BOOTLEG FILES 767: “Laurence Olivier Polaroid Commercials” (1973-74 television commercial campaign).
LAST SEEN: On YouTube.
AMERICAN HOME VIDEO: None.
REASON FOR BOOTLEG STATUS: No commercial reissue value.
CHANCES OF SEEING A COMMERCIAL DVD RELEASE: Maybe in an anthology of vintage commercials, but that’s unlikely.
Have you tried sitting through television commercials lately? Really, who creates this crap? Either they are dismally unfunny (particularly for the insurance companies) or they are hard-sell to the point of discomfort or they are so vague and hazy (especially for medical products) that you wonder what exactly is being sold.
Back in the day, there was a lot more class and effectiveness in television commercials. But, sometimes, being too classy can be a mistake.
In 1973, the Polaroid Corporation had high hopes for its new SX‐70 camera, which it sought to promote as “the ultimate one-step photographic system.” The company gave its’ advertising agency, Doyle Dane Bernbach, a $20 million budget to create a campaign that was several levels above the average advertisement, with a spokesperson who could bring added prestige to the product.
“How do you tell the world about what seems to be a miracle?” said Peter Wensberg, a senior vice president, in a New York Times interview. “We felt there was only one voice.”
The voice in question was Sir Laurence Olivier, who gained a new rush of visibility following his Oscar-nominated performance in “Sleuth” and his highly acclaimed acting in television productions of “Long Day’s Journey Into Night” and “The Merchant of Venice.” Olivier had never previously appeared in commercials, which made his presence more notable – after all, if someone of Olivier’s credibility would agree to promote a product, then surely there must be something very special about it.
Polaroid’s eagerness to sign Olivier was so intense that the company agreed to his demands: a $350,000 fee (which was unprecedented for an actor in television commercials), the promise not to broadcast the commercials on British television (lest anyone think he was slumming) and the budget-raising expense of filming in Paris (where his earnings would not be subject to Britain’s harsh tax laws).
Five commercials were made, with Olivier appearing on camera in three of them and narrating the other two. The three commercials where the actor appeared are on YouTube, and viewed today they seem a little too prestigious for their own good.
The longest of the three commercials runs slightly over a minute and finds Olivier with the SX‐70, where he describes the camera as a “pocket-sized, folding, electronically-controlled, motor-driven, single-lens reflex camera that, quite frankly, does the impossible.” Olivier loads the film into the camera, noting it contains a “wafer-thin battery providing fresh power to the camera.” Olivier aims the camera at a weird looking clock and takes a photo that he describes as “a finished photograph of dazzling beauty.” Well, that’s what he says!
The commercial has a strangely melodramatic music track and Olivier is photographed against a deep black background – perhaps Polaroid was trying to remind viewers of Olivier’s Oscar-winning noirish version of “Hamlet.” And while Olivier’s diction is peerless in its theatrical crispness, it seems a tad too much for selling instant cameras.
The other commercials were only about 30 seconds. In one, Olivier takes three photographs of an extravagant floral display in a vase – the fact that he stands in the same spot to take three identical shots of the flowers is a bit peculiar. In the other, a few photographs are shown (two boys, a little girl, a pretty young lady in a stylish hat) and then Olivier appears to take a Polaroid photo of the viewer. “Press the button and there it is – it is as simple as that,” he says after taking the snapshot.
But in both shorter advertisements, there was a stuffiness that didn’t fit the product. As anyone who owned a Polaroid would attest, the fun was in watching it develop before your eyes within minutes of clicking the lens. Olivier gave the impression the amateur photographer was creating great art rather than great memories. It was like serving champagne with hot dogs – both are wonderful on their own terms, but they don’t really go together.
Polaroid had very high hopes for the Olivier commercials, which started airing in late 1973 and continued in circulation into 1974. The company coordinated a complementary sales campaign via its Polaroid Partnership Program for dealers, which paid cash bonuses based on the volume of cameras and film packs sold.
But while the company was busy with its SX-70 campaign, the U.S. economy was tanking. By 1974, the country was in a recession and cash-strapped people were not interested in spending what little money they had on expensive one-shot cameras. The expense surrounding the SX-70 introduction drove down Polaroid’s profits, and by 1975 the company’s situation became so grave that the chief executive officer was forced out of his job.
Olivier would never do another television commercial campaign. Due to declining health and a belated need to build a late-life nest-egg, he began accepting a surplus number of film and television roles that were far beneath his talent. Obviously, he believed that being ridiculous in two hours on a big screen was more respectable than shilling for 30 seconds on the small screen.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: While this weekly column acknowledges the presence of rare film and television productions through the so-called collector-to-collector market, this should not be seen as encouraging or condoning the unauthorized duplication and distribution of copyright-protected material, either through DVDs or Blu-ray discs or through postings on Internet video sites.
Listen to the award-winning podcast “The Online Movie Show with Phil Hall” on SoundCloud. Phil Hall’s new book, “Jesus Christ Movie Star,” will be released on June 7 by BearManor Media.