Clever gets crickets

Sit down ad kids, and let me tell you a story of days gone….hey! hey! Get off my lawn!

Where was I? Oh, right. Story of days gone by.

You’ll find this hard to believe, but before the interwebs, once people got their foot in the agency door, they had to drag a giant, sometimes heavy black portfolio in with them. Inside were usually unjustifiably expensively laminated samples of their work and a fat three-quarter inch video reel of their broadcast spots if they had any.

But before you got in the door for that interview, you had to get the attention of the creative director or at the very least their gatekeeper. And a lot people, including yours truly, tried to do that with self-promo pieces.

Eleven years ago, Venables Bell in San Francisco did an Audi spot called Prom for Super Bowl. And I loved it. I don't know if it's the best car commercial ever, but man did it land with me. The minute I saw it I decided I wanted to work there.

I sent them the promo piece above (mounted on black foam core, as one does). Why? Because Audi was their biggest account, I loved the work and I drove an A6.

Instead of submitting a conventional résumé which I was sure they got inundated with, I sent my Audi registration slip to show off my experience with the brand. In my mind, I imagined the team opening it and saying, “This is clever, unexpected, exactly the kind of thinking we want for Audi!”

I sent it off with all the confidence of revving an R8 next to your father's Oldsmobile at a green light. Then I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Not a single word. Not a “Wow, this is clever.” Not a “Thanks, but we’re going in another direction.” Not even a polite “Who dis?” My inbox was emptier than a republican promise.

At first, I thought maybe they needed time to gather the team and properly marvel at my ingenuity. Or maybe the job was already promised to someone else, and my clever little stunt was simply a victim of bad timing.

What it turned out to be was a reminder creativity is a gamble. Sometimes you hit a home run, sometimes your ball lands in the neighbor’s yard.

Even though I didn’t hear back, I don’t regret sending it. I thought it was a fun idea at the time and I went for it. And maybe, just maybe, one day someone at Venables will stumble across my registration slip and think, "Wow, we missed out."

I believe that will happen right after Scarlett Johansson returns my call.

Anyway, I left the agency side for client side about five years ago, so I'm out of the agency shopping biz. But if I ever decide to go back, I’ll keep in mind the lesson I learned sending without hesitation what I thought was a funny promo piece to an agency.

That creativity, much like an Audi, isn’t about stopping.

The cars

I bought a new car over the weekend. I'll keep you in suspense until I actually take delivery, at which point I'm sure there'll be a post about it. But it got me thinking about a couple of things.

One is that no matter how faux friendly the salesman is with their mimicing technique-"You have a German Shepherd? I grew up with German Shepherds." "You used to live next to the beach? I live a block from the water." "So you like Breaking Bad? Best show ever!"—the car buying experience is awful.

Again, details for another post.

The other thing it reminded me of was all the cars I've owned.

Like the 1965 Plymouth Fury. It was my first car and it was an eight-cylinder beast. It ran great when it ran, which was usually about ten minutes at a time before something broke on it and had to be fixed. My parents bought the car for $500 from my cousin Mark, who I don't think I ever saw again after that. Wonder why?

By the way, the Fury was my first and last American car. Sorry Detroit, you had your chance.

Then there were the VWs. First was a 1971 Orange Super Beetle. I can still hear the gas sloshing around over my lap when I came to a stop since the gas tank was in front. That car got wiped out in a bad accident which left me with a little souvenir you can read about here.

Anyway I swore I'd never own a VW again, much less an orange one. That was right up until my 1973 Karmann Ghia called to me from the showroom floor. I loved that car, but what I didn't know is that it had originally come from the east coast. I found that out when the rocker panels started disintegrating. Rust never sleeps.

Just as a side note, when I met the wife she was driving a 1972 orange VW convertible, fully restored. Coincidence? I think not.

With my 1980 Celica, 1986 Supra, 1999 Land Cruiser and 2010 Lexus ES350, Toyota was well reprensented in my garage over the years.

Of course I speak metaphorically. There hasn't been room for a gnat's ass in my garage since the wedding. I'm not naming names.

There was the 1986 Mercedes E190 we bought from the wife's grandma in 1994. It was eight years old and had 12,000 grandma miles on it. There was a four and a six-cylinder model, and grandma had the four. It was like driving a brick, but the car didn't have the power to get out of its own way. Neither did grandma.

Then there was the 1995 Volvo 960 Wagon, which despite being the longest car I ever owned, could turn on a dime in the middle of the street. Volvo made its chops selling safety. They should've been selling turning radius.

My second experience with a Swedish car brand was the Saab 90 I bought off my friend Rob. It was a stick shift, and was technically my son's first car. But I was the one who wound up driving it the most, zipping around town and reliving my VW days when I learned to drive a stick. You know, real driving.

My 2000 Audi A6 was great right until it caught fire, which actually was a more pleasant experience than having the oil changed at the Audi dealer (there may be a hint there as to my new car).

Now you're up to date on my wheels. Or you will be when I post about the newest addition soon. And if you're keeping score on colors, it's one blue, two orange, two silver and six black.

They say the car you drive says a lot about you. Mine say, "Oh yeah, I'll have one of those."

