Some commercials warrant thoughtful analysis. Others, like this ad for Baskin-Robbins’ ice cream cakes, need only three words: Shit. Is. Awesome.

When was the last time you had so much fun in fifteen seconds? (Don’t count that thing you did in the back seat on prom night.) The song “Ice Cream and Cake,” by future poet laureates the Buckwheat Boyz, would be obnoxious if it were full length, but at a quarter minute, it’s a masterpiece of chants, beats, and fun.

And don’t get me started on the plastic cake toppers dancing to a hip-hop beat. All they do is bounce around, but they do it so enthusiastically that you have to admire them. I especially love the dinosaur, who looks like he’s ecstatic to be rocking on top of a cake.

Really, who wouldn’t be happy dancing on an ice cream cake? Picture yourself doing it right now. You’re smiling right? Because you know it would be incredible.

Maybe that’s why I like this ad so much. It dramatizes a fantasy I didn’t even know I had.

The phrase “maximum awareness through unease” certainly applies to this billboard. It seems possible that a speeding driver might not notice it in the haze of the pouring rain, but maybe the people who do see it will be reminded to slow the hell down.

On the other hand, it could just create an “Aw, cool!” or “Aw, sick!” reaction. If it generates fanboy attention, is a billboard like this doing its job?

Also… does anyone have a clue how you’d make a billboard like this? Where does the blood come from? And does it ever run out? And why does rain make the blood start pouring?

That last line could be the opening to a Marilyn Manson song.

Forget the pall bearers wearing spangly gloves. Forget the crowd inside the Staples Center. The real evidence of Michael Jackson’s power over popular culture is in the lightning-quick appearance of tacky goods memorializing his death. I saw “RIP MJ” t-shirts less than forty-eight hours after he passed, and now, on page 53 of the July 10, 2009 issue of Entertainment Weekly, I’m greeted with a full-page, color ad for the Michael Jackson commemorative plate. (See above.)

Yes, we all thought the Bradford Exchange had disappeared, but apparently, they’ve just been waiting for the right moment to surge back into tacky, tacky life.

Let me repeat: Tacky.

And it’s not just the existence of a collectible plate that’s tacky, though that’s a factor. No, the truly audacious elements of this ad are the “selling points” that the Bradford Exchange thinks will make us buy this thing in order to salve to our grief.

I know that picture up there isn’t very big, and I know that not everyone is holding page 53 of last week’s Entertainment Weekly (with the Michael Jackson cover), so let me break down the key elements of this ad.

• The copy running along the top promises that this is the “only collector’s plate art personally approved by Michael Jackson.” So… what? There are going to be thousands of other collectible dishes out there? Cheap t-shirts, sure. I’m expecting new truckloads by the day. But plates? Will there be so many that we need to make sure we’re getting the one that Michael himself approved? And when did this “approval” take place? If it was anytime after Bad, then I’m dubious.

• The left sidebar announces that the outer rim of the plate is enhanced with “gleaming platinum, in honor of Michael Jackson’s multi-platinum album sales.” Really? Is that an honor? Does a platinum rim enhance the airbrushed, androgynous eyes staring at a shadowy figure shooting glitter out of his finger? Isn’t it hypocritical to present such a bizarre image and then try to pretend that the plate is really about MJ’s sales? Granted, Jackson himself perpetuated this kinds of contradiction, but doesn’t it belittle his complexity to try to represent it on a dish?

• The tear-out coupon in the bottom right corner of the ad assures us that we don’t need to send any money now. Which implies that the Bradford Exchange is waiting to see how many people want these dishes before it spends the money to make them. It implies that even they know it may not be the tribute that people want hanging on their walls.

And that’s maybe the tackiest thing of all. This plate is such a cynical cash-in that it hasn’t even been made yet: The idea is just being dangled in front of emotional fans like a rabbit in front of a racetrack dog.

But like I said: It takes a genuine cultural force to create this kind of insanity. I’d say this plate is just the harbinger of a thousand velvet paintings to come, and even though it sounds like a joke to say it, every single painting will demonstrate what a true icon Michael Jackson became in this country. It’s hard to imagine another living entertainer whose death will provoke this kind of weirdly honorific merchandising.

Those of you who follow my Twitter feed are aware that this afternoon, the German public television station ZDF is coming to my apartment to interview me about the rise of ultrasound technology, as pioneered by a company called Holosonics. 

Since most of you don’t have access to ZDF—unless digital cable is a lot more inclusive that I realize—I want us to talk about this stuff, too.

