Until Around the Year 2000: ITV (Grampian) adverts, 12th November 1988 скачать в хорошем качестве

Until Around the Year 2000: ITV (Grampian) adverts, 12th November 1988

Mid-November 1988 in the Grampian region, so it's probably really cold and only getting colder. ITV, or Grampian at least, are showing 48 Hrs. with Eddie Murphy and Nick Nolte, and taking an interesting approach to the break bumper: simply freezing the film at the most appropriate junctures they can find and fading up a chyron with the title in Paintbox, instead of clumsily mixing to a cardboard slide. The effect is slightly eerie but it means we don't miss anything, unless it's happening very quickly in the lower quarter of the screen. First advert: some fishes. John West remains Britain's most trusted name in canned seafoods to this day, even though they're a brand of a Thai company now. The classy-as-hell can design had a lot to do with it ("had" because they haven't looked like that in a long time now), all stately fonts and uppercrust kerning on solid-colour backgrounds. These things make a difference, you know. Anyway I uploaded this advert before, it's the one with a tuna (but not banana) pizza being assembled and disassembled while the voiceover chuckles at his own barely-a-joke. Next, another one we've seen before, an early advert for the legendary Viennetta, when it was still considered unusual and classy and indulgent rather than a pretty run-of-the-mill (but delicious) frozen dessert. You can tell because of the hushed tones of Anton Rodgers, the fine crystal, the manicuring and jewellery on the hand-models, the oh-so-tasty sax and the fact that they're eating the damn things out of cocktail glasses for absolutely no rational reason. Next: more classiness as various priceless artefacts get completely fucked by idiots who don't know a dingyao bowl from a dog's supper dish. Apparently, such dipshits are common, or were in 1988, so the Antiques Roadshow has prepared a catalogue of items from the forthcoming series, and smuggled it into the Mail on Sunday to ensure it's seen by idiots. And now: animation courtesy of Gray Jolliffe. Fortunately not about Peter Mayle's talking penis. Instead it's Batchelors Cup-a-Soup - or rather its dieting spin-off Slim-a-Soup - using the old trope of hunger personified as an empty anthropomorphic stomach complaining to its owner at inconvenient times. In this case it's a ballerina played by French (the stomach) and Saunders (the brain). Cars! A kid in the fifties watches a Tomorrow's World expy as a framing device for just how damn modern this Vauxhall is. Obviously, 35 years on this is just gently amusing and even vaguely dissonant in its insistence that this angular, monobrowed jalopy is somehow futuristic. After all, we live in the future and this ain't it. But of course, just like all adverts, this wasn't made to run more than six months to a year at best. It wasn't designed for a future where people would still be looking at it on computers for some reason. We didn't have cars shaped like suppositories in 2000 either. But we did have four-wheel drive. Next, some sort of Burdis in Hitler-esque makeup is struggling to raise his Audrey IIs because it's so cold. Fortunately Mr Takis and that eyebrow guy come to his and his puppet's rescue with a Calorgas heater. And a banjo. It's one of those "cheeky, cheery proles" adverts with the cockney knees-up jingle, that were popularised by Kwik-Fit, became ubiquitous among anything involving pipes or nails in the late eighties and usually (but not here) starred Daniel Peacock. "The kind of British workmen the British public like", as the Smith and Jones sketch put it. They've even thrown in a fully archetypal Yuppie just to reinforce the class system. The great thing about multiple-verse, multiple-scenario adverts like this is that they're easy to divide into shortened versions to run once the main ones have bedded down into the public consciousness. I've uploaded the final third of this one before, for instance. Finally, some surreal video art by Chris Burden. No, it isn't. But it might as well be. A talking mop claims to be Marti Caine (in her voice, to be fair) and admits, in slightly confusing language, to concerns about its mental health, as well it might. And then it stops. Buy that. Cruesli, as the name suggests, is a breakfast cereal - a route-one muesli produced by the Quaker Oat people. I'm hoping this is part of a larger campaign, because there's absolutely no way of knowing that from this. We don't see a bowl of it - we don't even see a packshot - and we don't hear anything other than this mop claiming to be Marti Caine. (It is roughly the same shape.) Only if we're familiar with the brand - or with the concept of muesli, I supposed, and have the capacity to make inferences - can we possibly understand what this is even for, and even then we're left at a loss as to why we should buy some, or what this mop has to do with anything. Maybe this is some kind of oblique, Dadaist punishment for playing Sun City.