I'd suggest that offering a scathing critique of any number of television commercials would be akin to shooting fish in a barrel, if that particular cliche didn't ring quite so false a note for me. I am not a gun person, and I like fish. When I say I like them, I like them swimming free, or on my plate. Shooting one would seem to counter both desired states in a fashion that does not please me. Also, the only gun I could (if pressed) get access to is an old shot gun that once belonged to my grandfather, and which now (to his dismay) belongs to my father. And here is where the problems start.
Given the rather unwieldly length of this gun, there are several logistical issues. A ladder could be used, I suppose, but this is yet one more item to attain, after the need to get a gun, bullets, a barrel, some water and some fish. As far as cliches designed to express ease actually go, this is getting difficult.
Perhaps a small barrel could be used, whereby the gun could be pointed directly at the fish from overhead, whilst in a standing position? Hmm - this is a large gun, so the barrel would have to be really quite small; not much more than a bucket, really. Personally, I'd worry about shooting myself in the foot.
Which leaves the final option of simply trying to shoot the fish from through the side of the barrel, which would seem to negate any notion of marksmanship, unless the barrel was clear perspex or something. Either way, unless you got the fish first time, the cliche would then need to be quickly adapted to shooting at fish flapping helplessly on the ground in lieu of having an intact barrel in which to swim. The bloke who opted to shell peas rather than shoot fish in a barrel ought to be feeling pretty smug by now.
As such, I intend to press on from my close scrutiny of this particular expression, and focus on the comparatively far simpler task of applying the same process of rigorous examination to that horrible little advertisement for the deodorant, Brut, which currently happens to be my least favourite commercial.
I don't know if you've seen the advertisement yourself, but the premise is pretty simple; an anotomically imprecise robot (which seems to be male given the deepness of its leer) "improves" the things around it, to create its perfect little world. The focus on possessions is as materialistically asinine as one might expect from a product pitch, but the extent to which this nasty little advertisement presents women as malleable fantasy objects is the bitter little pill that sticks in my throat.
That the slogan for this advertisement is "still brutally male" should sound a pretty loud warning bell on its own. Brutal is not a word I'd be using to advertise a deodorant, unless my target market was rapists. To be be brutal - if the dictionary is to be believed (and it's generally one of the more reliable texts out there) - is to be savage, cruel, and even inhuman. Well, the main "male" figure in this commercial is a robot, rather than a man, which to me, makes the gender representations all the more cowardly. It is defined to mask the offensiveness of the commercial? I think it is.
That our little robot coward turns a doll, which is conveniently and offensively labeled an "object" into a two-dimensional caricature of a sexy women is appalling on more levels than I can count. An image associated with a child becomes something to pleasure a fake, hollow male avatar. Honestly, whenever I have to sit through this advertisement, I feel I need to apologise to all women and men on behalf of my gender. Please believe me when I say that we are better than this.
It seems then only appropriate that Brut stinks to high heaven (or should that be lowly hell?), and couldn't possibly deodorise anything. Its pungent stench could mask the smell of a rotting horse, but I'm not sure that one is actually gaining anything from arranging such a substitution. Better to just smell the horse, methinks.
We could just hope the advertisement gets taken of the air, but that's not enough. In truth, nothing really is. But if you see anyone buying or wearing Brut, pat them on the back (or butt heads with them if you want to be culturally sensitive) and then give them a bottle of cheap bourbon (something called Pig F*cker or some such), a gun, some ute keys and some porn. Oh, and a doll. Then encourage them to drive at high speeds over a cliff. Yee-hah.
Companies are always going to try and sell their products. But don't let them get away with selling your soul while they're at it. Life really ought to be embraced as being too short and too precious for this kind of shit. I know that my life is far too short (and precious) to ever wear Brut. I'd rather shoot fish in barrels.
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