Brothers In Arms

Years ago, when I was a copywriter, some of the big packaged-goods brands at the agency would occasionally order up tabletop spots. Writers hated these assignments because they knew two things would be true: There would be no room for creative—the client had 28.5 seconds of product claims, comparisons and demonstrations to scream at the audience—and no money for anything except lighting to make the product look heroic. This is one of the reasons I quit advertising and moved into entertainment. It's kind of funny that now, after years in TV and movies, I find myself getting back into advertising. It's an interesting time to do so, too—more and more advertisers are attaching their brands to programming. I don't think it matters much whether the programming is reality-based or episodic—as long as it's popular and people like it, I think it can benefit the brand. When advertisers put their label on a popular show, every time that show gets mentioned, they get considered, directly or indirectly. The key is to really attach the brand to the show, the way Hallmark did with the Hallmark Hall of Fame. Many people will consciously or subconsciously think of Hallmark whenever they hear the phrase "hall of fame," be it the baseball hall of fame, the art directors hall of fame or the bratwurst hall of fame. With viewers able to tune out TV spots like never before, the ad industry is in a new and at times desperate hunt for ways to attach brands to things people actually want to watch. Yet clients and agencies are asking themselves—and rightly so—whether writers and producers who work primarily in entertainment will be able to understand the discipline of crafting marketing messages. It's true that TV sitcom writers may not know the particular marketing strategies that a brand manager or account director has in mind. But a good creative director can brief them on that in a single paragraph. Besides, these writers know TV. They live in it, they study it, they rely on it for their livelihoods. And when they write for a particular show, only 20 percent of the ideas that are brainstormed in a room end up on the show. The rest goes into that great creative wastebin that the public never sees. When you run a room, you have to free-associate and let ideas flow, gently nudging them in the direction of the assignment—otherwise, it turns into a very unfunny snake pit. The same is true in advertising. When I wrote copy for McCann, the writer and art director would come up with 100 ideas before they hit the one that worked. It's part of the process—it's the way creative people make a difficult assignment fun to work on.Given the right direction and guidance, agencies can turn to teams of TV writers to get great creative solutions for clients. It's a new age, a different time. This isn't the same as CAA getting Hollywood types to create TV spots for Coke. Ad agency creatives don't have to feel threatened by entertainment writers, while entertainment writers don't need to look down on copywriters and art directors. Both have their place in the food chain, and they can collaborate in new ways to solve problems and create great work. In the end, clients will be happy, agencies will remain safe, and the creatives won't be able to tell an Emmy from a Clio.

Brand Marketing

Brothers In Arms

Adweek Staff

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