Energizer Rabbit Run
Woodchuck , produced
for Energizer Batteries by TBWA Chiat/Day and Epoch Films.
Political pollsters argue
that most commercials don't really work--that viewer recall of a product and
its claimed attributes is actually remarkably low, and that the research
"proving" the efficacy of the ads is largely controlled by the ad agencies that
made the ads in the first place. (That's mild, by the way, compared with what
the commercial advertisers say about the quality and ethics of political
ads.)
The Energizer Bunny is an
exception to this rule. Batteries are practically a commodity, but the
long-running Bunny campaign has implanted the message of long-lasting
reliability in the public consciousness. The Bunny is now almost a cultural
artifact, and if the "keeps going and going" message is to be extended, it must
be restated in ways that build on the image without boring the viewers.
Woodchuck is a case
study of the process--and a case of cultural updating. In a series of quick
cuts--narrative bites that put old slogans into younger voices and visual
echoes of popular entertainment--the spot extends the Energizer message to a
new generation.
As the camera pulls back
from a television set showing the Energizer Bunny in action, we see a group of
twentysomething guys--in T-shirts, shorts, chinos, with an occasional
beard--gathered around a van or a utility vehicle. One of them talks about how
long "this thing's been goin', " and the "obsession" to chase it. (Where are
the women: Don't they buy batteries?) The group piles in and sets off down the
road while the rotating radar on top of the van searches out its target--like a
scene out of Twister . Like the storm-chasers, we're told, this group has
"gone days without seeing anything." Here and later, the borrowed images from
Twister are amplified by the searchers talking not to the viewers, but
to what appears to be a third-party documentary filmmaker. The absence of music
adds to the documentary feel.
Staring through binoculars,
one of the searchers expresses the frustration inherent in any search for a
not-so-Holy Grail--whether it's Elvis, a UFO, or the Energizer Bunny: "It's
toying with us again." Next we encounter an X-Files moment--a blurry
black-and-white photo that's even less distinct than the ones of flying saucers
that are the talismans of an entire subculture. The searcher insists that the
photo is real, that it is proof: "Right there you can see its ears and its
drum."
"Come on, baby!" One of the
searchers is in a field, trying to capture an undeniable video of the rabbit.
It's reminiscent of the storm-chasers who miss the twister because they go
north instead of south. The next scene is a closer rear view of the truck, the
radar antenna relentlessly turning. Look closely: Is that a set of rabbit ears
in the mirrorlike object mounted atop the van on our right? The almost
subliminal image tells us, but not the searchers, that they may have missed the
rabbit.
Thinking that they've
spotted the Bunny, the group clambers out of the vehicle, shouting and firing
off cameras--but it's just a woodchuck. The story reverses a fairy tale that
these guys aren't that many years distant from: The hare is beating the
four-wheeled gadget--the rich tortoise of the '90s.
Inside, a searcher gives the
off-camera interviewer an explanation that again repeats the Energizer slogan:
"It just keeps going and going--and therefore, you yourself have to keep going
and going." That might also serve as a mantra for the '90s generation, seeking
the constantly moving targets of meaning and success.
The spot
closes with the name of the product chyroned across the Bunny-searching van
that just keeps going. Woodchuck refrains from identifying the product
because it's selling the name of the product, not the product itself. And if
you don't think the names of commodity products matter much in the marketplace,
then why do people pay more for Calvins than they do for Fruit of the
Looms?
--Robert
Shrum
