November 24, 2019
I had to go looking for it to re-watch, because I was briefly exposed to it and couldn’t coherently ingest what I thought I’d seen. I do not ask you to believe, but I won’t give you a link. I cannot inflict this on you in good faith. All I can do is document what I saw.
It begins like this: Our carefully engineered everyman enters an aggressively debranded chain computer store. He has a vaguely north-England accent, an generic outfit stripped of any brand iconography or notable individuality, shoulder-length hair and something a more charitable man than I might refer to as a beard. He is meticulously anodyne, a golem animated from the gaming industry’s most embarrassing default settings and left with the appearance of a man whose inner monologue is the sound of a pizza pocket rotating in a microwave.
And none of that matters because he has no agency over his fate from this moment forward. He won’t even get to finish a sentence. In that sense he is the perfect customer, a walking madlib for the machine to fill in.
“Hi, I’m looking for” he says. Reginald – presumptive avatar of the corporation that paid for this ad – interrupts him immediately with the name of the product, a move so pitch-perfect it hurts. Did he want a printer? A cable? A hamburger? An escape from this narrow semiotic hell? We will never know and it could not matter less. Our everyman’s desires are irrelevant; Reginald is now in charge and physical reality immediately begins to flex and degrade around them as he repeats the product’s name like an invocation.
We are eight seconds into a two minute video and there is already a lot to unpack here.
Screens flashing unfamiliar scenes – presumably games, though nobody is there to play them – start to rotate around our protagonists, and the ceiling bends and shatters as they ascend together through this increasingly distorted reality. They have risen above their debranded chain-store origins. Surrounded by a chaff of whirling screens, their interaction is taking place in the reddened corona of a dying star.
Our everyman does not speak, conveying an incredulous disbelief which in fairness seems reasonable under the circumstances. The product being marketed is described as “electric air” as Reginald flies past our everyman to alight before a large and thoroughly uninspired logo.
We cut directly to what appears to be a young couple’s house, minimally if tastefully ornamented; the couple is on a couch playing video games together. Reginald, who I feel obligated to remind you is the company’s avatar in this video, is now a glowing red giant gazing in the window at this unsuspecting couple. The window is some eight feet tall; Reginald’s face takes up all of it. After mentioning a single presumably positive fact about the product Reginald reaches in through the window and – to the shocked screams of the young couple – destroys their home entertainment system.
We cut to see Reginald now holding the home in his hands; he immediately flings it over his shoulder with a smile as he extols more of the product’s virtues. We can hear the screams of the young couple and the crunch as the house hits the ground.
Reginald mentioned that the web service we’re selling here is odourless before sending a dog to find the product, assuring our everyman that the dog will fail. The dog walks through a wall and vanishes.
We are now at the 36 second mark of this adventure and if you haven’t buckled your semiotic seatbelts yet now’s the time.
A white plastic controller emerges, blob-like, from a white plastic table next to a coffee cup, a generic TV remote control and a cactus. As it congeals into the shape of a recognizably typical console controller, a finger pushes a central button and the screen transforms into a neon sign saying “4K 60FPS”. We cut immediately to a repeating, kaleidoscopic display of Reginald’s face, and the small print at the bottom of that image informs you that you won’t get 4K or 60FPS if you do not spend a lot of money while living in the right city. The phrases “four kay” and “sixty eff pee ess” are repeated. 43 seconds have elapsed.
Another young man, approximately sixteen years old and draped in his father’s suit like a double-breasted poncho appears and yells a product endorsement at our everyman, who cannot hear him over the deafening sound of a backing track that’s almost certainly called “dance_club-synth_beat-#4-fr33s0undz-cr3wz-chek-id3tags-4-bitcoin-addres.Mp3” It’s implied I can’t hear it either, because for some reason there are subtitles for this interaction? Shortly the young man transforms into a kayak on the floor of another living room, into which Reginald and our everyman embark for the next part of their journey.
There’s a window in this room as well, and whatever is outside is glowing a violent red; our heroes ignore this and exit into a fantasy land through a screen.
Reginald is, I think we can agree, doling out the symbolism with a shovel at this point. Here we are at the 52 second mark and it’s hard to believe that he was allowed to make this ad at all, because this is already way, way more than “a bit much”. Regardless, let’s press on.
Our heroes riding their ill-fitting-dad-suited kayak-kid hover through some standard game tropes and across a few different screen shapes in some of the least persuasive video editing in recent memory. These screens, we discover, are being held up in yet another living room by a faceless Nashville backup musician, a refugee from an PM-Dawn-themed rave, a disenchanted cybergoth girl and an electric scooter enthusiast respectively.
We cut now to our heroes drifting briefly in free fall in a typical movie-set space station. Reginald is now somehow wearing a space suit but our everyman is still in his street clothes; he doesn’t get that sort of special treatment, here in the vacuum of space. Kayak kid is gone but that’s probably for the best.
We’re assured that this new product “bends time and space” in some way that’s convenient, and then our everyman is dragged into a kaleidoscopic wormhole to the sound of dismayed screams.
One minute and sixteen seconds in, this kaleidoscopic wormhole extrudes itself into a golf cart that Reginald is driving past racks of servers with a badged and lab-coated employee next to him and our everyman in the back seat, alone with his worried expression. The employee says a few technical terms, and is cut off as we brake suddenly to find the aforementioned dog appearing in the middle of this otherwise infinite hall of glowing server racks. It has succeeded, and for a fraction of a second is acknowledged as a good dog.
Dog and everyman look equally traumatized by whatever is going on here and I cannot say I disagree because damn.
As usual though that doesn’t matter and we leave the dog immediately to hurtle further down the infinite racks of servers hallway while Reginald sings the virtues of having infinite racks of servers. Like dadsuit-kayak-boy, the dog is left to an indeterminate fate.
After flashing past a few fractions of a second of gameplay from a handful of games somebody who played games might recognize, we are at the one minute and forty-one second mark, and I thought things were off the rails before.
Reginald has now ascended back into this purple cloud space thing that reality had collapsed into back in the beginning of this odyssey, accompanied by our everyman, the scientist and for some reason the golf cart, all of which vanish momentarily. More screens swirl around lightning cascades from his outstretched hands, as he yells what is apparently this product’s slogan: “unthink the things you think are things”.
I promise you I am not making that up. That’s the punchline to this exercise.
There’s some more horrific awkwardness after that, but it doesn’t matter. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a commercial that was so obviously a joke made at the expense of the people paying for it, and this one really hits it out of the park. Either this happened on purpose or it happened by accident, and I’m not sure which is worse. On the bright side, given the size of the company we can be confident that people are making fun if it in deadpan conversations around the company literally thousands of times a day.
“Have you tried unthinking some things?” “Things I thought were things, you mean?” “Those are some things I think you could unthink.” “I’ll think about it.”
Don’t bother watching it.