Jumping on the World Cup bandwagon, we've helped develop a fun little game for Churchill where you get to take on the rest of the world in the ultimate penalty shootout. If you have a few minutes to spare then why not have a go? You could win £500 holiday vouchers, or even a nodding dog Churchill.
Here are another two ads in our B&Q "UNLEASH THE B&Q IN YOU" campaign.
In one a woman finally casts off the shackles of beige to turn her home and garden into a rainbow of colour (with the help of her dog), while in the second ad a small boy decides to have some fun with B&Qs ridiculously easy to grow Easy Grow bedding plants.
They were directed by Olly Williams at HSI, made lovely by Absolute Post, and given sound by Munzi at Grand Central.
After a pretty hectic (yeah, that's a deliberate reference to the middle bit of the song in the ad - what are you going to do about it?) six weeks or so we've finished up three ads for B&Q.
We wrote them over a weekend, presented them on the Monday, and by the Friday we were well into production.
The campaign aims to get the Great British public up off their sofa and doing all the little jobs around their houses and gardens that need doing. By using the iconic orange B&Q apron we're elevating these jobs and giving the people who do them almost hero status, which will hopefully encourage them to unleash their B&Q.
The launch ad is on air now with two 30 second spots to follow that will focus on some of the products available in store.
Advertising is
seldom glamourous; usually it's endless meetings, it's hours spent drawing
stupid doodles on paper, it's debating whether it should be "yet" or
"however" in a bit of body copy that no one will ever read. It's why
I started my Just Like Mad Men blog a few years back.
However, next
week advertising will be just like Mad Men for us, as we're off to Cape Town
for 10 days to shoot some TV commercials. It will be posh plane seats, it will
be all the wine you can cram in your face, it will be delicious food, sunshine,
swimming pools, expensive restaurants, it will be fancy hotels, and (at some
stage or other) it will be a bit of work.
In an ideal
world, there shouldn't be a lot for a copywriter to do on a shoot. If a job's
been done properly then you've written the script, amended it and finally had
it approved. You've chosen a great director who you feel confident will bring
your work to life. You've discussed with client and the team how it should
look, which actors you should use and what everyone will be wearing. You'll
even have storyboards that show you how each shot will be framed and where it
fits into the finished ad. All of which you'll have discussed and changed until
(theoretically) everyone is happy. Aside from approving the odd set, giving a
thumbs up to wardrobe here and there, and nodding now and again when someone
shows you something or other, it's pretty much just a case of making sure
you're happy with each take. And eating your weight in cake.
Obviously,
there will be tensions on set, but that's not exactly taxing - you just have to try to keep everyone happy - come to a compromise if necessary,
or just do a few different takes and put the argument off until you get to the
edit.
That's that as
far as work goes really. On your average shoot day, you wake, shower and dress, and
from then on it's basically a case of watching other people work.
Someone drives
you from the hotel to the set, where someone else shows you to a seated area
next to a TV screen which other people have set up for you. If it's too sunny,
someone else will put you in the shade. If you're a bit thirsty they'll make
you a drink. If you're a bit peckish someone else will bring you some food.
Actually, you don't have to be peckish, they'll just bring you something to eat
anyway. From your pampered playback perch you watch everyone else run around; sawing, building, painting, pulling, pushing, acting, filming,
directing.
It's an awkward
experience to be honest - the one time you feel a little like a movie star, but one that should never be taken for granted.
At times like these all the re-writes and brief changes, all the brainstorms and ideas
dumps just fade away. These are the times when advertising feels like what
normal people think advertising is. These are the perks of the job, and because
they only make up a mere 0.00000034% of your average day, you'll forgive us if
we make the most of them.
(1) Rip Up
The Rule BookAnd
Throw It In The Bin. No, wait, you write the rules, THEN rip them up don't you?
(2)
Fish The Rule Book Out Of The BinAnd Sellotape It Back Together. Don't
worry if some bits don't fit and others have half-eaten Greggs Cheese And Onion
Pasty on them; it'll make sense eventually.
Look, here's a
quote, "The harder I work; the
luckier I get." That's the one every creative director tells every
placement team isn't it? It makes sense: put the hours in and the chances are
you're going to create better work. However, it doesn't always work like that. Sometimes
an idea just pops into your head from nowhere. You might be in the bath, or
trying not to fall asleep on the night bus.
Now, I'm not
saying you should be having baths willy-nilly, or getting drunk so you can try
not to fall asleep on the night bus; that would be stupid, but equally, I don't
think killing yourself, working 24/7, is too clever either. Work hard, yes, but
also don't be afraid to (3) Sack It All Off Now And Again. Switching
off helps you put enough distance between you and your work and helps you judge
it more impartially. Also, your brain will carry on thinking even when you
don't think it is, and that's when inspiration tends to strike.
