Monday, July 16, 2012

They're hot dogs. Just buy 'em. We give up.

Here's how I imagine the pre-production meeting for this latest Ball Park hot dogs spot went down:

CLIENT: I want to make sure this spot communicates how Ball Park franks are 100% beef.

ACCOUNT GIRL: A good side benefit is we'll also be reminding those people who are on the fence about hot dogs that the vast majority are formed out of lips and assholes. Inevitably, once we pop out that "99%" bullet point people are gonna start thinking about other meats they can barbecue this weekend.

CREATIVE: We've already got a great cast of dorks who will be debating some old-fashioned baseball stats—you know, just like guys never do. Behind them we'll have a couple pieces of basically human furniture to help capture that feeling of being at a co-worker's barbecue. You know, one where instead of booze there's just a few 3-liter bottles of flat, off-brand soda and no ice. Trust me, if you were at this barbecue you'd scale a 12-foot razor-wire fence to get out.

CLIENT: Great. Now we're using the line "Men: easier fed than understood", right?

ACCOUNT GIRL: Word for word. Just like you wrote it in the brief. Sure it doesn't make any sense but none of this is going to.

CREATIVE: The great thing about this idea is rather than talking to actual guys and indirectly influencing their wives' purchase decision we're just gonna skip the guys and talk directly to the wives. In short, Ball Park hot dogs are for men who have pretty much given up on having any say in their own lives. Yes, dear! I'll fire up the grill! What am I grilling?

CLIENT: What about music?

CREATIVE: Don't need it. This is the worst barbecue ever, remember?

CLIENT: What about an editor?

CREATIVE: Don't need one. It's literally two cuts between two camera angles. We sit on one shot for almost 15 seconds. Just grilling some dogs and talking 'bout a little antique baseball.


CLIENT: Will it go viral?

ACCOUNT GIRL: I'm "99%" sure.

ALL: [heavy laughter, followed by deep, deep regret over what they're getting ready to do, followed by soft weeping and a hasty retreat to the Viceroy to get wall-eyed drunk]


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