While dramatic series have become drearier, commercials have developed
into the sprightliest little plays on television. These days, many a
viewer is tempted to leave his set during the first half of The Brady
Bunch, fix a sandwich, pour a beer and then hurry back to watch these
entertaining dramas in miniature. Actress Alice Playten, for example,
has become nationally famous as the bride in the Alka-Seltzer ad who
lies in bed breathlessly reliving the triumph of her first home-cooked
meal—particularly a single, monumental dumpling. Behind her back, the
uncomfortable husband surreptitiously gulps a fizzy glassful . The playlet's success depends upon
the interaction of the bride's naivete with the sudden, stunned
realization of the groom that the price of love may be
endless indigestion. His anguish as she innocently plans her next menus
is a masterly mixture of
suffering and tact. Indeed, Alka-Seltzer commercials have become the
standard by which the entire genre is judged. Another creative triumph is the commercial-within-a-commercial based on
the filming of an ad for “Mama Magadini Spicy Meat Balls.” All that
Jack has to say is, “Mamma mia, that's-a spicy meatball!” Trouble is,
every take is fouled up: Jack blows his lines, forgets his Italian
accent. At one point a fiery meatball scorches the roof of his mouth
and all he can do is gasp. Enter Alka-Seltzer. Finally, after a perfect
take, the prop oven door falls off, and the tired director sighs, “Cut.
O.K. Let's break for lunch.” It may not be Pirandello, but the effect
does depend on taking the viewer across the TV “proscenium” into the
studio. Mamma plays her wordless role with the benign warmth of
melted mozzarella. The ageless Mediterranean resignation on Jack's face
is so perfect that it is hard to believe he can look any other way. Two
weeks ago, he took an ad in the show-business trade journal, Variety,
showing him grinning. The headline asks: WHO'S THE GUY IN THE
ALKA-SELTZER COMMERCIAL? IT'S JACK SOMACK. Self-Spoofing. Post-Jack ads for Alka-Seltzer have slipped—but the
Volkswagen experience demonstrates that this is almost inevitable. The
most enjoyable—and most effective—of the Volkswagen minidramas is the
one about the 1949 auto show, where crowds ignored the lonely
Volkswagen and clustered around the glamorous “cars of the
future”—Studebaker, Hudson, De-Soto. The production pays such
meticulous attention to period styles —baggy trousers, Andrews Sisters
types swinging and harmonizing—that at first glance the viewer thinks
he is seeing 21-year-old footage.
