Ah, the sweet stench of the advertising-industrial complex
Inspiration:
American Airlines Plans Low-Key 9/11 Remembrance
"Donald Carty, chief executive of American Airlines parent company AMR Corp. said the world's largest air carrier is planning a low-key and family approach."
Uh-huh. We'll see.
Other companies might not be so ... restrained. Imagine the scene at another, less-tasteful corporation as some nameless sales/marketing idea-man pitches the concept for a thirty-second ad spot to a higher-up:
"Slow fade-in. Background music: a dirge, maybe the anthem --"
"Springsteen."
"Yeah! Born in the U.S.A. --"
"No, no, no. E Street Band stuff. Street poetry. Jersey and shit."
"You got it, you got it. Now, images of people's faces, all full of hopes and dreams and wishes of a better future --"
"Old people. Get some old people in there."
"Yeah, and babies. And soccer moms. Drinking coffee."
"White."
"White coffee?"
"White people."
"Oh, of course. Of course --"
"Maybe a black or two."
"No Arabs."
"No way. Not a chance. We're selling here a better future, not towels."
"Sir, you read my mind. Now, after a quick montage of faces --"
"In one scene."
"Ah ... a montage in one scene?"
"No. The blacks."
"Oh."
"You said a couple of them. Make sure they're in one scene."
"You got it."
"A family or something."
"Yeah. Sure. You got it."
"Is your coffee cold?"
"No."
"Never mind. Continue."
"Okay, so, after the montage, another slow fade-in with Dubya Bush and Tom Daschle and all them on Capitol Hill --"
"I played golf with George W. once. Ever mention that?"
"No. Good?"
"Shit, he was dropping balls like a bad case of gonorrhea. Michael Jordan with a three-iron."
"Wow."
"Why Tom Daschle?"
"He's a leader on the Hill, right?"
"Yeah, well, shit, he ain't prosecuting this war. Forget him."
"Got it."
"Keep George W. in it though."
"Absolutely. Absolutely --"
"Get a shot of him playing golf."
"Ah ... golf? Sir, this ad's going to run six times on September eleventh between eight and ten at night on the five networks and twice during Nightline."
"Golf, dammit, golf."
"But --"
"Golf."
"Sure. Okay, yes, I think you're right. Very ... hopeful to see the President putting. You got it."
"Teeing off, not putting."
"Okay."
"He had a shaky short game. But shit! Those balls of his flew right for the damn flag!"
"Incredible."
"I know! I know! He was using some leftovers from the freakin' driving range! I get these sweet hand-wound balls mail-order --"
"Oh. Expensive?"
"Shit, I dunno. Expense the lot of them."
"Good idea."
"The ad in the in-flight magazine suggested it."
"I bet it did."
"Why the hell are we talking golf? I want to hear about this ad."
"Okay. Okay. So, montages of hope --"
"A couple of blacks --"
"Yeah, then --"
"And some Hispanics --"
"Right, them too, with the music --"
"Hispanics are eating up the demographics. Jesus H. Christ, didn't see that coming."
"Anthem or dirge or --"
Old farts and babies --"
"E Street Band --"
"George W. --"
"On the green in one --"
"Then what?"
"Then, boom, grainy newsreel of the planes hitting them World Trade Centers, one and two, like boxing punches."
(Pause.)
"What? What's that look on your face?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Say it."
"Well, sir, I was afraid --"
"What?"
"Sir ... do you enjoy boxing?"
"Naw. Hate it. Stupid damn sport."
"Oh. Good."
"One time, I was ringside in Vegas, and Holmes hit the hell out of this young kid and the blood shot from the kid's nose like a bungie jumper --"
"Continuing on, then, sir, explosions and people running, and then, real subtle, real classy up the screen --"
"All class. This company's all class."
"Dripping with it, sir."
"Keep it subtle, that's what I've said my whole damn life --"
"You're a master of subtlety, sir."
"So tell me what it's saying, this thing up the screen, the punchline."
"Just like this, with the smoke pouring out of the towers and them coming down --"
"Heh. Kind of like a penis after --"
"Coming straight down, surrounded by smoke --"
"Like two spent pricks, one then two --"
"The words scroll up from the bottom of the screen --"
"Like Star Wars."
"Oh yeah."
"Love that movie."
"The words say, and a narrator says them --"
"Get a good narrator. One with a real deep voice."
"We've got one lined up. He says --"
"And don't let him say nine-eleven. It should be like the emergency phone number. Nine-one-one."
"Yes. Okay."
"Damn! Rush was right! It was, it really was nine-one-one that day!"
"A real wake-up call, sir."
"More than that! Damn country's been sleeping on its ass for fifty-plus years!"
"Sleeping."
"Damn straight."
(Pause.)
"So, sir, the narrator says: We at Philip-Morris wish to extend our heartfelt sympathy to the victims and their families of 9/11."
(Pause.)
"Oh shit."
"I'm sorry sir?"
"That's good. Shit, bottle that shit and you'll make millions."
"Thank you, sir."
"Subtlety, class, distinction, elegance -- wait."
"Um ... yes?"
"One of the blacks? At the beginning?"
"Yes sir? In the hopes-and-dreams montage?"
"It's got to be a her."
"Sure. No problem."
"And."
"And?"
"She's got to be smoking."