(4) Don't Take
It So Personally, You Little Shitbag. In an advertising agency everyone is allowed to have
an opinion about your work: planners, account teams, the post woman, that bloke
who's wondered into reception thinking he's in GAP; everybody. The trick is to
take it all on the chin and move on. It's hard, especially if you've been up
all hours the night before writing scripts and then woken the baby up on your
way to bed, causing trouble and strife with the trouble and strife, but that's
just the way it is. Even what seem like stupid comments should be listened to
as it might be there's a problem elsewhere with your ad that's making people
misunderstand it.
(5) Ignore
The Brief. That doesn't
mean present a Plasticine man when you’ve been asked to write a TV script; just
don't get too bogged down by the brief. Briefs can push you towards a very
narrow area of work. Obviously you should answer the brief, but if you think of
something that's miles off brief then just present it anyway: the client might
not know they want it until you show it. We've had print briefs that became TV
ads because we managed to persuade the client that the message was better
suited to TV. Thankfully they were very open-minded clients (plus, more
importantly, hadn't actually booked any media at that stage). At the very least
this will keep you sane when working on restrictive briefs.
I can't read
this one. It's got (6) Beef Kung Po all over it. Mmm! Actually, I
hope that's Beef Kung Po…
(7) Be Your
Own Creative Director.
There are loads of ways to answer a brief, but only a few of them are any good.
The more you show, the bigger the chance of one of the more rubbish ones being
bought. So try and be selective with what you present. You can always use the
stuff you don’t show in the next review.
(8) Keep It
Simple. Your job is to
come up with a simple idea that communicates the problem and offers a solution
in an interesting and entertaining way. Once it's bought you can add to it and
craft it, but the simpler an idea is the better chance it has of being
understood and actually made.
Here's another
quote; "We're not in the business of entertainment." It's something a
creative director once said to us during a book crit. He may have said other
stuff but to tell you the truth I’d stopped listening. At the time we had a
book of silly, funny stuff and were a bit light on the pseudo arty bullshit
that thankfully, died in the 1990s. I would argue with the creative director
that we are in the
business of entertainment, and if you don't engage the viewer you’ve got sod
all chance of him taking any notice, no matter how pretty your ad is. We aren’t
in the business of making art. We don't make films, we make adverts. Those
aren't site-specific installations, they're billboards. So keep it funny, make
it shocking, make it interesting and don't ask too much of the public. Always
ask yourself (9) "Why Should Anyone Care About Your Advert?"
That way you might make something other than nice-looking wallpaper.
Finally, (10)
Eggs, Cigs, Milk, Bread. Sorry, that's an old shopping list. Either
that or a the answer to a long copy brief from a wacky creative.
This week the excellent Watford Advertising Course are in WCRS. It's something WCRS and course tutor, Tony Cullingham, do annually; giving the students a taste of working in an agency on quick-turn-around briefs.
We're not actually setting them a brief this year, but if we were I can guarantee they'd produce lots of fresh and exciting ideas. It's just what Watford students do.
Tony's consistent ability of sending highly-motivated, talented students into the industry is why his course remains one of the surest ways of becoming an advertising creative.
Without it I would undoubtedly be doing something much more boring for a living.
You see, I very much stumbled into advertising. Don't get me wrong, I loved the ads on TV but never really dwelt on how they were made. The idea that someone wrote a script for Smash, or Monster Munch, or any of the other ads that made me laugh, had never even crossed my mind. I simply had no idea such a job existed.
What I wanted to be when I grew up changed throughout my life, with copywriter only making an appearance after finishing a Fine Arts degree. Until then I had wanted to be...
A whale (don't ask) - aged 3.
Everton's number 9 - from age 3 to current day.
Graphic designer - aged 8 to 16.
Indie guitarist - aged 15 to 19.
Artist - aged 16 to 22.
Whale, footballer, guitarist: the things every child dreams of being.
Then, with a matter of weeks away from graduating, the sudden, devastating realisation that being an artist was going to be difficult and financially unrewarding got me off my arse and down to the University career advisor. Or a BBC Computer as it was also known.
I typed in my qualification, pressed RETURN and waited with baited breath for my future to present itself to me.
In the end, I was offered the grand total of three possible careers;
Police Pathologist Photographer
Court Artist
Advertising Art Director
After immediately dismissing the idea of spending my working life around the clinically dead and criminally-minded (I could crack a joke about clients and account men here, but that would be too easy), I looked closer at a job in advertising.
