Thank you, Tim Nudd at AdWeek, for posting the 30 Freakiest Ads of 2011. Some of them were quite disturbing (I think the anti-child abuse PSA from Ireland hit me hardest (literally). And some are freaky in the way they just push the boundaries of what is taboo. But many are prime examples of the popularization of tropes of the uncanny in a way that is so orthodox, it’s a little mind boggling. In my review of this annual top thirty list, it seems to me that the ads that take the symbolism from their slogans or product names the most literally are the ones who generate the strangest of all ads.
Note how Freudian these ads are in their symbolism. The number one pick is literally a series of dream scenarios offered up for viewer interpretation. The truth is, ALL ads are dream scenarios to begin with, so Nudd’s selectio of this one — while being the most “freakiest” — is also at the same time the most honest.
I am always interested in advertisements for chewing gum (the first chapter of The Popular Uncanny focuses on the history of gum advertising in fact), because they must go out of their way to grab our attention and “sell us” on buying something akin to food — that is, something we chew but never swallow, in a simulacra of consumption.
Here’s one from the list that is the most audaciously Freudian I’ve seen in quite awhile: a video from the “Unexpected Turn” campaign for Vivident Gum:
Another uncanny ad that struck me from the “freakiest” list is the giant ear that moves of its own accord, in ESPN’s Sports for Your Ears advertisement. An obvious example of animism, with an ambulatory body part taking on all the characteristics of a sports fan, but it’s more like a wacky dream than an advertisement. I find it telling that in the opening of the ad, the ear is shopping, and when it is at work it is a psychologist (subtly recalling (if not directly referencing) the faux radio host Frasier from TV: “I’m listening”).
Some in the list are hilarious. Some are disturbing. Some are not safe for work. Most employ the uncanny to sell a product. See them all at AdWeek.
Leave a post if you want to tell us which ones you’d put in your top two.
I don’t want to take this one too seriously, and really just wanted to share it. It’s pretty funny…and also accurate. I think it’s really just an inside-joke at the expense of the Wired editor who is included on the chart. But in the larger view, the conceit, of course, is that actors are non-human constructs — and that their plastic surgery makes Joan Rivers and Mickey Roarke akin to zombies. The chart is really flawed, however, because it mixes up the idea of a “character” and an “actor.” These are two very different things, and I believe only “actors” really constitute celebrities.
Perhaps this ambiguity is related to their uncanny affect. How often do we confuse the symbol (actor) for what it symbolizes (character)? This comes right out Freud’s essay on the Uncanny.
I have to admit, I found the names listed on the OTHER SIDE of the valley more interesting than those dumped into the valley itself. They are examples of actors who are approaching the transhuman, I suppose.
Moreover, I had to note that the use of Star*Wars figures made the Wired chart feel a little too much like the chart Tracy Jordan crafted in an episode of 30 Rock (discussed in depth here back in Oct 2008). The whole chart is an uncanny echo in a way, of both Mori’s theory and that episode of 30 Rock.
*** Note to regular readers of this blog: I’ve begun a “stack” of links at delicious.com/arnzen where I will tag things I spot online relevant to The Popular Uncanny.
This Fall 2010 television commercial, Kung Shoe DSW (also archived on their corporate site), uses a clever pastiche of contemporary action and martial arts cinema to advertise Designer Shoe Warehouse‘s “Killer Boots.” It’s cute and funny and obviously an effective, eye-grabbing advertisement for the company, as artfully made as any Jan Svankmajer film. It is also a great example of the domestication of the popular uncanny in commercial culture.
[pullquote]It doesn’t matter that DSW is a shoe warehouse, and that they surely don’t want one type or brand to be a “killer” of everything else they offer for sale. They probably also don’t want you to associate every shoe box with a coffin, either. [/pullquote]
First, the ad does what all stop motion animation does: it gives “life” to inanimate objects through an artistic application of cinematic technology. This method is so familiar to us now in the 21st century that we take for granted the strangeness of it all: the boot can literally “kick bootie” as if it were not only a living character with motives and a life to protect, but also high skill in self-defense. No small matter, too, that this object is a boot — obviously the best fashion accessory to show a “kick” — but more importantly, it functions in the orthodox sense of the Freudian uncanny: it operates like a dismembered limb acting on its own accord, since all these acrobatics are imitations of human appendages. [Indeed, this suggestion is obliquely made when our protagonist -- a "single" amputee, separated from its other partner foot -- first meets up with a pair of villainous boots which are shot from "boot level" when they step casually in front of the character, spaced apart like two human legs between our position and the "killer boot's" -- implying a human body standing above, off frame.]
