The black art of convincing Clint or Ciara to consume these days has become so easy that creativity is not required. I would guess that a majority of the buyers of the Renault Clio since it emergence 15 years ago have been women. The denser male would be hoping for an automobile to become available called Penetratio.
Traditionally advertising had men selling products to women with a very patronising attitude. In subsequent decades progress in advertising meant men sold to women products with the premise that ladies were ‘calling the shots’ . From dishwashers to detergents a woman would be portrayed as cynically manipulating and often with a side serving of light hearted ridicule of her man.
The women in the role of ‘smart ass’ and the male in the the role of ‘schmuck’. This was progress in advertising. In effect doing nothing for domestic situations in the real world.
That both genders allowed or didn’t notice this is double as baffling. Insidiously the teasing art induced a universal ennui and an arrest in critical thinking. Men also sold products for women to women. It has to be said they probably invented and manufactured them too. How on earth did the ostensibly liberated ladies allow themselves to be patronised and dare one say infantilised in so many scenarios. Portrayed as surfing volleyball loving skydivers at a certain time of the month. Future anthropologists will have much material to study.
But wait a minute! Gone are the days when Madison Avenue and their siblings across the western world were gentlemen clubs. Decades on women, ladies, and girls have paid up like menfolk for their commercial school diplomas to join the ranks of adver-teasing, Marketing, and PR. Why has it not made a difference Why no change? The adventurous skydiving volleyball girl is now a prancing high kicking girl. If these corporations of selling are male preserves the glass in the ceiling will have women ogling at a man cleaning it while the reality may be different.
From these depths of mediated manipulation here’s some observations I previously omitted.
Positive aspects of media. The BBC. Specifically Radio 4. Their web page alone is alpha-omega of choice cut productions
Less than 200 miles but a world away is
Medi o’ crity in Oirland.
Here the dispensers of culture do so with a preternatural skill for patronising their audience. Yes that word again. They might as well be selling absorbent products. All have the God awful RTE Pale accent which is a very pale indeed version of eloquence. Dire! I’d rather hear a real accent from Dublin or Cork than this standard aRte arch speech.
Lyric FM presenters read the sleeve notes of classic and classical albums verbatim and aloud. So unashamedly it is extraordinary. But not more than ordinary enough to be worth my time or license fee. Incidentally I listen momentarily during ablutions in the morning and just before showering in the evening.
Some read with elaborate pronunciation, be it German; Czech; French; Italian; or Mandarin. Intolerable! They would not survive for long in Bejing, Bologna, Bordeaux, Brno, or in Berlin. The haughty hyper pronunciated frenzy of someone called Liz Nolan or Knowless is unbearable. She sounds like some sad or mad Aunt who is dying for a visit. Trying hard to be liked but incapable of self -reflection…..she whimpers need for acknowledgment. There is a definite equine look to go with it all.
Her colleagues are a short head behind her Somebody called O’ Carroll strives to hide the tedium of working the cliched classics for the herd Somebody called Kelly brings new levels of meaning to esotheric.
Another somebody called (whoever) sounding like an effete waitor during the Regency Period implores his audience to join him Someone called (whoever) whose intonation and delivery of late night jazz is like a parody of all late nite jazz jocks.
Some accented if not english born jazz jock reads the sleeve notes too. He is cut price compared to his compatriots in Bristol or London.
More from the 21st century Zeitgeist I hear celebrities, fashionistas, and the similarly clueless say ” to die for” when some trinket or foodstuff or cloth arouses their attention Others or maybe the same lot say when speaking about photography or cinema ” shoot us” . Now if only their favourite nonsense word ‘literally’ was included and actually applied to these events.
More idiots of the Idiom Isn’t it about time that sad ‘fillum moovee’ reviewers who sit in the dark and whose whole waste of space revolves around trifles and artifice learn that Martin Scorsese would actually appreciate his name to be pronounced as his good mother and father had wished it to be.
All together skôr-SES-ē.
Many clowns do not a circus make but it’s a close call. Marty Morrissey when not been naturally ridiculous, adds too often to be a mistake in his commentary on a hurling match….
‘he has his hurl with him’
Does Mr M. prepare a meal by cooking in a cook?
The media herd who ‘specialise’ in these matters ought to know. I thought that ‘hurl’ was a verb. Wiki admit that ‘hurl’ is an abbreviation of a hurling stick but only in Leinster or Ulster. Hurley being the noun.
I can therefore say that I saw Charlie Hurley play association football but he never played hurling. I saw Liz Hurley in South Kensington and asked her cheekily if she would like to hurl.
Longevity doth not bestow infallibilty. The octogenarian Michael O’ Muircheartaigh is not without blemish either. When concluding a documentary (ostensibly on football trophies of all codes) he referred to the Jules Rimet trophy as the “Jules Verne Cup”. Was he suggesting that the garrison game of AF could be science fiction? Jules Rimet and Jules Verne were both French citizens but that is all. Somewhere, Pele might be confused and considering taking scuba lessons.
George Hook of the irritable vowel syndrome; of distended discourse and bombast.
The format of informality
Until recently he was joined on a Friday by two others. One speech impeded (aren’t most Irish presenters or comics) and one lady doctor. They talked amongst themselves but in reality they were talking AT you. Each waiting to talk and selling something including themselves. It was all too cosy and self-serving.
Additionally, for those who like that sort of schlock (pitifully a lot of them)-there were and are variations on this conceit of informal radio chatting. Good cop, bad cop, father son schtick of Yates and someone else in the morning slot.
Take your poison. There’s loads to go around.
At RTE- it is!
Bill Shakespeare might politely say if he were still with us and had a telly “a slight, unmeritable man …..this Turd……Tubridy fellow”