Friday, 18 July 2008
Orange - I am Everyone
Basing it's new campaign on a quote from 19th Century American Christian columnist George Matthew Adams, Orange trots into your living room like that embarrassing party guest who everyone hates but who takes himself so seriously. The kind who wants to explain the butterfly effect when you're in the middle of a joke about Maxine Carr. We'll call him Jan (soft J)
"There is no such thing as a 'self-made' man. We are made up of thousands of others. Everyone who has ever done a kind deed for us, or spoken one word of encouragement to us, has entered into the make-up of our character and of our thoughts, as well as our success lol."
That's roughly it and a sweet sentiment, bit banal, fair enough SO
"I am my Mum....and my sister" Shucks...set that stage! So it's either a)a self- reproducing asexual incestuous snick new English-speaking sentient being OR b)Some justlikeyou fanny who's determined to bore you with his borrowed metaphysics.
Now, within the first 5 words, anyone who isn't the kind of person who points at planes realizes the premise, but of course we have to sit through the usual cast of cunts who the soppy bore has had any fleeting contact with, and yes there follows the usual hopelessly homogenized amalgam of middle class tepid cutouts...Girls he's kissed (and taken to Pizza Express in that new pedestrianized bit) EVERY one of his glazed-over friends (none of whom would put you off your Ricicles were they staring at you from a milk carton) and then...
The killer blow...the "FINISH HIM" moment...the Fuckest of dross lines of the whole sorry event.
"..a bloke I'll meet travelling...who'll teach me the guitar"
So far the style of narration has been akin to a gap year dullard on his deathbed, this is the point where a hint of animation in his tone has the relatives put the crossword down and hold their breath for the pupils to dilate.
...but no we get further 20 seconds dedicated to his shit mates,shitter acquaintances, shit places, pets, proctologists, paedophilic priests, I don't know, blech blech blech until you find yourself literally screaming "WHAT IS THIS IN FUCKING AID OF?"
lets cut the Creative twat time, pull a one liner out of the history of thought and bolt it onto a product.
God is Dead...Nandos
Orange have plotted their marquee in the town square of aspirational irrelevance with this fetid faux-fecund slab of twatronising guff.
You are who you are because of everyone you know - and they're all cunts.