Not so Super

I’ll be the first to admit it. I am not by any stretch of the imagination or in any way a sports fan. I know what you’re thinking: how can someone like me who’s in peak physical condition not be into sports?

I know, it’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

I do however occasionally like watching the World Series (baseball, right?) but that’s about it. Unless you count the Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont Stakes because who doesn’t like horseys.

And reading the Racing Form. And placing bets.

Anyway, when Super Bowl Sunday rolls around every year, for the most part I look at it as the best day of the year to go to the movies, visit Disneyland or shop at South Coast Plaza. At least for about three and a half hours.

But because I’m in the line of work I’m in, I do have to slog through the game and watch the commercials. Including mine.

Here’s the problem: Apple set the bar for Super Bowl spots with their legendary “1984” commercial. You know, the one directed by Ridley Scott that we’re still talking about forty years later. But the downside of that spot was it got advertisers to think that just by pouring a ton of money into a spot, they’d have a memorable, entertaining Super Bowl spot that would ring up championship sales for whatever they were hawking.

Not so fast. If you watched the big game this year, you might’ve noticed there are about sixty examples that prove otherwise.

That’s not to say there haven’t been some enjoyable spots over the years. One of my favorites is this FedEx spot, which lays out in detail exactly what it takes to produce a successful Super Bowl spot. It's a low-res version, but you still get the idea.

Another is the Audi “Prom” spot. Everything about it is right—the casting, the dialog, the story, the production. They even caught lightning in a bottle with the reaction shot of the prom queen after the kiss.

The spot I liked most this year, besides mine, was actually this Disney+ commercial. Simple, engaging and not weighed down with celebrities and production value. It wasn’t forced.

I was discussing the spot with my close personal friend and blogger extraordinaire Rich Siegel, and he reminded me of the other reason I liked it so much. He said “When everyone is shouting, whisper.”

He’s right of course. Enough with the shouting.

In politics. In life. And especially in Super Bowl spots.

The Prius phase

It seems there are phases both genders - and I'm going to limit it to two for the purpose of this post - go through.

For boys, it's usually firetrucks, dinosaurs and baseball. For girls, it's often horses, dolls and photography.

But eventually time catches up with us all, and the childhood phases slowly recede as we discover more expensive, adult phases to pass through. However, there's a new phase adults of both sexes seem to be grudgingly surrendering to.

The Prius phase.

As phases go, I suppose it's an admirable one, as opposed to, say, shoplifting or cutting yourself. But if you appreciate a finely tuned, high-performance, road-eatin' ride, the fact is it can be just as damaging.

What happens is one day a person is overcome with the uneasy feeling perhaps they need to be more socially conscious. Or that the coming derision is more tolerable than the $500 a month tab for gas. Perhaps they feel compelled to make a statement. Statements range anywhere from "I'm environmentally forward thinking" to "Yes I'm a better person than you" to "Is this thing on?" to "Did I tell you I get 55 MPG?"

Many times, especially when they try to show off their smaller carbon footprint by speeding and cutting you off on the freeway, the statement becomes "Look at me, I'm a douche in a Prius." I'm pretty sure this last one is unintended. But it doesn't make it any less true.

Inevitably after a while living with the car, the Prius phase begins to run its course. Drivers begin to miss the sound of an engine when they press the accelerator (in the Prius, it's called the "pedal on the right"). They long for a less tinny sound when they close the car door. The idea of a car - like the one they traded in for the Prius - that can run a curve and stick like glue becomes a yearning. It's all they can think about.

Next thing you know, the same guy that drives the service department shuttle is taking your Prius around back while they're writing up the paperwork on your new A6, 530i or AMG C63. The siren call finally gets answered.

And the good news is once it's over, you can finally stop wearing that t-shirt. You know, the one that says "Prius. Because a gas-guzzlin’, ass-kickin’, fast-movin’, sweet-soundin’, head-turnin’, envy-causin’, great-feelin’ car just isn’t me."

Oooowwwwdi

Every once in a while, a commercial comes along that restores my faith in advertising. Well, faith is a strong word. Let’s just say occasionally a spot grabs hold of me and won’t let go.

The Audi Super Bowl spot called Prom is one of them.

I love this commercial. Everything about it is perfect. The casting, the writing, the performances, the cinematography, all of it.

The fact that it’s for a car I love – yes I still miss my A6 – doesn’t hurt either.

Occasionally a director is able to catch lightning in the lens. I think he/she did it here with the shot of the prom queen opening her eyes, just after the shot of him behind the wheel with his black eye. It’s a reaction shot of her, but you feel as spellbound as she does.

So many car spots make the mistake of trying to communicate what it feels like to drive their vehicle. Where this spot succeeds brilliantly – from taking the principal’s parking spot to the beeline he makes towards the prom queen – is conveying how driving the Audi makes you feel inside. Everyone knows that feeling. Everyone wants it. What's engaging about this spot is that it’s about so much more than the car.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know I don’t lavish commercials or the business with praise very often. But to me, the simplicity, the universal truth of it, the underdog winning consequences be damned, is all done so well I wanted to make sure people are aware of it.

You know, besides the billion people who saw it on the Super Bowl.