Low-rent
Romantic Movie Mainstay Gerard Butler has got the same one as last year, where
he talks like a calmer version of one of them big swinging dicks from The
Apprentice, growling about how he doesn’t settle for less, or whatever,
probably repeating what his agent told the ad makers when negotiating his fee.
Pants Salesman David Beckham has also got a perfume out, he
obviously needs the cash, the poor lamb.
It seems to be a rite of passage, the celebrity
“fragrance”. It tells the world that a
famously attractive person has become utterly jaded and will do more or less
anything they are offered that involves a lot of money. “Fragrance” makes it sound like you’re expecting
to smell like the person themselves, and in most cases this is totally
unappealing. David Beckham, for example,
is a recently-retired footballer, so presumably smells like deep heat and lager.
If he’s anything like the footballers I
know.
I shudder to think what Perfume Salesman Gerard Butler, who
is from Paisley, smells like. Bullshit,
judging by the vacuous marketing slogans he spouts on the ad in question. He has the good grace to sound hollow and
sheepish about it, which indicates a self-consciousness entirely absent from the
rest of the project.
There’s even one or two with non-famous people in them. The most objectionable of these is the one
with the chiselled dude with women dripping off him, who they are trying to offer
as a type of Gladiator figure. He just
looks like someone who spends too long at the gym. At the end he gives a little smug, knowing look
to camera to let the viewer know that he’s going to have sex with those
women. In contrast to the desired effect
of the ad, I have never seen a human I would rather be more unlike. And I’ve seen Ed Balls.
What’s more
interesting, however, is who they think they are aiming at; what is the market,
who are they trying to impress? I used
to look forward to being over 40, and joining the demographic group which TV
advertisers traditionally ignore or mock to appeal to younger people. Even that was never available to women, as
the prevalence for advertising for “miracle” face creams demonstrates.
A real miracle would be an advert for a cosmetic product
that doesn’t make me want to inflict serious pain on the people who made it.
Still, it can’t be easy making adverts in this day and
age. Advertising executives must get a
brief that says: We want our product to appear cool, exclusive, a special treat
for those in the know, to show that they are part of the elite. Also, we want it to appeal to every single
person ever. Given this contradictory
brief, the fearless advertisers must then make something coldly calculating and
aesthetically pleasing. And they do this
fuelled only by their mountain of cocaine and money and the self-importance
associated with those things.
So, without further ado, I am honoured to announce that this
year’s Stephen Fry award for Outstanding Sales Achievement goes to the team
behind the Dior advert starring Perfume Saleswoman Charlize Theron. Taking a conventionally-attractive woman and
making her look like a gold statue of a Halloween witch takes some doing. The Serious Actor strut is the model’s own.
This year’s
award for Most Hollow Victory goes to anyone who got a question right on Mock
The Week. If you look up “phyrric” in
the dictionary, you’ll see a picture of Steve Punt, showing such a convincing
air of tired melancholy, it’s like he’s not even acting at all. For a way to sum up the current state of our
popular culture, that facial expression is a neat summation of what’s really
going on. We are fiddling while Rome
burns, and Steve Punt’s face is all the proof we need. Like a haggard mirror, shaped by decades as a
topical comedian, our own hubris and dejection is staring back at us, reduced
now to mocking us – not mocking the
week, mocking only us and our quickly-ebbing taste for mocking the weak, as our
enjoyment wanes and we join their ranks.
(Also, it’s not even funny, and the little bald one’s got a
really annoying voice.)
This year’s
award for Most Convincing TV Personality goes to the makers of Donald Trump, a
controversial new character in the long-running comedy drama series US
Elections. The firebrand right-wing
strawman’s hilarious lack of regard for politeness in a polite society has been
a surprise hit with viewers, many of whom seem to be enjoying it under the
misapprehension that Trump is a real person who actually thinks what he says is
true. A common problem for soap opera
stars, but not one we would expect of such an extremely unlikeable character in
what many inexplicably consider a drama worth taking seriously.
I like to think I wouldn’t have fallen for such an obvious
liberal-baiting, unrealistic-looking avatar for every ill-informed, bigoted,
ugly gobshite pub bore in a rich country.
But then I am not a regular viewer of the aforementioned show. Because life is too short, isn’t it?
The Norman Wisdom Award For Pluck goes to: Ed Sheeran, a
young man that makes me remember with fond nostalgia the days when pop stars
had to be good-looking and/or charismatic.
Most Misleadingly-Named TV Award Award: BBC Sports Personality
Of The Year. After rewarding a
succession of witless footballers with unwanted attention (including former
Hairgel Salesman David Beckham), the award panel is now under scrutiny for
nominating a boxer with strong views people don’t like. Perhaps because he was judged to have these
views in lieu of a personality, instead of having none of the trappings of
personality.
Best Televised Speech Advocating War: Hilary Benn, the only
nominee. Obviously, the speech was utter
pigshite, but it was a game attempt to goad people into solving the problem of
violence in the middle east by slightly increasing violence in the middle
east. It’s almost like he might have had an ulterior motive. But no one can think of one.
Hilary Benn Award For The Absolutely Indefensible: Made In Chelsea, which narrowly beat the
refugee crisis and the Syrian civil war that caused it. The competition was so fierce that Katie
Hopkins and Jeremy Clarkson weren’t even nominated.
See you next year, when I’ll probably still find it easy to
churn out 1000 words about how much I hate TV.
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