Adland_ Searching for the Meaning of Life on a Branded Planet - James P. Othmer [71]
Touching, yes. But we’ve heard all this before. And the numbers, declining for decades, do not lie.
After a ceremonial lap along the length of Madison Avenue, the carriage will cross the Queensboro Bridge, and the Clydesdales will stop outside a commercial soundstage in Queens. There, a matching pair of Viagra pop-up ads will lead Thirty-Second Spot inside to his final resting place, in front of a giant green screen.
The audience will be filled with Hall of Famers. Mean Joe Greene and the Coke kid. The Maytag Repairman. Bartles & Jaymes. The Go Daddy chick. Madge. Mikey. The frogs. The penguins. The pasty figures in the pin-striped suits silently weeping in the corner: those are the ghosts of Mr. Blandings, the red-haired dude from Thirtysomething, and Darrin Stephens.
After the California Raisins perform “What a Wonderful Life” a cappella, there won’t be a dry eye in the house.
So this is how it will end. First someone will impatiently shout, “Wassup?,” which leads to a viral-video-enhanced chant of “Just Do It!” And then twelve hooded figures will appear and form a firing-squad line. They’ll be hooded, but these still-thriving digital versions of soon-to-be-former TV icons will hardly be anonymous. After all, it’s difficult to cover up a swish, a gecko tale, a uniquely shaped cola bottle, or the giant red shoes of a certain hamburger clown. One of the hoods will even be adorned with a mustache of milk.
Ready …
In a final indignity the execution of Thirty-Second Spot will not be televised.
Aim …
And yet it will be watched by more people than ever watched a network television show. It will be watched streaming live on the Internet. It will be posted on scores of viral-video sites and shared and replayed and commented on by millions for weeks—no, decades—to come. Millions more will watch it on their cell phones, their favorite tiny gadget, and they will forward it to everyone they know, who will do the same. On our favorite tiny gadget. Inevitably, based on its popularity, someone will create a Death of Thirty-Second Spot alternate-reality game, and finally a TV show that people can watch wherever and whenever they want.
The show, of course, will be saturated with commercials, some as long as a minute.
Last Impression
If this evening’s viewing behavior is any sort of indicator, and if my wife and I happened to be part of the demographic about which they give a damn, things don’t look good for the networks.
We watched a show on demand. Ironically, it was a commercial-free rebroadcast of last week’s episode of Mad Men. While we were ordering, there was a video trailer in a small frame in the corner of the screen for another movie (393). When it was over, another trailer (394) played while we scrolled for another on-demand show about some lady who speaks to dead people on the Lifetime network. My wife likes shows where people speak with dead people. This was interesting because before and after each twenty-two-minute episode, and we watched two, there was a legitimate ad. I think it was for Dove. Definitely a cosmetic company (398). Can’t be sure, because I was actually looking at my laptop while the show was on; I’m not a big fan of the supernatural.
There was more spam waiting for me online, but this time I was quick to delete anything remotely unfamiliar. At the end of the day, when I am less interested in the promise of the unknown and more interested in eliminating distractions, I am impervious to bacn and spam bots.
Later, after the kids had their baths and were in their pajamas, I went to their bedroom to read them a story. It looked like my day would end with just under four hundred impressions. Quite a number, but I’d thought it would be considerably more. Other than the spam incident and the proliferation of roadside campaign signs, I never felt particularly bombarded, or irritated, or offended. Nor did I once find myself sitting up and taking notice, thinking that this advertiser,