Once upon a time, there were two kinds of people in two different kinds of office jobs. In Zone A, there were writers, artists, producers, directors and photographers. People affectionately known as ‘creatives’.
In Zone B were the accountants, solicitors, bankers and civil servants. Zones A and B co-existed quite happily in their own separate worlds. Each had very little understanding of what the other zone did, but they had a great deal of respect for the other side, as they knew it was something they couldn’t do themselves.
Then something awful happened. The people in Zone B decided to colonise and codify the happy Zone A workplaces. In short, they wanted to play with the cool kids. And with their trademark determined careerism, they made sure they did. They inveigled their way into film, television, comedy and the arts. Many of us watched in horror as they found their way into advertising, bringing their dispiriting dullness with them.
They may have tried to disguise their Zone B DNA beneath baseball caps and an adopted vernacular full of ‘dudes’ or ‘bros’ but they weren’t fooling anyone because their often dismal and unimaginative work betrayed them. As an ever-increasing slew of them slithered into advertising, more and more commercials began to become dismal and unimaginative as well. The new John Lewis ad is the almost inevitable result.
This is only my opinion and if you like this ad, great. But if you don’t, it may be because, instead of wanting to be Christmassy, this ad wants to be ‘cool’.
You probably know the story of the John Lewis ad now: maladroit son gives bellend dad a vinyl copy of Alison Limerick’s Where Love Lives which instantly transports the old fool back to his clubbing days in the early 90s. I think we’re supposed to infer that Rave Dad hasn’t always been the most attentive father but, well, he hugs his forlorn progeny on Christmas morning, so that’s all right then.
There’s nothing remotely festive or heartwarming about this cold, slightly depressing scenario. But it’s classic Zone B advertising, hammering home a very obvious ‘message’ as though it’s a pearl of Confucian wisdom. In this case, suggesting that basic parenthood is ‘cool’ even though fathers have been kind and loving to their sons since time began.
But a vinyl record? Come on, that’s ‘retro-cool’ isn’t it? And a middle-aged dad who went clubbing in the 90s? That’s super-cool, isn’t it? Not particularly. I was a DJ in the early 90s and the fantasy rave depicted in the ad looks nothing like a single second I ever spent playing records in a real one. But I do remember Rave Dad and his ilk only too well. They were our least favourite punters. Newcomers to university, to EDM and MDMA, they invariably made massive tits of themselves before collapsing, frightened and incapable, around 1.30 a.m.
Nonetheless, those who made the John Lewis ad are very proud of it. All 117 of them. I’m afraid that’s another feature of Zone B colonisation. Whereas it was always deemed sufficient to credit the six or seven people who actually created or commissioned a commercial, Campaign magazine has named – I swear I’m not making this up – 117 people who can allegedly put this one on their CVs.
Though the person who deserves real credit is the copywriter – anonymously concealed among 116 others – who came up with the line: ‘If you can’t find the words, find the gift.’ That’s genuinely good.
However, Franki Goodwin, the creative director of Saatchi & Saatchi, rather ruined it by declaring that ‘Landing on this line felt like it was a massive unlock’. Zone B language that should have no place in an ad agency.
This unconvincing commercial misses the mark because, unlike previous John Lewis ads which were warm and festive, it tries tragically hard to be ‘cool’.
And unless the industry can rid itself of Zone B people we may have to suffer this kind of thing for a good few Christmases to come.
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