Being 75% Greek, there aren't many current events that I get to crow about while wearing my ethnic bobbly shoes. 2004 was a good year (winning the UEFA European Football Championship and the Olympic Games coming home), but since then, nothing... until now, a third of the way through 2009, when something appeared on British telly that really made me proud.
(Skip forward one minute to avoid the preamble)
So that was Easter, that time of the year when we celebrate the anniversary of baby Jesus being nailed to a chocolate cross. Confusement reigns Chez Chimp at the almost complete lack of any religious reference on the packaging of the seemingly hundreds of chocolate eggs consumed by the three small inheritors of my DNA.
Here's my personal favourite, received by Chimplet #1, which appears to condone anal rape while delivering a confusing message about eating raw eggs and being a REAL man. Somewhere there is a holy scripture which records the religiously significant event of the holy prophet John Cena packing Gnarls Barkley's fudge in a wrestling ring, presumably after eating a fortifying man-meal of raw eggs and that staple of the macho diet, jelly-filled mallows.
Very odd.
See also: Wrestlers have nipples removed by Jetpack (ouch)
This is one of three short films made by The Sweet Shop and Publicis Mojo of New Zealand, for Schweppes (the films were also chopped to form smaller TV ads).
This 9 minute-long tale is the pick of the bunch: You know how today’s movie superheroes have to be shown as flawed and struggling to come to terms with their “gift” ? This film is very much in the same vein, except that our hero suffers from an exceptionally attractive priapic endowment.
DOMINO: Domino's Pizza. How can I help you?
BECKS: I'd like a 12-inch Hawaiian please.
DOMINO: Certainly sir. Would you like it cut into eight or twelve slices?
BECKS: Eight slices please. I'm on a diet.
David Beckham poster ad seen in Tokyo.
See also:
Are they real?
When cool just don't cut it;
Buying into the Beckham illusion;
Put your tongue in, Becks
Wars, murder and dead princesses can't keep the British media away from what they see as the biggest story of the week, even though false modesty prevents them from spelling it out plainly: are those really David Beckham's bollocks?
(I can only add one tiny insight into this intriguing tale: a witness - whom I cannot identify, because the wife will kill me - testifies that they really are that big.)
The hoohaa does confirm that sticking Becks in an ad still causes a buzz, although I am disappointed that he chose Armani. I believe David Beckham would be put to better use advertising Ferrero Rocher, because they come in a posh box.
I own a Motorola Razr, but then I'm cool anyway, and if the trendy mobile looked like a lump of clay then, well, I'd just damn well make it look good.
Here's Mr Beckham with one.
Holding the phone, he looks ok, and almost as sexy as me. But with the ear wotsit, he looks a twat. The moody mean look and messianic halo enhances the general twatness.
The only people who can just about get away with wearing one of these are London black taxi drivers (who don't care how bad they look, and are thus immune to this type of dorkness), call centre staff, and anyone working for Jack Bauer.
See also:
Your golden ticket to la dolce vita, chav-style;
Buying into the Beckham illusion;
Put your tongue in, Becks
It’s a little-known fact that scruffy hunk Josh Holloway had his mind altered by an itinerant Hollywood hypnotist stalker. The unfortunate chap loses control every time a sultry babe pouts at him, forcing him to strip off, dive into the nearest stretch of water and toss his hair like a girl.
It’s true, I tell you.
Speaking as a classicist with a reasonably large drop of Greek blood, the green-screen gorefest 300 is bloody good fun. Soulless and ridiculous, it amuses me that some neo-cons would enjoy the prospect of seeing fine upstanding white men slaughtering the heathen proto-muslims in their thousands, while secretly enjoying the gayness of oily topless supermen in tight leather bondage underpants shouting that well known Greek phrase “Hoooo!” (as in “Hoooomosexual!”) at suitably macho moments. Funny that, ‘cos the ancient Greeks had no concept of sexual labels.
