actors — that's pretty distinctive, and since they immediately evoked a response from me, I figured they'd be a good subject for the present column.
Only problem is Seth Stevenson already wrote about them for Slate more than two years ago. Oh, well. Maybe that's karma — I steal Slate's concept for a column, and they steal my idea for a subject by, you know, traveling to the future and reading this column before I could write it. At least, I assume that's what happened. (It may be that I don't fully understand either karma or time travel.)
Nonetheless, I will forge ahead because I think I can offer a different take on the ads than Stevenson did.
Well, somewhat different. Like myself, Stevenson notes the visual similarity of the ads to Richard Linklater's Waking Life, a trippy little art-house film beloved by pseudo-intellectuals everywhere, myself included. In fact, he even notes that the rotoscoping for both the film and the ads was accomplished under the guidance of one Bob Sabiston, "an MIT Media Lab veteran."
So far, so good. I also agree with Stevenson's conjecture that the animation is effective insofar as it forces the viewer to listen to what the actors are saying. The look is incongruous enough that it grabs our attention. Or at least, it used to.
As Stevenson wrote more than two years ago, "the novelty of the animation wears off." Right again. An important effect of this, however, especially after a few years of seeing these ads, is that the attention-grabbing effect the animation once had is now almost entirely gone. The average viewer, I would wager, is now utterly unsurprised to see rotoscoping. I certainly am, anyway. The only reason this particular spot caught my eye again is that I was actively looking for something to write about. Otherwise, my zombie-fication would have proceeded unabated.
Now, I also agree with Stevenson that once the novelty of the rotoscoping is gone, the only thing about the ads that remains, so to speak, is what the little cartoon people are actually saying. Stevenson thinks this is a good thing. It is on this score, however, that he and I truly part ways.
Bottom line: these animated shills are fundamentally obnoxious. They are not, as Stevenson cleverly puts it, animated in the sense of being angry, but they are, to a man (and woman, as the case may be), relentlessly and irritatingly whiny. Your broker doesn't seem to recognize you when you call? Boohoo. He won't talk to you long enough on the telephone? That's so sad.
Stevenson seems to think that these sob stories will inspire viewers to "Talk to Chuck" and invest their money with a broker who won't hurt their precious widdle feelings. Maybe he's right. Personally, though, they only make me irritated at Charles Schwab for asking me to listen to these little tantrums. Cartoons are supposed to be fun, not grating.
Again, of course, it may be that the passage of time is taking its toll on the campaign. Maybe when the ads were still fresh, I would have been more forgiving towards these fussy monologues. Maybe I would have even empathized and thought, "You know what? My broker's a phony, high-commission-charging jerk too. I should 'talk to Chuck.'" After two years, though? Not so much.
Accordingly, I'd say it's probably time for Schwab to retool their campaign or, better yet, just come up with a new one. Maybe try some claymation next time. And as for me, well, I promise to find a completely fresh target for my slings and arrows in my next column (or at the very least, one that Slate hasn't covered).
