Andrew Boulton's World Cup ad reviews: Part 1 – Mars makes a meal of it with England's Steven Gerrard
Not only are those fiends at Mars solely responsible for my inability to climb stairs without sweating like an Englishman in the Amazon, they’re also responsible for probably the worst thing to have happened around a World Cup since the vuvuzela and/or Andy Townsend.
For those of you fortunate enough not to have had their latest TV spot vomited like partly digested caramel into your eyes, mouth and pants it goes a little something like this. An England fan (a cheeky fellow who no doubt divides his time between the perpetual reapplication of hair product and ‘top bants’ with ‘the lads’) chomps on his Mars bar at an England game and is suddenly struck with a moment of inspiration (either that or the first pangs of the diabetes that will cruelly strike him down in later life).
He quickly bellows out to the players who, naturally, turn to listen to the unsolicited suggestions being made by the chocolate smeared gentlemen in row H. Steven Gerrard – with an intensity of facial expression we’ve not seen since Alan Rickman was plummeting from the top of the Nakatomi Tower – watches our hero's instructions with an intensity I imagine he usually reserves for hurling bundles of money into the face of the polar bear he keeps in his Alton Towers-sized garden.
His instructions are quickly put into action resulting in a free kick so elaborate that if you tried it on the park (or, for that matter, in any game of football ever played in the world) you would have been viciously clattered around the shins and knees as you dawdled delicately around the ball. But in this calorie-packed scenario, the ball smashes into the net via a Gerrard flying volley so pretentious he might as well have slapped the ball into the net with his diamond-encrusted testicles before urinating liquid glitter into the tepid meat pies of the travelling support.
Needless to say, the instigator of this tactical masterclass is given the obligatory thumbs up from the skipper. Our Mourinho in H&M chinos takes his seat with a look of smug satisfaction that leaves you wishing him nothing less than death by giant eagle.
And this is what Mars thinks passes for tapping into the spirit and tone of World Cup football. Agonisingly out of touch and woefully lacking in any relatable humour, you can only assume that Mars generates its insights about what will appeal to football fans by hurling mystical octopus after mystical octopus at a wall of universally terrible ideas.
When I saw the last Mars football advert (similar generic, non-fan elects himself to be England’s goalkeeper for a penalty shootout and makes a series of grindingly mirthless ‘comedy’ saves) I assumed with a good deal of confidence that this was the worst thing that could ever happen in anyone’s life. This new effort is not necessarily worse, but only in the sense that having your legs gnawed off by a tiger shark is no worse than having them gnawed off by a tiger shark on a Tuesday.
To use a traditional football cliche, I’d sooner have my thigh bone snapped in twain by a ferocious Roy Keane tackle than see this advert again. I probably won’t stop eating Mars bars (there’s desiccated Mars bar on my keyboard as I type) but I’m sure my mean words rather than withdrawing my custom will teach them the lesson they deserve.
Come back next week for more World Cup ad reviews. In the meantime, you can follow him on Twitter @boultini