I'm not certain that it's still on the market. Macquarie Street, South Hobart. January 2013. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde , Robert Louis Stevenson: Madness! A nice exploration of Victorian social hypocrisy with the dichotomy of outward respectability and inward lust. I also enjoy the fact that I am reading a book by the same author as Henry. B . The Glass Key , Dashiell Hammett: An enjoyable romp with convoluted set up and a sufficiently colourful cast of rapscallions, brigands and ne'er-do-wells. Not Hammett's finest writing though. Really, any time a character says something "carelessly" "cautiously" or "callously" nine times on a page, time to get a new editor! B .
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I could go some of these Indian Root Pills right now! Argyle Street, Hobart. December 2011. Before I get into the Q and A today, I just had to look up the tale of this old ad [above]. It turns out that Dr. Morse's Indian Root Pills were one of the great success stories of the good old patent medicine industry. The (possibly shady) ‘Dr.’ Morse asserted that the pills contained a secret blend of herbal ingredients that would help "cleanse the blood." Indeed, ‘dirty blood’ appeared to be the cause of all diseases to ‘Dr.’ Morse. I will confess to being slightly disappointed to not being able to access the miracle drug these days. They sound just the ticket! Alas, onwards to another Tuesday Q and A courtesy of Sunday Stealing. It’s a challenge this week – The TV Show Meme – especially difficult because I’ve watched a sum total of about eight television shows in the past six years… But first, a note from the Q and A designer! Before reading the questions, nominate ...
The beer is nourishing. This one is drinking. This one does not drink. Have you got that ladies? If you hit the grog while breastfeeding, you'll have a contented and thriving baby, an abundance of milk, a plump and bonny baby, a fulsome bust and a healthy head of hair. However, if you choose to eschew a few flower vases of the amber liquid each day, you will surely develop a stoop, your breasts will sag, your hair will become lank and greasy, and you shall be guaranteed to have a sickly, miserable little Konstantin Chernenko-doppelgänger wailing at your increasing grotesque tit all the time. If this happens, you can be guaranteed that you will not be keeping your husband for much longer either! You've been warned.
This little ripper of an ad emerged out of China just as the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution was kicking off. I suspect that the artist might have had an idea what an angry mob baying for blood might have looked like. The tagline for this campaign is the snappy Resolutely support the American people in their resistance against American imperialist aggression in Vietnam . I especially like how the artist has managed slip in what I expect were a multitude of ‘gags’ to impress his friend. For example, what is Leon Trotsky doing there? In fact, I believe that they have gone with Trotsky as the primary model, and hilariously fused in Stalin’s brow as an unsubtle pop to their Internationalist cousins. And what is with that angry French sailor (I expect he’s from Martinique)? I know that Red China was pretty much a closed state, but those Anglo features and African skin tones really do clash with the Gallic shirt … Added props must also be awarded for sneaking in that Ukrainian kulak...
In 1922, a group of eminent French scientists definitively established the causal factors behind the mystery that is marriage . It appears that – despite a multitude of philosophers, artists, alchemists, poets and cabinetmakers probing over centuries – women had known the secret all along! It seems that marriages “ are made in the heaven of women's [sic] minds and hearts .” As with most hard science, I am not sure that I fully grasp the A to B . I know that it has something with the bourgeoisie. I know that it has something to do with flushed cheeks. I presume that it relates to triggering that part of the male brain that reacts to a post-orgasmic cutaneous blood circulation in the buccae. The advertisement does not fully explain that part.
Metaphysically speaking, I am left perplexed by the declaration found here in today’s advertisement. Regular readers will know that I have a deep respect for the Teutonic spirit, and am capable of seeing the broader worth of a peoples, culture and language than fixate on one or two (however dreadful) historical periods. Thus, I can look beyond an historic stain and embrace the gute volk in Deutschland with hearty Wohlwollen and nicht wertend Geist . That said, the notion of “ Deutschland ”, does not conjure up images of frolicking Fräuleins hitting the links in some desperate effort to secure everlasting life. I understand that in the aftermath of a war (any war, pick one) a nation must look to ways to [ahem] construct an appeal for foreign visitors to bring their hard currency engage in the spirit of peace and reconciliation. Nevertheless, golf ? Really? Cricket would have been far more appropriate.
