Posts Tagged “dreadful”

I’m supposed to be having a break and sorting out a few house-keeping issues but what do you do at one in the morning when the TV is crap and you’re so appalled at that Davidoff commercial?
Here’s a different version of Ewan McGregor’s venture into the fragrance market.
I’m not that good at video and, as a bad workman always does, I will partilally blame the tools I have at my disposal.
I would’ve liked to have overlaid the logo/product onto the video but I’m only using windows movie maker so I put some still frames at the end which means the bottle comes in a bit late.
Slightly better now as I had a go with a trial version of a proper video editor.
Very little real editing had to be done because the soundtrack matched the video pretty nicely.

I may not be doing pics but I just saw the new Davidoff ad featuring Ewan McGregor and felt inclined to write something.
Having seen one or two episodes of the series ‘Long Way Down’ or was it ‘Long Way Round’ when he and Charley Boorman went round the world on their motorbikes, I kind of got the impression that the arduous trip had a profound effect on both.
Nottachance.
I should have realised that at the emotional family reunion, the first words uttered by McGregor were not to declare his undying love to his wife but “Bugger me ! if we can keep Boorman out of it, this will make a great commercial.”
It didn’t and it’s one of the most cringeworthy ads I’ve ever seen.

By replacing just one word from the beginning of the Trainspotting screenplay, Davidoff could have saved a fortune, talked directly to its target audience and still associated the brand with McGregor .

Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future.
Choose Davidoff.