Truth in Advertising Page 0,61
I say, then watch as the cab drives up First Avenue, knowing that we will never see each other again.
• • •
I wake early, lie on my side, and look out the window at the blanket of snow that covers the trees and the rooftops. It is still and quiet, except for the wind, the hiss of the radiator. I should go in to work. I should get an early start. Don’t think of it as a diaper, Fin. Think of it as a thing that could save humanity. A superhero. A political message. A love story. A comedy. Let’s get Jerry Seinfeld/Tina Fey/Al Roker/someone-from-The-Bachelor-or-Dancing-with-the-Stars.
Excellent, Fin. Brilliant, Fin. Jackass, Fin.
From the next apartment I hear my neighbor’s son, Henry, eighteen months, his muffled, high-pitched bird-of-a-boy voice, his parents laughing. I roll over and go back to sleep.
• • •
Later in the day. Ian comes into my office holding two coffees, puts one on my desk.
He says, “What’s the most famous Super Bowl spot ever?”
I say, “ ‘Mean Joe’ Greene.”
“Mean Joe” Greene was a football player known for his, well, meanness. In the spot, a beat-up, limping Mean Joe ambles down the corridor after the game, stadium empty except for a young boy, who is obviously in awe of Mean Joe. The kid holds a Coke. He gives it to Joe, who downs it. The kid turns to walk away, disappointed, and Joe says, “Hey, kid.” And tosses him his filthy jersey, which he’s been carrying over his shoulder.
Ian says, “Bigger. The biggest ever. The commercial of commercials.”
I say, “Apple 1984.”
He smiles and says, “Apple 1984.”
He’s grinning. It takes me a few seconds.
I say, “Instead of the girl, it’s a mother.”
He says, “Instead of the sledgehammer, she hurls a huge doodie diaper at the screen.”
I say, “It’s babies in the seats instead of drones.”
He says, “It’s either really funny or incredibly dumb.”
The Apple 1984 spot is legend. It only ran once, during the Super Bowl. Some people say it started the big deal about Super Bowl commercials. It was directed by a young Ridley Scott, whose career largely petered out after that, except for directing Blade Runner, Thelma & Louise, G.I. Jane, and Gladiator, among others. In the spot, sixty seconds long, drone-ish people march in a gray futuristic world. A talking head—Big-Brother-meets-Stalin—speaks from a giant screen, a kind of indoctrination. Suddenly, something is wrong. A fit, blond-haired woman in red shorts is running with a sledgehammer. She’s being chased by scary-looking guys in futuristic suits and helmets. Very Orwellian. This is early January 1984. Rows and rows of near brain-dead drones sit and watch a big screen. The fit blonde throws her hammer and destroys the screen. A voice-over says, “On January such-and-such, Apple Computer will introduce Macintosh. And you’ll see why 1984 won’t be like 1984.”
I call Paulie and ask him to come by. He’s three offices away. When he gets to my doorway, I say, “Apple 1984. For this.”
Paulie says, “Dude, that’s so stupid. I love it. Instead of the sledgehammer, it’s a huge doodie diaper.”
I look at Ian.
Ian says, “Great minds.”
I say, “Great or sad?”
Ian says, “Maybe sad.”
• • •
We order in from the diner, grilled cheese and soup.
Ian says, “Maybe something serious.”
“Like what?”
“William McDonough.”
I say, “Finbar Dolan.”
Ian says, “No. William McDonough. Have you heard of him?”
“We went to junior high together. He tried to kiss me at prom.”
“You’re a fool,” Ian says. “He wrote a book called Cradle to Cradle.”
I say, “A cradle is something a baby sleeps in. See? I know things.”
Ian says, “There’s a saying in the environmental design movement, ‘cradle to grave.’ It’s about the life cycle of a product.”
“How do you know these things?”
“NPR. Anyway, William McDonough has this whole philosophy about how a product should be completely reusable. Cradle to cradle.”
“Make it a mini-documentary. Errol Morris.”
“Errol Morris.”
Errol Morris is an Academy Award–winning documentary filmmaker who also makes commercials. He made Fog of War, about Robert McNamara’s experience as secretary of defense during the start of the Vietnam War. Ian and I have been trying to shoot with him for years. Like many creatives, we are keen to validate our work by making it more than merely a commercial. We want to make it a movement, a communication. But we’ve never had a script he was interested in shooting. No surprise there, though, as at the end of every Snugglies spot an animated diaper hugs itself and giggles. The last script we sent him to consider was a takeoff of the Broadway