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Gingerbread: a horror story
Dec. 22nd, 2014 12:44 pmIn the cinema yesterday, almost all the adverts caused us to turn to each other, going, "What?" What on earth were they advertising? And, if we could work it out, how on earth was this advert supposed to advertise that? But one advert caused us to chunter quietly to each other for several minutes in growing outrage.
The scene is a classroom shortly before Christmas, full of children aged around 11. "Who wants to help me with my gingerbread stall?" asks the teacher. Hands shoot up. Everyone looks keen. One child alone looks sad, shy and positively terrified of the concept of gingerbread. Natually, this is the one that the bullying teacher picks on.
Sad Girl takes this unwanted responsibility seriously, and starts making gingerbread at home, although clearly she has no idea how to make it, and nobody to offer help. The teacher, having landed her with this responsbility, is never seen again. No parents are there to offer help and encouragement. Again and again, all alone, she has to stare sadly at her ruined baking. Again and again, she has to traipse to the shop to spend her own pocket money on yet more ingredients, and traipse home for yet more disasters. Her pre-Christmas days are ones of angst, trauma, solitude and ruined baking.
Finally - finally! - she makes some nice gingerbread and takes it to school, where she has to man the stall all alone, the teacher - the one she was allegedly "helping" - nowhere to be seen. (Presumably he's busy taking credit for its success in his end-of-term appraisal.) Other children flock to buy it, full of smiles. Will her wonderful gingerbread lead to her making a new friend? No! All the other happy children go off to eat their gingerbread on the far side of the room, while Sad Girl remains alone behind her stall.
Eventually, only one gingerbread piece is left. Will she eat it herself, and claw back one tiny shred of happiness from the stressful trauma that the teacher has made of her Christmas? No! She takes it to Waitrose - for that, apparently, was the place she was buying her ingredients - and gives it to a staff member who has apparently been helping her, and stands there before her looking tongue-tied, shy and over-awed. Because they own the shop, Waitrose staff members care more, we are told.
How on earth is this advert supposed to be heartwarming?
The scene is a classroom shortly before Christmas, full of children aged around 11. "Who wants to help me with my gingerbread stall?" asks the teacher. Hands shoot up. Everyone looks keen. One child alone looks sad, shy and positively terrified of the concept of gingerbread. Natually, this is the one that the bullying teacher picks on.
Sad Girl takes this unwanted responsibility seriously, and starts making gingerbread at home, although clearly she has no idea how to make it, and nobody to offer help. The teacher, having landed her with this responsbility, is never seen again. No parents are there to offer help and encouragement. Again and again, all alone, she has to stare sadly at her ruined baking. Again and again, she has to traipse to the shop to spend her own pocket money on yet more ingredients, and traipse home for yet more disasters. Her pre-Christmas days are ones of angst, trauma, solitude and ruined baking.
Finally - finally! - she makes some nice gingerbread and takes it to school, where she has to man the stall all alone, the teacher - the one she was allegedly "helping" - nowhere to be seen. (Presumably he's busy taking credit for its success in his end-of-term appraisal.) Other children flock to buy it, full of smiles. Will her wonderful gingerbread lead to her making a new friend? No! All the other happy children go off to eat their gingerbread on the far side of the room, while Sad Girl remains alone behind her stall.
Eventually, only one gingerbread piece is left. Will she eat it herself, and claw back one tiny shred of happiness from the stressful trauma that the teacher has made of her Christmas? No! She takes it to Waitrose - for that, apparently, was the place she was buying her ingredients - and gives it to a staff member who has apparently been helping her, and stands there before her looking tongue-tied, shy and over-awed. Because they own the shop, Waitrose staff members care more, we are told.
How on earth is this advert supposed to be heartwarming?