The Foe Steps In
On another level, the uncanniness of this humorous advertisement floats invisibly in the context of its consumption. This ad, while clever, wouldn’t make any sense in a world without genre films. Immediately, the whole scene feels strangely familiar in that it not only uses the generic “trope” of a parking garage ambush to explain the scenario, but it also references any number of post-Matrix action films that use “bullet time” techniques which essentially freeze a moment and spin the camera around in a 360 degree effect to fetishize the moment of impact in a spectacular way: a filmmaker’s attempt to make the fight all the more real because we’re invited to visualize the actual force of the violence, despite the entire artifice of the enterprise. This is the “magic” of camerawork applied to very real physical acting, generating spectator awe because the cinema technology (ergo the spectator’s experience) has power that supercedes the “physics” of the time and space in the universe we are ostensibly being shown. It is a supernaturalized “special effect.”
In the broad scheme of things, to imagine a single boot taking on an army of ninja shoes in a dark parking garage is simply ludicrous — but it is hilarious precisely because it is so fantastically imaginary yet hauntingly familiar. The shoes all are given squeaky voices — delivering high pitched “hi-yahs!” as they “attack” the protagonist, who — after dealing the final death blow to a foe who ultimately knocks over a crate of shoe horns — emits a deep and somewhat smug little chuckle.
It is at this moment — when the video takes a moment to laugh at itself before delivering its advertorial message — that the emotional effect is felt as particularly uncanny. For it is not simply that the boot/limb is “possessed” with a soul but the visual medium itself presumes a sort of hyper-self-awareness that up to that point is not really acknowledged within the text proper. This sort of slippage into meta-commentary is a peculiar element of popular culture, which frequently relies on intertextual nods and winks to appeal to the viewer’s sense of media savvy…and reflecting it back with a knowingness that implies that the medium itself is what has this magical power to give life to lifeless objects. There is always a sense of death underpinning such phenomena when we experience it, which we acknowledge with laughter — just like we do with a yelp of terror or even that swimming sensation of dislocation we feel — when we experience the uncanny.
Indeed, the humorous tag line (“Boots Kick Bootie”) and the anonymous female voiceover that subsequently kicks in provides a reassuring sense of comfort that this was “only” an ad, and communicates a sense of relief that the weirdness of it all is fully explainable in the context of the mass market (since there is no context given for what is shown until the very end). The uncanniness is domesticated in the framework of advertising culture. When the rapidly edited images of shoes being placed into the shipping crate in the very final moment appears, one might miss the fact that what is being dramatized is a sort of coffining of the victims of the battle. It is subtly disturbing that the ad ends on that final “ting” as a shuriken flies from off screen space (our space?) and thunks into the coffin-like shoe box, an empty space infinitely replaceable with any sort of body/shoe.
Death sells.
It doesn’t matter that DSW is a shoe warehouse, and that they surely don’t want one type or brand to be a “killer” of everything else they offer for sale. They probably also don’t want you to associate every shoe box with a coffin, either. While this all could suggest a sublimated guilt over the dead animal skins that sometimes go into the shoes on our feet, or even some anxiety about imports and labor, these deeper feelings are really not as important as the fetishism of the commodity that TV commercials like these seek to promulgate. The emotional appeal that underpins the silly humor in this ad overrides all reason: if you want power (and desire survival) then you want one of these “magical” boots.
Vytorin is a single pill — a drug that combines two different medicines (Zetia and Zocor) to combat the two kinds of cholesterol (generally called “good” and “bad” cholesterol”) which they identify as coming from two different sources (“food & family”). As Time magazine reports, there may be truth in these claims, and also problems with it — but the effectiveness of the drug is not my interest. Instead, I want to focus on how all these “dualities” — of medicine, cholesterol, and its origin — are overdetermined in the advertising, repeating some strangely familiar structures of the Uncanny that we often find in consumer culture. Similar to products like Wrigley’s “Doublemint” Gum, Vytorin lends itself to a marketing campaign that actively employs the figure of the double (der doppelganger) to draw the attention of the consumer. As I argue in The Popular Uncanny, in mass marketing and advertising the structures of the Uncanny often become ambiguously attractive and repulsive representations, reflecting our ambivalent anxieties about consumer culture. Here, the idea that “you are what you eat” is taken quite literally. It’s kind of cute, the first time you see it, but in the endless stream of associative pairings between people and food, one becomes progressively convinced that there is something universal about these claims, and that, perhaps, all food mirrors people (and vice-versa). While this ad — like most pharmaceutical advertising — projects a wish for a miracle cure, the use of doubling is so overdetermined that is also uncannily disturbing, if only because these matings feel predestined and beyond our control.
