last updated 12/14/2003

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America I'm on the left, so you know what I have to believe. Capitalism is evil. Advertising is evil. Commercials are evil. Really evil. Unless they're cool. You see, I'm obsessed with this one commercial from about two years ago. It's a Volkswagen Jetta VR6 commercial with a cool soundtrack by J. Ralph ("One Million Miles"). The more I watch it, the more I believe it contains depths of meaning, layers that just keep peeling away, a message that needs to be analyzed and broadcast. And here on my own self-indulgent web site, I have my chance. We open with a car appearing on the distant horizon, driving down a lonely highway to the mournful sounds of J. Ralph's "One Million Miles Away." Cut to a close-up, a low shot from the front fender, windshield wipers swish back and forth as the rain beats down. It's an ugly day, a grim desperate road, and it's a Volkswagen. We know we're on a journey, a quest. Cut to a close-up of the driver. A young man, a face of sharp angles, hair slightly, just slightly in disarray, he's wearing formal clothes, a shirt with cufflinks, jacket, but he's wearing them in a casual way that says downtown cool. He has soul. Or J. Ralph has soul, or Volkswagen has soul, or something. Damnit, there's soul here! His mouth clenches with determination. He's on a mission. The car speeds away on a rain covered road. A cool guy in a cool VW on a cool mission. I think we'll call him Nick. It's a cool name. Fade to black and then... Lights up on a young bride getting ready. Like a queen bee she is surrounded by four bridesmaids, all dressed in classic good taste, behind them and to the left in the background is a minister and some official usher like figure having a serious talk, perhaps on the nature of the trinity or the purpose of marriage; whatever, it's quite serious. However it is the foreground right that dominates this picture. There a man sits. We see him mostly from the back, but he is clearly an older man, a powerful man, the father of the bride. His position marks him as powerful: you can draw a line from father, to bride, to minister. He is the source of power in this scene, where all comes from. We flow from father, the source of power; to bride, the object of power; to minister, the means by which salvation shall be achieved. Hallelujah. But what is the connection with the determined young man in the Volkswagen? Do I sense the temptation of Satan off-stage? Nick. Old Nick. Coincidence? I think not. Close-up on the smiling bride. A low-key brunette, she has a tasteful band of pearls around her neck. She is beautiful in a bland kind of way. A passive easily persuaded beauty. We'll call her Jennifer, a bland easily persuaded kind of name. She smiles, does she mean it? How can she be happy with this mournful music playing? Cut back to the car, racing along a narrow scenic road past weathered old trees. Brief cut to Nick's face, still determined, driving with only one cool hand on the wheel. The hand is almost clenched, but not quite; there is restrained power in his knuckles raised to the sky. He means business, our Nick. The car races away in a cold cloud of spray through an avenue of trees. A tunnel of love? Bells sound in the music. Wedding bells? We cut back to the bridal scene, this time the camera is set within the bridal group itself, framed by bridesmaid's dresses, looking back at the father whose face we now see for the first time. He is a serious man with a slightly receding hairline. He's not smiling, but he looks sternly satisfied. Things are going as he intended, as they should. His name his Mr. Jones. A firm, strong, American name. He is America. He has no first name, he needs no first name. He is the father, the archetype of fatherdom, paterfamilias personified. He gazes on his possession, his property, his Jennifer. Cut to a brief shot of the car still racing along. Cut to a shot of the bride's hands, one hand gently stroking her ring finger. Is Jennifer thinking of the wedding ring she is about to receive, the bond which she is about to make? We cut to her face. She is looking pensively off into the distance, her lips (covered in tasteful rose lipstick) barely parted. A hint of desire? For what? Is it possible that all is not well with Jennifer? That she is thinking of something else? Of someone else? Cut to Nick in the car. He lifts his hand up to glance at his watch. His hand goes down again and... Cut to Mr. Jones, glancing at his watch. Time. Time is of the essence. Mr. Jones is not quite worried, not him. Yet there is concern in his mature brow. There is a problem. A cool problem in a cool VW. Yes, he knows Nick and Nick knows him. Mr. Jones never approved of Nick. A scruffy fellow, not a lawyer or a doctor. But what? A rock music critic perhaps? Mr. Jones remembers those nights when Nick would come calling, sometimes wearing a t-shirt under his rumpled hip silk jacket. No tie, no respect, no proper man for his Jennifer. A rebel. An enemy of all that is good in America. He might even be Jewish. Mr. Jones thanks god (a Protestant god, we think: firm, frugal, austere) that Nick