Introduction At least three variants of the ad are currently accessible on the web, and what I propose to do at the start of this study is to reconstruct shot-by-shot the simplest - and in my view the best - of these versions, after which the differences found in the other two variants will be described with regard to their endings. I am grateful to Janet Northen at McKinney-Silver for providing stills and the original presentation copy, for granting permission to reproduce these materials and for replying to a number of questions; to Patrick Hespen at Audi of America for further permission to reproduce the images; and to Esben Horn at Motionblur for permission to reproduce a still from German Coast Guard. A shot-by-shot reconstruction of TRACKS Version 1 - 30 seconds, 19 live-action shots
Version 2 - 30 seconds, 26 live-action shots
Version 3 (60 seconds) - 36 live-action shots
Positioning the product in relation to the narrative There are those in which the live-action reaches its climax without any explicit allusion to the product to be promoted. In such cases, the narrative is intended to engage the viewer's interest as a means for enhancing his or her subsequent receptivity to the specifically promotional component that will follow in the form of a pack-shot, end-titles, voice-over, and/or logo. And in order to fulfill this purpose, the narrative typically dramatizes a situation that sets in sharp relief a need for or the assets of the product or service. An excellent example of a spot of this kind is the immensely popular German Coast Guard ad for Berlitz (2006), [1] more than 300 specimens of which have been uploaded at YouTube. In this 40-second ad, a new recruit is seated at a Coast Guard radio transmitter, when an emergency call comes in: "Mayday, mayday. Hello, can you hear us? Can you hear us? Over. We are sinking. We are sinking." The inexperienced young man, visibly taken aback by the call, slowly speaks into the microphone, saying in a thick German accent: "Hello. This is the German Coast Guard." The now more desperate voice on the radio repeats: "We are sinking! We're sinking!" The recruit then asks: "What are you sinking about?" A sudden burst of Beethoven's Freude Schöner Götterfunken accompanies an end-title now urging: "Improve your English," followed by a title bearing the Berlitz logo and the words "Language for life." [2] Here the live-action portion of the spot, which could be enjoyed as a self-contained story in its own right, includes no mention of Berlitz and the explicitly promotional portion of the ad, confined to the end-titles and lying entirely outside the fiction, might be described as extra-diegetic. When this is the case, the narrative can be recounted by enthusiastic viewers of the ad without their ever mentioning the brand. This is not however a criticism of the spot but simply an observation regarding the positioning of the brand itself outside the fiction. And one argument in favor of this practice might be that withholding the transparently promotional component of the spot until after the live-action has reached completion, maximizes the likelihood that the viewer will not lose interest in the ad before it has delivered its payload.
With ads of a second type, the brand is integrated into the live-action. If this is done unimaginatively, and especially if it is transparent from the start that a selling mode is in play, there is a significant risk that the viewer will withdraw his or her attention from the spot once it is recognized as merely a commercial. But version 1 of the Audi ad is a special case in that the brand - which becomes an integral part of the narrative through the grandfather's final utterance - is evoked by name in a way that does not come across as a promotional pitch. In this respect, the brand is positioned within the story in an optimal manner, in that much of the narrative pleasure afforded to the viewer springs from the very utterance of the product's name, and it would be impossible to recount the narrative without mentioning the brand and model. The branding in play can therefore be described as intra-diegetic, but with an evocation of the product in a narratively pleasurable rather than promotional mode. This important qualification is what distinguishes version 1 from the other two variants of the ad, both of which include product shots in their live action, as though the magic in the grandfather's utterance and of the grandson's solemn nod were not unbeatable in their ascription of a radiant status to the product in the viewer's eyes. The rapidly cut shots of the car speeding through the snow in versions 2 and 3 not only intrude upon and detract from the narrative focus of the fiction (the interaction of grandfather and grandson), but paradoxically may also weaken the promotional value of the spot by making the narrative itself too transparently promotional. Though I have no empirical data to support that claim, it is an important one to keep in mind because the point is not to allow narrative values to take precedence over the marketing effectiveness of an ad, [3] but rather to let the narrative do its job in the service of the product. Here, as in so many other contexts, less is more. Another way in which the product is positioned within the narrative concerns its pretended assimilation into Inuit culture and into the world of nature. That Inuit culture is portrayed respectfully in this ad is obvious, particularly when Tracks is compared to a recent spot