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Looking (at Nike) Through Gary Gilmore's Eyes: Thoughts Inspired by the Film "Art and Copy"

The other night, I watched Art and Copy, a documentary about the Ad people who created the most memorable campaigns over the last 30 years or so. 

In it, you get the behind-the-scenes story on mega-hits like "Got milk?", "I want my MTV", and those spots done for the Reagan campaign by Hal Riney: "It's morning in America again," and the ominous one that began, "There's a bear in the woods."

"Memorable", though, is too puny a word for one campaign they covered: Wieden and Kennedy's "Just Do It", for Nike.

Since its inception over 20 years ago, I don't know that there's another commercial phrase I've heard in common parlance more often -- and applied to such a wide variety of contexts.

There are entire books written about this campaign, from both the marketing and the cultural studies perspectives.  It almost seems as if there's nothing left to say about the way it linked the longing for self-improvement with getting in shape -- and associated this all, starting with Michael Jordan, with the era's most sensational athletes.

Nevertheless, the documentary revealed something about what inspired Nike's tagline that got my mental wheels turning.  Writer Dan Wieden, who is credited with coming up with "Just Do It", mentioned the story of famed murderer Gary Gilmore.

Gilmore, it might be remembered, when asked for last words when he was about to be executed by firing squad, replied, simply, "Let's do it."

Gary Gilmore Is Not a Role Model.  Or is he?

You can see why Wieden's "Just Do It" grew out of Gilmore's "Let's do it."  Both phrases communicate impatience with procrastination -- mixed with bravado.  This may be why Gilmore's line itself, before the Nike slogan appeared, enjoyed its own viral circulation throughout pop culture.

Gilmore himself was sort of a folk anti-hero.  By waiving his own rights to appeal, and begging the Utah Supreme Court to kill him (rather than consider life imprisonment), he earned a sort of populist respect; how many times have you heard grumbling about spending "tax money" to keep killers fed?

He also donated his corneas to science (which were used shortly after his death -- and led to the great punk song, "Looking Through Gary Gilmore's Eyes" by the Adverts).

At the same time, his impulsiveness and swagger have been read as contributing to his downfall. Here's how True Crime writer Karen Ramsland puts it:

"...he hadn't the patience to earn what he desired.  From a young age, Gary Mark Gilmore just went out and took whatever he wanted -- beer, cigarettes, cars, money.  More times than not (according to him) he was successful, but when he wasn't, he landed in the slammer.  He'd just get an idea into his head and do it."

With this self-destructive quality in mind, you might say that Nike's and Gilmore's "tag lines" contradict each other.  For me, in fact, they bring to mind the old Freudian idea of the two drives:

Nike's phrase is emblematic of Eros.  In its endorsement of fitness, self-transcendence and positive achievement, it's life-affirming.

Gilmore's phrase, by contrast, hurries his own demise.  What better signifier of Thanatos, or the death drive?

But a contradiction also implies a relationship.  And what both "slogans" share in this case is the connotation of a defiant individualism.  That's why this pairing speaks, for me at least, to one of the key traits for which U.S. culture is both loved and hated.

On the one hand, stubborn "individuality" is often portrayed as necessary to protect freedom: muckrakers stand up against governments, corporations and institutions in the interest of "keeping democracy safe".

On the other, when "individuality" appears in more mundane situations, it's often seen as devolving into mere narcissism -- a narcissism not only harmful to society, but even the planet.

Check out this rant by Al Pacino from the movie Devil's Advocate.  In it, Pacino (Satan himself!) complains about an athlete of sorts -- a jogger (who, for all I know may be wearing Nikes) named Eddie Barzoon or "God's special little creature":

 

Lebron James: Rugged Individual or Narcissist?

The ambiguity around the idea of "the individual" nowadays, sometimes makes it difficult to read Nike's usually masterful TV spots.  Here's a controversial one which aired right after Lebron James announced that he'd leave the Cavaliers for the Miami Heat:

 

Judging from web comments, it appears many people disliked this spot, perhaps because they resented all the hype around James' decision to switch from his hometown team.

Not being a Cleveland or Miami fan, I know I found myself a bit irritated when I saw it.  Despite all its irony (parodying other sports spots) and even self-deprecation, I thought the superstar still ended up looking kind of vain.  So much so, that I found myself muttering mentally, "But Lebron, I don't care what you do."  Thoughts?




