Words from a Sponsor

By R.Z. Sheppard

THIRTY SECONDS by Michael J. Arlen; Farrar, Straus & Giroux; $9.95

Thirty Seconds is Michael Arlen's close-up pan and dissolve of the people who package desire and fulfillment into half-minute television commercials. As the book suggests, these subplots of our viewing lives are frequently more skillfully made and better remembered than the programs they sponsor. Moreover, the relationships between commercials and fairy tales are too strong to ignore. Princes and Princesses Charming, sturdy folk and innocent children are besieged by malicious forces. Tooth imps and underarm pixies generate embarrassing vapors; gremlins leave grimy stigmata on clothing, and devilkins foul points and plugs. Inevitably, the hapless are rescued by products borne by genii in plastic bottles and godmothers in overalls.

Arlen focuses mainly on the making of a single commercial, American Telephone & Telegraph's effort to encourage more long-distance calling or, as their infectious jingle suggests, "Reach out, reach out and touch someone." Says the vice president in charge of the "creative group" that devised the ad: "From the very beginning, AT&T wanted us to overcome the negative emotions associated with long-distance, the bad-news phone call in the middle of the night. For years, there has been a definitely negative, uncasual quality to a lot of long-distance calling. AT&T wanted us to emphasize the casual, positive aspect: long-distance is fun, it's easy, it's cheap. Of course, we didn't want to be sentimental, we wanted to be upbeat and to get across an image kind of thing: people calling for fun; people calling for no reason at all --not just family talking to family but friends talking to friends. So, strategy-wise, we started with a kind of two-faced objective: the casual thing and the people-calling-outside-the-family thing. And right up front we were thinking also maybe a musical thing."

Clearly, Michael Arlen specializes in the give-them-enough-rope-to-hang-themselves thing. As a writer for The New Yorker, he has had good models, not the least of which was the subtly lethal journalism of Lillian Ross, who once dismantled Hollywood with her classic Picture. Arlen has more benign intentions toward Madison Avenue. Throughout, he keeps a civil tongue in his cheek; Thirty Seconds derives its effects from self-revealing chatter and serendipitous comedy. A production conference deals with choosing among camels, llamas and kangaroos. Then comes the grandmother problem. "It seems to me," says one executive, "we have three or four grandmothers that are interchangeable--except, of course, for the black grandmother."

Because the commercial is composed of vignettes, extensive auditions are necessary. The search for the right cowboy ends in a compromise: "not too old, not too young, not too cute, not too Sicilian." Two girls have to be found who can talk on the phone while doing yoga headstands. One is rejected as "too Procter & Gamble"; another causes a small problem when she arrives on location without a bra under her skintight leotard. There are also serious research questions: Do Army recruits have telephones near their beds?

Following the production unit's caravan, Arlen discovers a secret New Jersey of suburban houses ideally suited for commercial filming. The Garden State also boasts wide-open spaces, including a rodeo grounds much used by Madison Avenue. The Jersey-born owner incongruously sports a Rocky Mountain accent and wears jeans, boots, a Western hat and a shiny red windbreaker advertising Winston cigarettes.

The actors are assembled from a broad pool. One man is a superintendent of a Bronx apartment house; one voice that sings "Reach out" belongs to Phoebe Snow; there is a kid much in demand because he had his front teeth extracted when he was 2 1/2. There is also a serious actress: "I won't do those brutal pesticides that poison the environment, and I won't do douches ... You might say that my standards are basically political."

The star of the AT&T message is Bryan Trottier, center for the New York Islanders. His two front teeth were extracted in maturity by a hockey stick. Trottier is to appear in the final frames surrounded by jubilant teammates all of whom are extras, bit players in this mini-form who possess an almost subliminal celebrity. "I been living in sports equipment all week," notes one. Later, after jumping into a shower to simulate perspiration, he complains that "on the Coke job, they gave us little spray things--very first-class."

Arlen plays it as it lays, scoring easily off the corporate phraseology and such market-research jargon as "psychographic segmentation." He is obviously amused that so much time, money and solemnity can be expended on something as innocuous as a television commercial. But there is no doubt that Arlen also admires the ambition, talent and professionalism of these people he calls "communications era artisans." Thirty Seconds is itself a series of finely perceived, artfully arranged vignettes. So, despite the book's tone of asperity, it is no small compliment when one superior craftsman acknowledges the work of others. --R. Z. Sheppard

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