IN THE outer reaches of satellite television — where, on a sunny day, a viewer
can have a channel all to himself or herself — there is much pain that goes
unnoticed. There are lives that unravel completely, with only a cameraman
and a sound engineer as witnesses. Who can know how low the struggling black
actor on the U Music channel had sunk before he did the “Yo! Lissen up, my
ringtone posse!” advert? One presumes that the day before he accepted it,
he’d been reduced to making biltong by grilling his shoes.
Of course, compared with the girls on SportxxxGirls, he has it easy. Always a
poignant reminder of why “busking” your GCSEs rarely comes good, the
SportxxxGirls girls commit acts of lacklustre soft porn in response to
viewers’ text messages. Obviously it’s bad enough that a woman should have
to get on all fours in cheap lingerie in order to pay her council tax — but
how infinitely worse to have to do it in response to the message “Can I c ur
bip (sic) boobs plz plz plz”. There’s something about a man too intent on
self-abuse to bother with vowels that really kills the atmos. It’s a bmmr.
Bad as the life of the SportxxxGirls may be, however, it is tempered by the
fact that you don’t really expect much when you sign up to show ur bip boobs
on a channel called SportxxxGirls. Life is terrible, and you expected it to
be terrible. There are no alarms and no surprises — and also no hope, which
is an awful and often fatal thing to have once you get much past channel
105.
On Channel 694 however — a channel so remote that it receives light from the
Sun fully two days after BBC Two — there is a band of presenters infected
with the devastating, and useless, virus of hope. The Advert Channel is
dedicated to adverts. New ones, old ones, classic ones – “Ones that make you
laugh, adverts that make you cry, adverts that make you mad. They’re all
here!” It’s a great idea. Who, after a night on the gin, would not want to
lie half-in, half-out of their own front door, head nestled in a packet of
chips, and watch the old Castrol GTX advert? Hitching a lift on such a
zeitgeisty channel could be the making of a rookie presenter’s career.
Alas, the Advert Channel has hit one small snag — it doesn’t get clearance to
show old adverts until September 4. Until then, the Advert Channel consists
solely of the five presenters sitting in what looks like the set from Chock-a-Block
and discussing adverts. For six hours a day.
They are in Hell. The number of the beast is 694.
Mike Mason (CV: developer of “new styles of entertainment which can still be
found on some of the largest holiday parks today”): “Ooh, that Currys ad.
Linda Barker’s a blonde, yes — but she’s got darkness around here.” Mason
gestures to the ear-area or, possibly, the hypothalamus. “She’s had the ends
dipped. No word of a lie.”
Jeremy Milnes (CV: credits include “numerous television commercials around the
world”), with what could turn out to be a fatal pedantry: “Let’s get back to
talking about adverts, because that’s what we’re here to do.”
And indeed, to ensure that the presenters stick to hardcore ad-chat, they are
often joined by the founder and owner of the Advert Channel, Chelsey Baker —
despite all evidence suggesting that Baker would more profitably spend her
time pounding the phone lines, screaming, “I need the clearance on the Baldy
Man advert yesterday, godammit! I’ve got my ass on the chopping block
here!”
Gigi Morley (CV: co-presenter of The National Lottery, Wednesdays and
Saturdays): “If you had to make an advert, what would it be for?”
Chelsey: “The Advert Channel, of course! It would be all about some crazy guys
on the internet who set up a channel — for adverts! We’re all young and
friendly here, so you can email or phone us, to tell us all about your favourite
adverts!” Alas for audience interaction, however. In a vox-pop montage that
runs four times every hour the Advert Channel’s prime tenet — that the
public have a warm and intimate relationship with ads — is blown out of the
water.
Woman with shopping: “The one where she opens the cupboard and all the toilet
rolls fall on her. I like that.” Woman 2, vaguely: “Pilsbury Dough
something?” Man: “The wiggling your arse one.” Teenager: “The one for an
insurance company where, er . . . Nah. I’ve forgotten.” Woman in bad
tracksuit: “The one that’s about that outdoor. Ladbroke or whatever. The
olden one on a ship?” Producer, off camera, almost psychically: “Stella
Artois? Woman, relieved: “Yes!”
It doesn’t depict a world exactly crying out for a channel devoted solely to
adverts — somewhat bewilderingly, as I truly believe that this is, indeed, a
world crying out for a channel devoted solely to adverts.
Given that two of the presenters are “veterans” of ad campaigns, I suppose it
was inevitable that, with almost infinite time on their hands, talk would,
eventually, turn to shop. Whenever it does, the dynamic is complex and
occasionally uncomfortable. Jeremy Milnes has been in “many” adverts, but
Lucy Blu is more famous, as “the face” of the Yes Car Credit adverts. Their
exchanges are a little like I imagine the conversations on the set of The
Prince and the Showgirl, starring Laurence Olivier and Marilyn Monroe,
must have been like — but centred around auditions for a leg-wax commercial
in Japan.
The other presenters will mention, in awestruck tones, how long-running and
successful Lucy’s commercial has been. A few minutes later, Jeremy will
start an anecdote, apropos of nothing.
“It was an amazing week,” Jeremy will begin. “I went from a non-alcoholic beer
advert in Belgium one week to Pinewood to do Perrier for Ridley Scott the
next. A good gig.”
Other times, Lucy is joined by “Louise”, also a veteran of TV commercials.
Louise is like the ad version of Big Nose Kate, famous Wild West prostitute
and lover of Doc Holliday. She’s seen it all.
“I was sick after Kit Kat. I had to eat about 150. I’ve had to fake an orgasm
for washing powder. I had to look in a mirror and pretend I was fat for
Bodyform. I’ve also done an NTL ad where I’m whisked off my feet by a
six-foot-high pink fluffy phone. And I know a woman whose job was to spend
all day making sure the sprinkles were in the right place on a McFlurry.”
“Would you ever do a hair removal ad?” Lucy asked, confidingly. “A little leg
one, maybe,” Louise said, after some consideration.
“I worked with Bonnie Langford on Pirates of Penzance, and she
says ‘I look back now and wish I’d had a childhood’,” Jeremy said, firmly.
Still, only two more weeks to go now.
A CUT ABOVE
THIS WEEK’S confusing images sequence goes to Boys With Breasts (Wed,
C4, 9pm). Lee, a gynaecomastia-sufferer, was recuperating from having his
anomalous breasts removed — by playing darts in a room plastered with
posters of Pamela Anderson (above).
Was she a totemic reminder of more clearly defined gender signifiers? A
pointed statement on his uncompromised heterosexuality? Or did he just like
her bra (gold, with sequins)?
FRUIT SMOOTHIE
I’D NOT come across Private Stars before, the Bravo channel’s
foray into talent shows. Private Stars follows eight wannabe
porn-stars through a gruelling round of auditions, as they literally try to
“make it” in ho’ biz. Obviously there isn’t a single printable element to
any of the rounds, but there was one moving scene where a male competitor
revealed that he was preparing by putting a face-pack on his arse.