 

 

Derrick Rose vs. Richard Gere: Who Owns Chicago?

I've been living in NYC over 20 years, but I still root for the teams of the town where I grew up: Chicago.

Some would call this evidence of the "tribal" aspect of fandom.  It's easier to switch the city you live in than your sports allegiances.

So I was happy to see my favorite player, Derrick Rose, featured on the cover of ESPN, the magazine. And as a fan also of media studies, I was just as taken with the way the image of this about-to-superstar is being created.

Writer Ric Bucher's piece on Rose (with the star's name over  the cover headline of "The Rebirth of Chicago Style,") sees him, more than just an individual, as the personification of a town.  And a believable one -- as Rose grew up in some of the city's (and the nation's) roughest neighborhoods.

And just as the best ads nowadays often grab your attention by referring to other ads, so this personification of the city gets some of its power by its relation to the town's other personifications. The image of the President, for example.  Bucher writes:

"The same springboard of big-city aggression and heartland work ethic that launched the first black man to the White House has now catapulted [MVP candidate] Rose to the highest office in the NBA. 'Chicagoans appreciate Midwestern values,' President Obama says, 'Like hard work, humility and giving back to those around you.  Plus, it doesn't hurt if you're playing MVP quality ball.'"

This substance is expressed in an understated style.  A thin "Jazz Age mustache", and a few tats (none near the face) Bucher notes, "are his lone accessories.  No iced watches or gold ropes.  That would be akin to claiming a gaudy nick name, like the City that Never Sleeps or the City of Angels, rather than, say, the City of Broad Shoulders."

All this is said to carry over into his style of play.  "Rose owes Chicago for making him the player that he is: short on flash, long on dash."

It seems Rose's style was shaped by participating, early in his career, in a Chicago program where he played small, exceptionally fast players.  This discouraged any frills.  As Bucher puts it:

"It becomes all about getting a step, protecting the rock like a football and getting to the rim.  A fancy dribble will likely get swiped by one of those mighty mites.  So while New York point guards are known for mesmerizing dribbling and L.A.'s 1's for dazzling passing, Chicago point guards simply put you in the rearview mirror.  'Derrick grew up playing against those little guys, ' says former Bulls guard B.J. Armstrong.  'That's why he plays just like them.  He just grew to be 6'3"."

All-in-all, it's an intriguing picture.  And certainly one that makes a former Chi-town native, via our inevitable tendency to identify, feel positively cool.  But one thing that keeps me from totally buying into Bucher's portrait is Rose's play itself.

Check out this clip on his "crossover" move.  As much as Rose himself describes it as "basic", it seems pretty dazzling to me:

 

The Authentic Chicago's Phony Double...

The sort of blue-collar (super)stardom Rose's image projects, is, of course, incredibly appealing.  As Bucher points out, "his first signature shoe outsold Lebron's."  It proposes a brand of style ruled strictly by substance, offering a sharp contrast to the over-the-top flash of the previous generation of NBA stars.  Rose is something new.

At the same time, this portrait heightens the paradox of Chicago's national image.  For is not this most authentic of towns, with its modest, hard-working folks (and sports stars), often portrayed as also the phoniest?  Doesn't Chicago own a place in the popular imagination as the home of con artists, corrupt politicians and the mob?  What about Rod Blagojevich?

Here's a personification of that other side -- in the form of Richard Gere as the sleazebag laywer (Billy Flynn), and master of rhetorical bling, in the musical film, Chicago: 

 

What gives with such contrasts?  Is popular culture inherently schizoid in the way it imagines its things?

Literary critics trained in deconstruction might argue that such wildly opposing views of a city, an object, or even a person, are more normal than neurotic.  Meanings only achieve solidity, they might insist, by their contrast to other, opposing meanings.

In other words, the idea of the honest and incorruptible is most convincingly (if problematically) brought to life when it lives next door to a rotten-to-the-core image of a "cynical Other."

But I wonder if such dichotomies also express a sort of uncertainty or undecideability.  But about what exactly?  Chicago?  City life in general?  Belief vs. cynicism?  Political views? Thoughts?