“Credit card, you got it.” — Macaulay Culkin, as Kevin, in Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992).
Credit card, you got it. Credit Cards: can’t live with ‘em and you can’t shoot ‘em. Card Credits: our nation is in debt. Dear credit cards, in the 1990s, you bought so many damn speed boats and jet-skis for people, and someday you will be burned at the stake like a witch, and hanged, like Bernie Madoff, in town square.
Discover Card, on the other hand, seems to be the ‘indie’ credit card (does urban outfitters have a credit card special savings signup? Umm, don’t know, don’t care) and this commercial with the faux hair band is pretty clever.
The commercial runs like a VH1 Behind the Music documentary, a show I have always admired, and it certainly packs a punch within its 30 seconds. This commercial is effective, and glory glory hallelujah, it’s watchable.
We hear the band’s story, starting from the glory-days — lil red corvette, cover of Rolling Stone, giant credit card, jacuzzi-limo — and travel in time, to the future, with our 30 Seconds of Hell helicopter landing on the inevitable 30 Seconds of Hell helicopter landing pad, where we exit the helicopter, and walk to an ending where one of the dudes from Danger Kitty works a hot dog stand.
The commercial is much like the teachings of an Aesop Fable, teaching us: be frugal with your money and stop buying jacuzzi-tubs, plush spa robes, summer homes in Maine, and a three-fleet of shreddin’ jet-skis, colored hot green, electric pink, and outrageous orange, respectively.
Their slogan is clever: “For the slightly smarter consumer.” Here we have a credit card company telling the consumer to, and I am paraphrasing, ‘cool your jets on the spending.’
You took too much, man, you took too much, too much. There is a song that sums up this review:
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Hi, I’m here to talk to you about money. Look at me — I’m walking around a beautfiul desert landscape, talking about making money, and tell you that, “the American dream is gone and it ain’t coming back.” During shooting breaks, the production team drank fruit punch and ate edible panties — over 10 boxes of edible panties —boy, our dogs were tired after that day of shooting.
Luckily, we had some nice and dandy unpaid commerical actors providing testimonies regarding our unscucessful scheme program that since has folded. Footage of these unpaid commerical actors gave us something to cut away to, because I (i’m in the cowboy hat) cut my shooting schedule short — frankly, I ate too many gosh darn edible panties. Then our unpaid production assistants and our unpaid interns ran to the store to buy more edibile panties. What were they thinking? More edible panties? Those damn unpaid interns and production assistants should know better; they know I can’t stop eating edible panties.
Get a load of this: after production ended, my unpaid producer hauls in this box filled with receipts to me, receipts from the unpaid interns and production assistants, askin’ I be reimbersin’ for their takin’ kindly to my edible panty-fixin’-hankerin’. Now I’m a straight shooter and I tell ‘em how it tis: “You’re unpaid! Christ, you knew you’re going to be unpaid at the darn time you signed your unpaid contract. Were you expecting a for-hire opportunity after production? Don’t make me laugh. Christ, I ain’t ‘embersing you for the edible panties. I don’t care what you do on your tax returns. Cook the books or something. Write it off as a gift! Leave me alone, I want to play with my toys in my office.”
Wow-wee. Production was something else. My dogs were killin’ after production.
This commercial is low fidelity — no excuses — this kid is speaking martian.
Some say, in the late ’80s and early ’90s, that Nerf was a government subsidiary with a mission to mint condition the minds of children for an oncoming intergalactic war with “unknown and unseen ‘invaders.’”
After many botched theories, the U.S. Government concluded that Nerf Corporation would move forward by, “just selling toys, packaged in radical and booger-ish boxes, with GPS tracking chips implanted”; notwithstanding, this video speaks martian, in plain broken english.
Like, um, like, somebody call the dork police, and the fashion police, because this spot is so totally 30 seconds of dork-alert-5000.