Equally incongruous is the occasional reference to Spartans fighting for freedom, the only thing that truly grates, because that tiny city-state in the Peloponnese grew powerful when interlopers enslaved the locals and founded Western Europe’s first truly fascist state, while its Attican neighbour Athens created a flawed and short-lived democracy (which excluded women, slaves and foreigners) that the cartoon-educated hold up as a shining ideal. The brainless, visually beautiful spectacle would have been perfect without the Braveheart bollocks.
Worst bits: Dialogue from the Brian Blessed School Of Shouting (bravo to Bill Green for his brilliant comment: “inspiring speeches straight from the Conan meets William Wallace motivational handbook”)
Best bits: Cruelty to trolls and rhinoscerii.
Most car ads usually fall between two benches: petrolhead porn (images of the motor or its components with lots of fancy effects, or zooming around a spectacular landscape) and the delayed moneyshot (meaningful action or drama ending in the revealing of the car). This is a sweeping generalisation that I’m making after about three seconds of lazy research, so don’t flame me with examples of exceptions.
I’m muchly impressed with this spot from Australia for the Honda CR-V, which I file under “delayed moneyshot”, and it’s a fine example – the guy stripping in the street is just interesting enough to hold the attention until he reaches the pig-ugly car, made to look damn cute to Australian eyes by the simple trick of nailing a surfboard to the roof.
It’s a fine piece of work from DraftFCB Melbourne, proving that you can make a silk purse from a sow’s ear. Good soundtrack too.
I usually avoid bandwagons, and am committing the added sin of jumping on this one late. However, I am amused by David Beckham’s artistic skills for Adidas.
He has become more cultured since living in Spain. Apparently he wanted to take a suitcase of books with him to the World Cup Finals last year, until Posh pointed out that he’d already coloured them all in.
With Valentine's Day long gone, I can reveal my disappointment at not receiving any of the albums on my Amazon wishlist. I claim no responsibility for any ill effects you may experience should you decide to click on the link.
One of my little workplace pleasures is sipping coffee poured by a scantily clad monkey girl whilst perusing the fashion ads in GQ and wondering what the clothes say about the guys wearing them.
They live the luxury lifestyle, buy Versace and are supposedly an inspirational couple to boys and girls alike.
David and Victoria Beckham have a new range of his & her fragrances, Intimately Beckham, which is surprisingly downmarket. This page ripped from yesterday’s Sun previews the advertising for the new line of Beckham smellies and yet, at under £20 a pop, you couldn’t imagine the waning celebrity couple wearing it. In fact, you couldn’t really imagine the normally skeletal Victoria even looking like this because this isn’t actually her. The face is hers but the man-pleasing shape definitely isn’t, proving that the Beckham brand is all puff.
Nice arse, missus, whoever you are.
See also: Smell like Beckham
Easy things to criticise about this new ad for Nike, appearing in the press on the day of England’s final group B match in the World Cup tournament: mindful of the threat of hooliganism, it’s too aggressive; Wayne Rooney looks like a blood-soaked thug; the pose is possibly blasphemous…
But on the other hand, I’m surprised at myself for liking it. Rooney is an ugly little runt, but he’s more interesting than the pretty Beckham. He is more like the ordinary young bloke in the street.
Such a pose with the Cross of St. George would have been too provocative a few years ago, but Englishness is becoming aggressively fashionable. Saint George’s Day is starting to get noticed.
There’s a strong opinion that the mood is a backlash against the Scots, who will support any team except England (which is fair enough – football at club and national level has always been tribal).
It’s an interesting coincidence that the ad appears on the day that English unhappiness about Scottish political domination is reported. It may be hard to believe for anyone not connected with the UK, but the English feel hard done by; this Braveheart-style pic by agency Wieden & Kennedy just about catches the mood.
The curious bit is the familiar slogan: Just do… what? The answer might not appear on the football pitch.
England striker Wayne Rooney, still recovering from his foot injury, was told he'd play in the World Cup if he had a cortisone injection. David Beckham wasn't pleased. "If that fat little bugger's gonna get a new car then I want one as well", he said.
Agency: JWT
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