Here’s the deal: Ultrasound technology tightly focuses sound so that it can only be heard by a limited number of people in a given environment. When a sound is played from normal speakers, everyone in a room can hear it. When a sound is played from a Holosonic system, you might hear it, but the person two inches away from you might not.

There are many uses for this sort of invention. Artists have already created installations with it, and in a recent display of contemporary fashion, the Boston Museum of Fine Arts gave each collection it’s own soundtrack. The collections were inches apart, but the music supporting them didn’t overlap. 

And unsurprisingly, advertisers are all over this thing. After the jump, check out a video of an A&E promotion using the technology:

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Look: I’ll admit that I’m feeling touchy about America’s cultural bias against women right now. In Monday’s New York Times, I read that some Asian-American families are actively choosing to have boys instead of girls, and then just a few pages later, I read that girls are still notoriously underrepresented in school sports. Add the impact of Linda Holmes’ excellent recent essay about the lack of female characters in Pixar films, and you can see why Hallmark’s new Father’s Day spot is pushing me over the edge.

I mean, I know that misogyny and bias swirl around us all the time, and that they were just as pervasive two weeks or two centuries ago as they were this morning, but this is the morning I hit my limit. This is the morning when this commercial, forwarded to me by recent guest critic Laura McMaster, landed like a bamboo shoot under my fingernail:

My reaction follows…
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Who knew hamsters could be so cocky? Take a look at the thuggish, ruggish rodents in this ad for the Kia Soul:

After the jump, I’ll explain why this commercial rocks my face.

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Have you seen this new Heineken commercial, “Let a Stranger Drive You Home?” Last week, it shot Biz Markie’s 1990 hit “Just a Friend” onto the iTunes bestsellers list, where it outsold current singles by Lily Allen, Kings of Leon, and Kanye West.

The ad may have the year’s most effective soundtrack—like,  more effective than any film score we’ll hear in 2009—and after the jump, I’ll explain why it does me so right.

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 I just learned that The Sci Fi channel is rebranding itself as Syfy. The new name is pronounced exactly the same as the old one… it’s just spelled differently.

There are two big reasons the channel wants to alter its brand. First, it wants a name it can trademark, which seems unnecessary to me. The network has been around since 1992, launching successful programs like Battlestar Galactica and Mystery Science Theater 3000, so hasn’t it already branded itself? Why fix what isn’t broken?

The other justification for the switch is even more dubious. According to The New York Times,  Syfy/Sci Fi president David Howe said the original name was scaring off poential viewers.

“If you ask people their default perceptions of Sci Fi, they list space, aliens and the future,” he added. “That didn’t capture the full landscape of fantasy entertainment: the paranormal, the supernatural, action and adventure, superheroes.”

But… you guys? How does “Syfy” capture that landscape more effectively? After all, the old name and the new one are pronounced exactly the same. If a friend talks to you about the network, you’re hearing the same sounds—and making the same assumptions—no matter how the words are supposed to be spelled.

And if you’re a dubious viewer, I’d argue that reading the word “Syfy” will make you think the channel is even lamer than you assumed. As the title of a network, “Sci Fi” is simply descriptive, with no implied attitude about what’s being presented. The word “Syfy,” however, makes it seem like the channel is trying very, very hard to be cool.

I mean, imagine that a department store at your mall suddenly starts selling “Pantz” instead of pants. If you already think department stores are lame, will this re-branding change your mind? Will you cancel your Gap card and spend your paycheck on Pantz and Sherts and Shooze?

If we move  this scenario to cable television, then it’s clear who’s wearing the Pantz.

 

Today in Manhattan, I was walking down Ninth Avenue in the fifties when I saw the Fresh Direct ad pictured above. I didn’t get it at first, so I actually said the following out loud:

Why did they write that? ‘Hail Seitan?’

[pause] 

Ohhhhh! Like, ‘Hail Satan!’”

Dunce cap removed, I laughed. Then a few blocks later, I saw another ad from the same campaign. This one showed a bowl of soup and read “Stock Options.” I got that one right away. I was proud.

But even though it eluded me at first, the seitan (pronounced SAY-TAWN) gag is my favorite for three reasons. I’ll reveal them after the jump:

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According to Towleroad (a great site from which I ganked the photos in this post), the following A/X ad was considered too steamy for a giant billboard in Manhattan’s meatpacking district. Which is… um… interesting… considering how many mostly-naked people you can see in that nieghborhood on any given Saturday night. Like, it could be hailing, and the hail could have nails in it, and people would still be rocking low-cut tops and short skirts.

Anyway, there’s something about the ad I enjoy. Okay, two things. I’ll discuss them both—and reveal the possibly-NSFW full image—after the jump.

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