This commercial is a recipe for a dork-disaster: 1) the commercial is driven by a kids’ bop rendition of the “Bly Gotta Feelin’ kick-start-party-song by the Black Eyed Peas. 2) the opening line of the song is, “Didn’t know, couldn’t see, what was around the corner for me. Let’s go!” 3) the kids bop vocalist is dressed in autotune, and this is a textbook example of a creative team shamelessly jumping on the ephemeral autotune bandwagon.
4) The commercial flagrantly targets caricatured demographics — only those who can afford a weber, of course — which, in this case, is the widowed, prim and proper, affluent grey panther; the wholesome African-American male who lives in the suburbs and is happy; the lonesome librarian who lives by herself and has fun by herself; and the jolly bearded gas station attendant (he’s the lil shocker). This blogger will omit the rest of the dorks, because I respect you, and because this dork-ball video-mash subsequently welters into an unsightly meatball — hot and ready to be charred on the ole’ web grill.
However, I do appreciate the female backing vocals, 0:26 in, when we hear a passionate, “Come on — yeah!”
Rating:30 Seconds of hot-and-ready propane gasy hell
Official Synopsis from the Ad Agency: What do you get when you combine a classic hit, unforgettable choreography and first-rate comedic talent? You get Turn the Tub Around, a multi-faceted musical campaign for I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!® that showcases fresh butter taste the healthier way. The campaign stars the multi-talented Emmy® and SAG-award winning actress Megan Mullally and features song and dance videos choreographed by Tyce Diorio.
This is one of those appalling commercials that, when it appears on t.v., will melt your ears off like candle wax. Boy, it sure did butcher that Gloria Estefan song.
Let us take time to acknowledge Tyce Diorio’s masterful choreography. A spin-ful duet-ing tangle. Watch this spot five plus times and you might start appreciating the choreography.
I’m not entirely clear on what this commercial is supposed to be advertising for, but it sure is offensive. No amount of sentimental banjo playing or smiling black laborers can convince me otherwise.
Confederate Family acknowledges that many other people might feel similarly to me and answers back with the statement, “no matter what they call you, at the end of the day, you’re still just Dad.” Yes, a very racist Dad in a very racist family. Congratulations!
Our next racist ad needs no explanation. If you are not offended by this, there is seriously something wrong with you. Rating: 60 Seconds of Offensive
*This post was written by Chris Tucker, 30 Seconds of Hell guest blogger and star of the Rush Hour trilogy.
Hey! Did you know you that you just a skeleton under all that stupid skin your body wear? Nah? Well, I’m gonna rip your skin off by playin’ a nasty ass highlight reel of the mother f**king Sega Genesis games — games like Helicopter®, Wolf®, Sports®, Football®, Sports®, and motha f**king LING LING®.
Hey! Sega CD is meritorious because it introduced the compact disc into the sphere of gaming; it initiated the epoch of the compact disc; without Sega CD, God neva wouldda created the Sega Saturn — God’s gift to women — Sega Saturn was the best system in the history of the world, because it gave us Virtual Cop 1 and Virtual Cop 2, enough said, you ask your Grandmama, she know, and I’m out!
Now it time for you to geta damn spatula and you just go now a scrape your lil cat fluffy off your bunk-ass walls nah. And you know you betta white wash them walls clean now.
Do you understand the words that are coming-outta-my-mouth?
What is America; what is America to you? To Barbosol, America is the the open road, a road that’s a treacherous journey, a road that, on a daily basis, generally sucks. Sometimes you will not shower, you will feel lonely, you will long for your loved ones, and spirits must remain high, or else this little silly thing we call life will crush you. This spot is a metaphor of the American life: You gotta keep on truckin’, and if you keep on keepin’ on, in the end, you will be rewarded for your perseverance and bravery.
The male lead in the commercial is a decent actor. 18 seconds in, notice his reaction to the note his wife left on the table next to the Barbosol. This tender moment is telling about the relationship this man shares with his devoted wife: She will wait for him, she will stand by him, she understands that he has to pay the bills, one way or another — she knows him inside-out — she loves him so much, and she knows what a trucker man wants when he returns home — he wants a damn good shave, and shaving with Barbosol is a guaranteed damn good shave.
