R.J. Reynolds' Promotional Video: "I'm No Actor"

We've witnessed the smarmy phallic triumph of Joe Camel. One Arts editor is even a victim of his rise to power, which is how R.J. Reynolds' promotional video found its way to the Arts desk. She had an incurable desire for Camel trinkets: the t-shirts, Zippos and fishing lures. In the process of cashing in her Camel Bucks she unwittingly signed herself up for a host of freebies from the National Smokers' Rights Alliance and every toxic chemical company on the planet. It's cultural studies--when art meets commerce, advertising happens--and it merits a review.

The warning on the back of R.J. Reynolds' new promotional video reads: "This video contains information about cigarettes and is intended for viewing only by smokers 21 years of age or older." It's nice to know RJR is concerned for the welfare of the under 21 set.

The promo begins with the swell of Coplandesque melodies. The camera pans over spacious skies, over purple mountains' majesty and amber waves of...tobacco. We hear the voice-over of a man, a simple farmer; we'll call him Merle: "Some things jes git better with time..." (more Copelandesque strains) Merle goes on to describe the painstaking process by which the "tobacco smooth enough to be Select" is cultivated and packaged. We follow the camera through Merle's tobacco fields to his barn, where another man cuts and dries the tobacco leaves. The crop will become Wintson Select's "Perfectly Aged Tobacco," rolled into cigarettes and smoked by hardy consumers who will eventually get cancer and die.

Sounds simple enough. Or is it?

When viewed through a Feminist/ Decontructionist lens, the advertisement betrays a multiplicity of hidden messages. The image of the cigarette/ phallus remains central, perhaps suggesting Merle's own doubts about his manhood. As Merle stands, patriachal, yet despairing amidst the rolling fields of tobacco, the camera shifts once again to an image of sexual negation. The Barn is a Keatsian cave of forlorn despair and homosexual repression, suggesting void on both a sexual and an ontological level. The only hint of resolution comes in the form of conversion. All seems resolved as the tobacco is mysteriously rendered into phallic triumph in the form of the omnipresent cigarette.

But we, the viewers, are left with a feeling of loss, of mystery. Where is Merle? Has he been left behind, or has he chosen his solitary condition as toiler? Has he been marginalized by a phallocentric culture, or empowered by his decision not to penetrate The Barn's confines? One is reminded of the opening credits of "What's Happenin' Now?" where we see Rerun, an androgyne clearly alineated from patriarchal norms, run after the phallus/ truck, always wanting, but never, never having.

In the meantime, you (the viewer) can save up to purchase any of the fine gifts offered in R.J. Reynolds' Select Trading Company Catalogue. It all began with Camel Cash, but maybe you find yourself maturing, turning away from cartoon genitalia. You are older, in need of more domestic domestic items like coffee mugs, commemorative tobacco tins, and large quantities of red meat, delivered right to your door. That's right, three pounds of fully cooked baby back ribs, if the smoke don't kill you, the fat intake will. But wait, there's more ! You also get free 650 Select proofs of purchase to buy more junk ! (That's 325 packs of Winston's to you and me.) So eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow...well, you know.