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And Now a Word From Our Sponsor

The Source

It takes exactly two seconds to say, “Member F.D.I.C.” I know that. And if your TV commercial must run exactly 29 seconds that leaves you 27 ticks to sell the audience on the bank’s new savings plan. This is regardless of the fact that the bank has five minutes of material they’d like to cover in the commercial. A few years ago a cable TV company approached me and asked to write their television commercials, then one job led to another and a couple other media outlets inquired about my writing for them as well. “It’s easy,” the production manager said. “They’re just like 30-second plays and you already write two hour shows.” He lied, of course. A full-length musical comedy gives you the luxury of time to develop an idea whereas a 29-second spot (no one knows what happens to the missing second) is like speed dating. You have a half-minute to form a relationship, discern her personality, and make the sale. I’ve learned a few not-so-valuable things along the way. Last week I learned that you can’t use the word “weed eater” in an ad. Someone owns the copyright on that word. Quick. . . I dare you to come up with a handful of synonyms for “weed eater.” You must avoid the word “stupid.” I think that’s stupid. You can’t say “aspirin.” Mr. Bayer owns that. You can’t copyright a title or an idea. That’s a good thing. Announcers don’t like too many “S” words in an ad. I guess they tend to splatter on the screen. Other tidbits picked up along the way: I think I already knew this one, but graphics are more memorable than spoken words. If you have the voiceover say the word “Bargain” but you splash the graphic “SALE!” on the screen, the average viewer will always remember what he sees rather than what he hears. Actors are expensive. In the lingo of the trade they’re called “talent,” whether or not they have any. The first question you ask any advertiser is if he or she wants to use live actors. Live actors allow you to tell a story in the 29 seconds, but you have to pay them. Very often the answer is no and I’m left to design a compelling story without anyone to tell it. Many local franchises are aided by their corporate offices who will help pay for the commercial. Your local Chevy dealer loves this idea. The writer of the ad does not. If Detroit is helping foot the bill for the ad then the script must be run through the corporate office and when they send the corrections back to me I’m reminded of the line by the writer Allan Sherman who said, “There is a saying that is true as well as witty that a camel is a horse that was designed by a committee.” Any humor or cleverness you might have put into the script has been devoured and destroyed by the big guys. But the biggest bugaboos in writing TV commercials are the advertisers who give you seven rather dull products to sell in a half-minute’s time then say, “But make it snappy and humorous!” How many gut-busting lines can you come up with when you’re selling savings accounts, pig watering systems, or nursing home insurance? “Hey, your little biggies can find big savings if they drink up their water quickly and get fat enough to go to market before they’re in a retirement home!” At least that will fit into a 29-second ad. Following closely on the list of irritations are the advertisers who insist on writing most of their own ads even though you advise them not to try it. Then when the thing is filmed they wonder why the commercial comes off so flat. One grocery store owner insisted on having his precocious little niece appear in every ad. The little girl thought it was great fun the first time we shot the commercial, but after than she became bored and irritated. Her uncle resorted to bribing her with gifts just to get her on camera. On one cold winter afternoon we’d hired a lady to play her grandmother but the little darling insisted on using her own grandma instead, so the entire camera crew packed up and drove 50 miles to grandma’s house. A TV script is written in three columns: the Audio, the Video, and the Graphics, so unlike a play you’re writing three scripts at once. You ponder, you tweak, you rewrite, you submit the script and rewrite again, then on the day of the shoot the director may decide to change everything you’ve written. The happy bottom line: you still get paid for the ad that doesn’t even resemble what you wrote. I guess I’ve seen my own plays performed like that.