Popcrit
The Shout detergent commercial currently on the air reaches a new level of derangement. That is, it's surprisingly non-self-aware for a commercial ostensibly relying on kitsch and irony to sell its product. In it, a husband reminds his wife that the last time she used a competitor's product, she flew into a psychotic rage at the surviving greasy stains and threw her washing machine out the window and into her depressingly bare patch of fenced-in suburban heaven. The ad proceeds to name, in little Batman "pow!" bubbles, the things this nice woman in khakis with sensibly short hair has been able to get out of her invisible offsprings' clothing. Food grease! Blood! Grass stains! ... wait, blood?
New level of crazy. Most detergent and cleaner people tout their effectiveness on oxygen-gorged, coagulating human juice, but usually they also name-check red wine, that dastardly foe. I suppose this McBland slice of ordinary life was intended to include in its obvious appeal psychotic Mormons and Muslims.
Yes, it's too late to be posting about advertising. 'Night.
New level of crazy. Most detergent and cleaner people tout their effectiveness on oxygen-gorged, coagulating human juice, but usually they also name-check red wine, that dastardly foe. I suppose this McBland slice of ordinary life was intended to include in its obvious appeal psychotic Mormons and Muslims.
Yes, it's too late to be posting about advertising. 'Night.