went away for six months to cover the Tokyo pop scene for Rolling Pebble magazine. Mr. Jones was able to introduce Jennifer to young Michael, a junior partner in the firm and a responsible young man. Respectful. From the right kind of people. A Yale man. He told her to forget all about Nick. She listened. Jennifer was always a good obedient girl. We cut back to the VW. Nick is stuck behind some ancient car (not a cool VW) pulling a tiny beat-up trailer home. Cross cut back to the bride getting ready. And then to Nick still stuck behind the trailer. With a grimace of determination he pulls his car around and races past the trailer. Nick won't be held back by some poor migrants. He may be a rebel but he has his pride, his cool, his money, his VW. He races on. Back to the bride. Mr. Jones has just looked at his watch again, and he looks away, towards something, someone, an approaching doom, trying to upset the life he has planned for little Jennifer. A women's voice sings over the music. A soaring voice "One million miles..." Is that how far Nick must go to reach Jennifer? Back to the car, speeding over a bridge. Through some green hills. A machine at one with nature. Sure, Nick uses a lot of gas, but we sense he gives to Greenpeace too. Just to be cool. Cut to Jennifer, looking out a white curtained window. Looking for Nick? Is it possible she regrets taking her father's advice? Wonders if maybe this time, just this one time, she should have made her own decision? Michael is nice, very nice, but does she want something else, something more? Cut to the VW, stopped at a railway crossing. Blocked. Thwarted. Multiple shots of Nick, looking to one side, hand on forehead, hands running through his hair, and finally screaming out in frustration as... ...we cut to Mr. Jones closing the door to the bride's room, closing the door on any other future for Jennifer, closing the door on Nick. The car pulls up in front of the church. A beautiful beige structure nestled among the trees. Nick jumps out and runs for the door. We cut to looking down the aisle towards the door, we see Nick running up, framed between two rows of wedding guests, as a minister's voice speaks "Speak now..." Cut to Jennifer and Michael standing before the minister (a serious older man dressed in subdued clerical garb, Episcopalian probably) as he continues "...or forever..." Jennifer turns to the door, she sees Nick, she turns back to Michael, surprise in her doe-like placid eyes "...hold your peace." Cut to Nick, standing in the middle of the aisle, mouth open, wanting to say something, but what, what can he do? What can he offer? Rebellion. Cool. Longer hair? Cut back to Jennifer and Michael. Michael looks towards the door as Jennifer looks down in consternation. He's a clean-cut, good looking ken-doll. Short brown hair, firm jaw, a jaw now clenched with annoyance. It's Nick. They went to school together, but Michael moved on, made something of himself, while Nick just wasted his life with that rock music stuff. And now he's here to try and ruin Michael's happiness with Jennifer. Cut to Nick still standing, mouth open, trying to find the words. His slightly longer, slightly blonder hair, even his shirt, top button casually unbuttoned, tell us all we need to know about how much cooler he is than the boring Michael (never Mike). Sure, he's a bit of a ken-doll himself, but in a Brad Pittish way, with just a little bit of soul. We know from this shot that Nick listens to cool blues music played by old black men, while Michael likes Enya. Cut to a close-up of Michael's face. He turns back to Jennifer. His face is filled with petulant impatience. C'mon Jen, tell this guy where to get off. Cut to Jennifer blinking her big brown eyes, as she turns towards Nick again. She takes a deep quick breath, a touch of passion in her slightly parted lips. She remembers those nights with Nick, the things he did, things Michael never wanted to do, can she really say goodbye to all that? But then, Michael does have a good job, a solid job, and father approves of him. What will she do? Poor Jennifer, these choices are so hard. Cut to the car parked outside the church. Text appears: "Fasten your seat-belts. The Jetta VR6." God I love America. Further thoughts: This commericial (directed by Dante Ariola of Propaganda films) is just about perfect. I am actually strangely moved by the tension created by the mix of etherial music and rapidly intelligent cutting. There is a story here and it might just be a terribly sad one. You identify with our hero, his journey, and the frustrations and missed opportunities it represents for us all. The final moments are not quite as strong because the bride seems, well, a bit lame. I mean, if she's willing to marry one man, why does our hero still want her? If she really loved him couldn't she have waited for him? She really does come off as a shallow wimp. And yes, I know The Graduate. But I never loved that movie and I thought the girl was one of the weakest things in it. It was Dustin Hoffman and Ann Bancroft's movie, not the little chippie. Still, a great mood commercial.

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