Ozzie and Bieber for Best Buy.
I tried, I really did. I watched every single commercial on this year’s Super Bowl telecast. Unfortunately, I’m terribly spoiled by my DVR. I think I’d give up Diet Coke before I’d give up my DVR. Consequently, my tolerance of the sorry state of commercials is quite low. So my assessment of this year’s crop of spots is not particularly kind. Nor coherent. Nor relevant. I was not impressed. There were, however, a few bright spots.
Routinely, while watching trailers at the local AMC 53-plex, or highly pixilated commercials on my supposed high-end HDTV, I’m alternately moved to yawn, cry, occasionally laugh, but mostly shake my head in disgust and mutter “We’re all going die…then go to hell.” Today, Super Bowl Sunday, it appears yet again some evil cabal, clad in tattered rags, cackling in delight while dancing around a cauldron filled with bat wings and the limbs of corporate media buyers, has brewed up an especially foul potion, casting an evil spell over the creative community. Agency Directors were surreptitiously replaced by humorless doppelgangers devoid of creative powers, sense of design or comedic skills. The only way to survive this year’s game-day commercial-palooza was to gouge your eyes out with a Dorito. Or crush your head under the wheel of a new enviro-friendly Chevy Cruze Eco. Or Snickers your way into a diabetic coma.
In no particular order, here are some random thoughts and lots of video clips.