in which an Inuit who is distractedly driving his dogsled alongside a Land Rover falls off the sled when it hits a snowdrift and then goes chasing after the runaway sled. [4] According to Brand Republic, seventy-one TV viewers filed complaints with the Advertising Standards Authority in the U.K. claiming that the ad was "racist and denigrated Inuit culture" and sixty further complained that "the ad showed behavior that was harmful to the environment." [5] Although these complaints were all rejected by the Advertising Standards Authority, it is clear that this ad makes a representative of Inuit culture the butt of a joke and implicitly suggests that the Inuit dogsled is ridiculously inferior to the modern automotive technology embodied by the Land Rover. Although one commentator found Tracks offensive, [6] the grandfather and grandson are depicted in this spot in an unmistakably positive light and with all the quiet dignity one could wish for in an enactment of this kind. And just as that culture is portrayed in a flattering perspective, the pretended assimilation of the product into that culture's lore becomes a glowing asset within the framework of the narrative - also in that the grandfather, who speaks an Inuit language when identifying the various animal tracks in the snow, flawlessly pronounces "Audi… Quattro" when examining the tire tracks. Furthermore, positioning the product as belonging in some way to a series including the wolf and bear suggests that the car is like a wild animal, which in turn is an asset both in that it is given the aura of something powerful and untamed (and therefore desirable to possess) and also in its playfully defining the car as a part of nature rather than an offending intruder into the natural environment. This of course is truer of Version 1 than of the other two variants in which the noisy and snow-spewing car does in fact come across as more of an intruder into the otherwise peaceful landscape. 2. Polarity and seriality as structuring principles In Tracks, the grandfather and grandson form a cluster of binary oppositions such as age vs. youth, big vs. little, knowing vs. not knowing, initiating vs. responding. There are also polarities in play with respect to distance and proximity, in that the two figures are at times little more than dots in the landscape but fill the entire screen at other moments. This alternation can also be seen as a moving back and forth between vastness and intimacy, or wilderness and family bonds. Yet another kind of polarity was pointed out by Liz Paradise, the copywriter of the ad, when she wrote:
The solemnity with which the grandfather makes his final utterance and the grandson takes it in, are integral parts of an elaborate joke they are enacting for our benefit - the actors having to keep a straight face while undoubtedly aware that this final plot-point will amuse and delight the viewer. Seriality is also a familiar feature of fairly tales, fables and jokes, in which - for example - there may be porridge that is either too hot, too cold, or just right; or houses made of straw, sticks and bricks; or three deeds to be accomplished in order to win the hand of a princess; or visits of the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come; or a priest, minister and rabbi, who in turn deliver their lines about a situation at hand. Seriality as a structuring principle is very much in play in the Audi ad in which the first two (or three) sets of tracks establish a pattern: in each case and for the benefit of the grandson, the grandfather effortlessly names the animal that left its paw-prints in the snow. The framework for these on-going interactions has been aptly described by Janet Northen as a mentoring relationship.5 And as is the case with seriality in any storytelling situation, the initial items in the series establish a narratively pleasurable pattern that the final item completes, often with some unexpected deviation that both heightens enjoyment and caps the series, implicitly marking closure. As part of the set-up in the Audi ad, a traffic sign (in shot 12) opens the way for the final set of tracks though without revealing too much, and the grandfather's need to feel and intently study those tracks before announcing their origin, further sets this final bit of mentoring apart from the earlier ones. With the scene now fully set, the live-action in Version 1 of the ad reaches completion in three successive beats: 1) the grandfather's utterance of the brand name "Audi"; 2) his further specifying "Quattro" (like a wine taster who having identified the grape then nails down the château and vintage); 3) the grandson's responsive nod. And as already pointed out above, in likening the brand and model to a wild animal and in playfully integrating it into the world of Inuit lore by means of its positioning in this series, the ad invests the product with qualities enhancing its desirability in the eyes of the viewer. In Versions 2 and 3, the product shots play against the seriality unnecessarily and detract from the coherence and closure of an otherwise beautifully orchestrated narrative. Summary
I have further argued that Variant 1 (containing no shots of the car speeding through the snow) is the best of the three versions of the ad in that the grandfather's final utterance is an ultimate and unbeatable moment investing the product with a glowing status in the viewer's eyes, while the shots of the car
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