "We contacted Bing's people and Bing's People told us he would have loved it" Well I don't, the advert is classless and awful and I didn't think I needed anymore reasons not to shop there. But I mainly hate it because I know my mum will hate it.
But not even having a massive poo on Bing Crosby's grave incenses me more than the amount of hateable inclination one voiceover woman manages to squeeze into one word. This advert encapsulates everything wrong with our "I WANT! I WANT! I'M SPECIAL! GIVE! GIVE! ME! ME!" society. I am tired of advertising that tries to make me want to be an arsehole, so it's apt then that the most detestable word in TV advertising at the moment is "Yawn".
Listen to the way she says it and tell me you haven't just punched yourself. Personally I have bitten my fist down to the bone on accidentally hearing this advert. It is utter bile vomit.
I won't start on the Halifax ads. There just isn't enough breath. I need to calm down, but can I ask you something? Is Tim Lovejoy playing "Tim Lovejoy" in those incredibly uncomfortable pasta adverts or is he acting?
Your thoughts please.