[pullquote]…we are presented with a live human being whose “alter ego” is the food product — an inanimate (or in the case of meat, dead) object on a plate…a double which the living implicitly consume.
[/pullquote]In the YouTube video above — from Vytorin’s infamously clever television campaign a few years ago — the ad showed a series of screens in which a diversity of overtly costumed actors are associated (first by “dissolves” into a single universal plate, then in panels, side by side on screen) with tasty foods and fancy dishes. The overt correspondences between body morphology, fashion choices, and food dishes is quite striking; the symmetry in design and the patterned replication of color schemes across the frame is orchestrated in a way that one simply cannot overlook the “double” message: people are food. Physical traits as well as personality are “naturally” reflected by our choice in food products. We are what we eat; and in the case of cholesterol, it can kill us, because we can’t help ourselves, and the inheritance of our family lines only affirms this.
This visual personification of ice cream and waffles and hot dogs is more than just clever ad design. Here we have an example of uncanny doubling, but it is different than the traditional “doppelganger” in that we are presented with a live human being whose “alter ego” is the food product — an inanimate (or in the case of meat, dead) object on a plate…a double which the living implicitly consume.
There is a subtle cannibalism at work in the dreamlike psychology here. If you see a scrumptious pile of pancakes in one shot, you probably don’t want to eat the person they associate with it, but the implied message is that these people consume these projections of themselves (and perhaps more subtly, vice-versa). Vytorin is suggesting that some people are “naturally” attracted to foods, no matter how artificial or prepared they might be — and by showing these associations in a lengthy series, subtly argues that this compulsory food choice can be generalized as a “compulsion to repeat” that is, simply, human nature.
The double is the “harbinger of death” and Vytorin presents itself as a cure not for cholesterol, per se, but for our anxiety about our predestined fate. If it is “natural,” moreover, then it is “healthy,” and a manufactured pharmaceutical company obviously benefits from framing itself as a “natural” cure or preventative medicine. Commercial pill brand names often pun on our desire for infinite life and health (as I have argued elsewhere about the pain reliever, Aleve). The name “Vytorin” even sounds life-giving in its prefix (“Vyt-”, implying “vital,” as in “vitamin”), before it battles choles-”tor”-al with its “statIN”-based formula. But beyond that, in the ad, the focus on the communion of “food” and “family” transforms the scary point it makes about the origin of cholesterol into a story of “organic” harmony and healthy wish-fulfillment. All these implicit health claims drive home the subtle message that Vytorin is a healthy choice, enabling you to go ahead and eat whatever you like, because it is your destiny, your nature, and the pill fits into this schema as natural law.
Of course, no matter how healthy and uplifting the product might sound, or even be, the ad benefits, too, from fear, as all advertising does — and with most medical advertising, the fear being alluded to here is the fear of death. If you look like a egg salad, and you compulsively eat egg salad, you are only one step away from becoming the equivalent of egg salad. The blurring of boundaries between signifier and signified is an ambivalence that is both cutely humorous and darkly scary. The harbinger of death is the uncanny double.
The wax/flesh boundaries are blurred in unexpected ways in that video that leave even Conan himself speechless about the “horrifying” result. Wax figures may be inherently uncanny on their own, but the status of these figures as pop celebrities — on a pop celebrity show — placed in a men’s room, shifts the ground of the moment enough to render things even more unstable than they otherwise might be.
While searching for this skit online, I came across a classic Conan video featuring “The VentriloChoir in Budapest” that also was quite funny, with hilarious mockery of the human/puppet divide. The band is great, but something about the “mass” of ventriloquists, singing in harmony, generates an unusual response — felt as uncanny, but perhaps touchingly beautiful, in its own way. Another instance of popular folk art turning the uncanny toward alternative ends:
A public service announcement:The Addams Family is now streaming for FREE on YouTube, from MGM. A pastiche of horror fiction iconography — and also an indictment of the 50′s nuclear family, the conventions of the sitcom, and all things domestic — this show is perhaps one of the most interesting and clear-cut manifestations of the uncanny in popular culture. And it is still a riot.
“…meaningful coincidences are unthinkable as pure chance — the more they multiply and the greater and more exact the correspondence is…they can no longer be regarded as pure chance, but, for the lack of causal explanation, have to be thought of as meaningful arrangements.” — Carl Jung, On Synchronicity (1955)