It seemed fun. It seemed sexy. To be honest, it seemed nothing much like a real job at all. There was money, drink, glamour, drink, Soho, drink and the chance to get paid for seemingly dicking around with a pen and paper all day. To a Fine Arts student who'd spent most of his 4-year degree course watching Countdown and colouring in, it was an ideal fit.
So I wrote to a few agencies, visited others, and was eventually pointed towards the Watford Course. Although, one senior copywriter did suggest taking £2,000 to the Dog And Duck on Frith Street, and drinking until a creative director was hammered enough to hire me. I'd loved to have had the confidence (and £2,000) to do this, but opted for the slightly safer route of applying for a place at Watford.
Although the year was one of extremely hard work and even harder budgeting (I ate liver pate sandwiches for 6 months) it did lead to me eventually writing adverts for a living.
Sure, it's seldom as glamorous as it promised to be, and can often feel like a never-ending series of meetings discussing the thing you thought you couldn't possibly discuss any more in the last meeting, but it is still a million miles away from a proper job.
Last month, for example, we spent 15 minutes debating the right sound for an air horn on a TV commercial, while eating sushi cones.
A few years before that, we asked the late Emlyn Hughes to pretend to be a mouse.
How many people get to do that every day?
And to think; I owe it all to Watford College. Thanks Tony; thanks a bunch.
We've done 3 new TV ads for Churchill, featuring Dawn French.
It's a continuation of the campaign we've been working on for the last couple of years.
In these spots Dawn and Churchill have a dance in their garage, make a scene at a cafe, and enjoy some chips by the seaside. All in the name of car insurance.
They were directed by Dominic Brigstocke through Tomboy, produced (agency side) by Lizzie Mabbut with sound by Nick Angel and post production by the lovely people at Glassworks.
You can see them by clicking on Dawn's Face above, the portfolio to your right, or if that's too far away just click here.
For a long time
I've firmly believed that, apart from us advertisers, most people don't really
care about advertising.
Sure, they're
only too happy to chat when prompted by drink and free cash in research groups,
but day-to-day they just don't notice what we do.
This all
probably stems from our first ad to run.
It was the
1990s; it was exciting; we were on placement at RKCR, we were being paid, there
was free beer in the fridge, and we were working on live briefs.
One of which
was a small space campaign for VH1, promoting the virtues of presenters Bob
Mills, Clare Grogan and Richard Jobson (former singer of The Skids). After getting our idea past creative directors and
client we raced into our first experience of production.
Jobson: Insufferable.
Back then I was
the art director, so I went off to the MTV building to shoot Jobson. Sadly,
only with a camera, as a more insufferable prick I'm yet to meet. His most
annoying habit was prefacing each facial expression with a helpful description:
"Laconic", SNAP, "Quizzical", SNAP,
"Informative", SNAP.
Knob-sweat. SNAP.
Anyway, my
first (but sadly not last) experience of the bell-endry of so-called-celebs
aside, we soon had three ads we were really pleased with. Parents were called,
proofs slotted into folio, and insertion dates circled on calendars.
Then on the
day, I was on the tube and there beside me was someone reading the paper our ad
appeared in! I sat and waited; imagining the little chuckle the reader would
let out when they saw our clever wordplay, our quirky art direction and our
hilarious juxtaposing of popular culture and other things.
They turned the
page. There was our ad. I held my breath…
They turned the
page again without even noticing all the work we'd done.
I was gutted.
However, I soon
realised this wasn’t personal - the reader was ignoring all the ads in their
paper.
And so my long
held belief that no one really gives a toss about what we do was born.
Then, last
Tuesday, it was sadly taken from this world by the 8.25 to London Liverpool
Street. On this train I saw a man taking notice of a poster. A man so moved by
an actual advert that he photographed its QR code!
QR Code or CEEFAX Porn?
I was
flummoxed. My deep-seated cynicism was sent hither and thither, like a 1970s
BBC entertainer after an unexpected knock on the door.
If this man
could be arsed to take a photo of a QR code, I mused, maybe others could be
persuaded to jot down phone numbers, remember product names, or even visit
over/complicated/web/addresses/designed/to/forward-slash/help/tracking!
Like Lazarus
awakened from death by Jesus, (although, strictly speaking, much more like a
man surprised by another man's interest in the first man's job) I raced into
the office.
Because as long
as there's a chance that somewhere, someone will hear it, my hilarious
elevator-based advertainment™ MUST be written!
So if you'll
forgive me, I have important work to do...