Lately, we at 30 Seconds of Hell (Comrade Teargaskov, Street Dude, and Urban Pal) have been excessively soft with our reviews — too soft — and this cute and cottony commercial, featuring the adorable Zooey Deschanel, further perpetuates our pussy-ness as television commercial advertisement reviewers. Well, truth is, the big advertising firms slip us cash, and in return we praise their commercials; hey, we gotta pay the bills somehow. Blogging 4 cash is the best way for us to buy alcohol, and with that alcohol we drink away the regret we feel for accepting those bribes. This is the bane of our blog, we are scum, and you can pay us to just about anything. We will rake your yard or clean your rat cage on a daily basis if the price is right. Read the rest of this entry »
This brilliant commercial used to run between every commercial break during the 2007 NBA playoffs. This guy knows how to save the day, and save his friend’s ass, by bringing the hors d’oeuvres to the party, and boy does he bring it big time with the double quarter pounder (with cheese). He uses common sense: Who doesn’t want to eat cheeseburgers whilst watching the big game? After that, they had the best time at his party.
MaaacDonald’s knows how to connect with America’s young adults.
Harmony between man, machine, and nature? Sure … and I just harvested a baker’s dozen of piebald ball pythons that sing. This green marketing campaign further asserts that there is a corporate sort in the United States seeking to improve their sales — and their corporate identity — by means of pushing a green set of ideals, shackling their product to the natural world, nature, mother nature, and willing to travel absurd distances to portray nature as humans — super gay commercial actors, rather — in spandex, flower-foliage costumes who wave their hands in the air like they’re at a sold out Naughty By Nature concert.
Buy the Prius and you’ll be the noble man, the crusader of the natural world, one that lives a progressively alternative lifestyle. You can patronize your friends for not owning a Prius. I’d like to be clear about this: I absolutely support the advancement of “green-er” cars, hybrid cars, fuel efficient cars, etc., and I support those who drive ‘em, but when marketing campaigns dare make a blanketing statement that praises their product as being “Harmony between man, machine, and nature”, it’s a crime. Brand, market, and copyright the natural world — those who do that, e.g. the team that made this spot, are clearly half-assing their job in hopes of advancing their careers.
I was in a bar when this commercial came on between baseball-type activities. Being a closeted car person, I was pretty jazzed up to see all those great Porsches on the teevee machine. Yep, feeling pretty good, until I realized it was an ad for Porsche’s newest rolling catastrophe, the Panamera. If you thought that Ferdinand Porsche’s involvement in the Third Reich was unpleasant, just take a look at the motherfucking Panamera. As if the disgusting Cayenne weren’t enough, they trot out this obese piece of trash on national television.
Now, the commercial. Had it been an ad for a new 911 or even a new Cayman, it would have been brilliant. But reminding the viewer of a 60 years history focused on building the world’s greatest sports cars is not how I would go about introducing another porky, homely transportation appliance with a great big engine to make it go fast. Way to to devalue one of the last credible brands in the auto industry.
Rating: Thirty Seconds of Hell and Ferdinand Porsche receiving karmic payback for designing all of those Nazi tanks and ripping off Hans Ledwinka.
LA Gear used to be the leader of cool sneakers, and more importantly, the leader in sneaker sales.
Painted in a neon tetra palette, LA Gear successfully trademarks their image as sexy, youthful, and everything else that was en vogue in the late ’80s and early ’90s. On top of that, LA Gear generated an effectual jingle that embeds itself in the brain of the buyer.
It is possible to buy this life — only if you buy LA Gear — after your purchase, you gain these friends, these basketball memories, and you even earn the hot pair of legs (featured at the end of the article).
I want you to do something. I want you to go search YouTube for advertisements. The results are absolutely choked with results like “Funniest Ad Ever, OMG LOLZ!” I am here to tell you that this is almost never true.
This ad is a little hackneyed and a little clever. It is amusing. I don’t know if it ever made anyone want to buy a Mercedes. I kind of doubt it.