Happiness and abundance (1983) As I think that we have already established , Chinese Communists are an awfully funny mob . Not for them is the dramatic pose from a muscular proletarian superman, not when you can have fat little kids , plump goldfish and the blooming lotus . The fish is fat, the lotus is fragrant (1987) All over the mother country, glad tidings are spreading (1989)
I am always on the lookout for a doctor whose patients include many from the better class . No, I don’t what any pair of hands – however learned – that routinely run over filthy proletarian bodies . Yes, doctors who only treat the wealthy are infinitely better and more qualified than those that do not. That’s why this fellow’s advice is particularly pertinent. I mean, if even rich people get bad breath, what hope for plebs like you and I?
We are all familiar with the de rigueur image of the bon vivant bourgeois doyen of dress tossing about bon mots with élan in a blasé way to every belle and brunette that draws the eye. Imagine the mise en scène : through the milieu you see a mélange of men in a mêlée . No, it’s not a ménage à trios , only one monsieur imagining presenting a montage of himself to some nouveau riche mademoiselles during Mardi gras . The Frogs trade in on this cachet of style, presenting themselves fashionable entrepreneurs , using it carte blanche as they recline on the chaise longue gobbling hors d'œuvres , when in fact they are nothing more than charlatans ! Oh, I know that it is not du jour to say it, but rest assured that today’s ad is but the first in a dossier of disaster. Whether a chauffeur or a clique of chefs en route tp a club, this cliché of chez chic is a shonk ! Consider this communiqué a future concordat a coup (of sorts). Consider this a coup de grace ...
In all seriousness, every time I revisit these most excellent Communist propaganda posters, I wonder why they lost the Cold War. Today’s poster features the innovative, exceptional and persuasive slogan: Have a happy holiday! Nothing says “happy holidays” like Marx and Engles frolicking in the forest with some joyously cheerful kiddies! It is funny really, when others think about ideas like dialectical materialism , the dictatorship of the proletariat or the concept of relative surplus-value , they envisage dour grey industrialised wastelands and soot-coated agitators. Myself, nothing says the production of absolute and relative surplus-value more than a rosy cheeked cherub picking pansies in fields of flowers.
As we have seen demonstrated countless times on the journey that is Ads that I like… , nothing quite so defines the advertising industry as the promulgation of guilt . Like unhappiness, shame and self-loathing; guilt has proven to be an effective motivational tool in wrenching open wallets over the past century or so. Of course, like any from of resource extractions, some sources are better than others. Like the copper-rich mountains of Chile, gold-strewn hills of North America’s west, or zinc deposits of Tasmania’s west coast; the seemingly endless source of maternal guilt has proven to be a money spinner for innumerable advertising executives, snake oil salesmen, flim-flam man and confidence trickers throughout history. Who could possibly fail to be moved by the notion that by simply touching your child, you are harming it. Every interaction , caress and soothing embrace could prove deadly ! Mothers of the world unite! Buy this product or you stand to hurt your child ! Now, what ...
Are YOU a woman? Do YOU wear a hat? Is YOUR hat tight? WARNING!!! WARNING!!! WARNING!!! Did YOU know that 'physicians' say that tight hats are [probably] responsible for all those bald men that you see? Think of THAT next time you find yourself strolling past the department store and have your fancy tickled by some snug-fitting feathery fascinator!
Juliana Hatfield? Alice in Chains? The Jesus Lizard? Soul Asylum? I'm not even sure which artists actually qualify as 'slacker', and for the life of me I can't see the utility value of them in the trenches. Sure, you can chuck them at the Jerrys, but there's every chance that they'll catch that Porno for Pyros record and play it on full bore. That would be a fate worse than mustard gas!
Perhaps the only way that you could trump the obnoxious and boorish racism at the base of today’s advertisement for coffee would indeed be eschewing coloured models at all! I am sure that Maxwell House’s logic was one rooted in the question of why even bothering use a primitive savage when you can find two perfectly decent and upstanding white folk, get them to open up the can of boot polish and blacken themselves up for our amusement? Dare I suggest that – tub of Kiwi aside – you would struggle to find two more Caucasian-looking characters than these two Uni revue rejects? I hate this ad.