When I hear people say ‘TV ads are dead’, I laugh.
Especially when – in the same breath – they talk about the importance of content.
But what makes me hysterical is when they talk about content in terms of volume rather than emotion.
How many different ways it can be cut. How many different platforms if can be carried on. What it allows you to say and show.
That sounds even worse than a bad TV ad to me.
And as much as I love technology and what it is allowing creativity to do and impact in marketing, a great piece of film still has the power to have more impact on what people think, feel and do than 10,000 eco-systems that have all been designed to remove every possible element of friction rather than ignite it.
What’s also amusing is that while the industry loves to focus on the new, new thing – even though in many cases, the new thing is simply an old thing, albeit with a new name – it’s the same, arguably ‘older’, agencies who use creativity in the most consistently powerful, thought-provoking and emotionally igniting ways.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking them – quite the opposite actually – and I bloody love them all, however while everyone justifiably talks about the Wieden’s, Uncommon’s and Mother’s of the world, I think we should all take a moment to acknowledge the incredible work AMV is doing right now.
Of course they’ve always been one of the best but right now … they’re coming out swinging.
Not only did they make the best Christmas ad ever written for Plenty paper towels – yes, a bloody paper towel brand – and the incredible Wombstories for Bodyform, they’ve just launched this masterpiece for MacMillan Cancer Support.
Amazing isn’t it?
Almost 2 ½ minutes long and yet it never feels it.
In fact, you watch it over and over again.
Even though it makes you cry.
Properly sob.
Maybe it’s because in this repetitive life of isolation, it lets us feel human … connected to someone or something in a way that we’ve not had for a long time. Or maybe it is a reminder of how fragile life is or how lonely it can be.
Whatever it is, this is more than just ‘an ad’, and so, so much more than the contrived content designed to work across multiple platforms that so many people in the industry seem to think is the way forward … because this incredible piece of film allows us to glimpse the fine line that exists between life and death and the amazing souls who do their absolute best to try and keep them as far apart for as long as possible.
It had a huge impact on me.
Because like AMV did with Plenty – albeit from a VERY different perspective – their eye for detail was immense.
You may not notice all of them.
You may only notice them if you’ve lost someone.
But they’re there and they’re real in all their beauty and tragedy.
The exaggerated happiness to try and disguise the worst situations for the sake of those who don’t quite understand.
The need to be strong for those who know their reality but don’t need that being brought into their reality.
The joy of giving someone a second of happy distraction in a life surrounded by bleakness.
The despair of seeing a child come to terms with their parents mortality.
The elation and gratitude of victory.
The intense fear you think this may be the end and you are petrified you may be alone during your final moment.
But it’s the last scene – where the family say their final goodbye to a woman they obviously love so much – that truly ripped me apart.
From the hand reaching out, struggling and desperate to find the hand of the person they love – a final touch before they slip away – to the intense, shocking loneliness that engulfs you when you realise they’ve taken their final breath.
It reminded me so much of my Mum.
As I sat next to her, after she had come out of her operation, only to see everything collapse in front of my eyes.
The attempt to make sense of something that made no sense.
The shattering of life as someone I loved with all I got went away.
A death that was as unfair as it was untimely.
And what’s strange is I keep watching the ad to relive that feeling.
To be reminded of that final moment with Mum. The sadness and the pain.
Because while it makes me cry deeply every single time … taking me to a place I never want to relive … it has this weird effect of letting me feel closer to her.
A moment where we are together again.
Some kind of private moment.
So I look at it again and again and again. Not just that final scene, but the whole thing … watching events unfold in front of me as if it was for the first time seeing it. Being moved, uplifted and devastated at the exact same moments every single time.
Until that final moment.
Where even though the music reaches its crescendo, everything feels silent.
Where I gasp for air while wanting to scream to try and break the reality of what’s happening in front of me.
Where I feel my whole body is tightly wound in a futile bid to hold things together.
It’s a tragic feeling of familiarity that I wish wasn’t.
And yet I am grateful for it. I truly am.
Because despite all this raw emotion, I never feel the ad exploits.
Yes, it challenges and confronts, but it never ventures into shock while also – somehow – never feeling like it is keeping anything back either.
It is an extraordinary piece of film that reminds us the people who try to keep the thin line between life and death as far apart as possible for each and every one of us, are also people.
Doing whatever it takes to help the people suffering and the people watching, move forward to wherever a better place exists.
It didn’t just make me send it to people, put it on social, look up the team behind it and write this post – it made me sign up to make regular donations to MacMillan Cancer Support.
Don’t tell me TV ads don’t work. When they’re like this, they can change the world.
