August 28, 2011
Naked Toilet Paper
I’ve been thinking about this commercial a lot. We can talk about it in comments if you want.
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“Hey, here’s something you don’t need!”
Have you ever been to a person’s house that hides the TP in a basket or something and you do your business and realize you have to search for the TP?
I haven’t either. But if you hide your TP, don’t be too attached to your hand-towels.
I have a lot of questions about this commercial. I think it might be genius.
I wipe with Quilted Northern. A brand whose complete lack of shame about its naked body inspires me. And so I honor it by putting my poop on it.
This is the kind of thing that Slavoj Zizek would write a whole book about. This is probably somehow a microcosm of western civilization that points out humanity’s inability to fully realize the extent to which the interaction of the symbolic and the imaginary misleads our attempts at become fully-realized and morally-conscious individuals.
Yeah. Also, what’s up with that puppy?
Monkey-fur covered tissue cozies.
Have you ever been to a person’s house that hides the TP in a basket or something and you do your business and realize you have to search for the TP?
No. But I was once at the home of a noted numismatic scholar, and on the wall of his bathroom was a Nat Geo-style representation of a load of Romans squatting cheek-by-jowl in a public latrine.
I used to visit someone who had finger towels on the towel rack that were strictly not to be used. I mean off limits — all caps. So I had to say it, excuse me, who puts finger towels in the facilities that are just for looks? What am I to dry my hands with? And that caused considerable flocking around, searching for other hand towels. Then I was forced to ask were people washing their hands and not drying them? Or worse? I was friendly about it. But I wanted to know. I never found out the deal with that.
What is that danged deal?
Nothing intrigues me more than the towel situation in a guest bathroom. There is usually a decorative set on one side closer to the sink. If it’s holiday time (and you couldn’t already tell by the noxious potpourri), the towels have something to do with Santa or whatever. Those are never for use.
The printed disposible towels or reuseable ones are always the furthest.
This rule does not apply if you are drunk or babysitting…
I’m fascinated by the relationship between the main dude and the woman. If, as the way she’s dressed might suggest, she’s over for a date with someone she is perhaps interested in, what is the dumb, younger dude doing there? And why isn’t the older schleppy dude dressed for it? If it isn’t a date, why are the three of them having dinner? I understand the stupid younger dude is there to make the frumpy older dude think, well shit, if this dumb ass knows I should hide my toilet paper in a shit bucket, where have I been? But is the woman hot enough to shame him into it? And even though there is a puppy on the shit-paper graphics, what is the puppy supposed to represent? Whose ass is that puppy’s tongue cleaning? Also, is it going to be a threesome?
Sometimes the formal arrangements at parties are set in alabaster. And all attending are aping Gods with great smiles they would never have.
I believe the puppy is really a misguided reference. Most people think puppies are cute and innocent until they take an art history class. A painting showing great Countess of whatever lounging with a small dog nearby is actually Countess whatever with her living vibrator. My ancient to renaissance section professor kind scarred me after that lesson.
Could it be that the two younger people are the older guy’s kids? But then, why dont they call him “dad”? And, if so, where’s the mother?
I think the mother is dead– something sad like breast, ovarian or endometrial cancer with metastases where she was able to live with the cancer for awhile, say 6-8 months, but then progressed rapidly after that. The commercial joins the family after an appropriate grieving period (about 3 months) where extended family (the mother’s sister and maybe one of the father’s cousins) have gone back home and he’s now left to fend for himself, including doing his own shopping, which he hasn’t had to do since he was in grad school. This is where his oh-so-smart daughter and fantasy-football playing son come in.
But I could be wrong.
Daughter (in-law) and son who has learned something from his over-bearing wife. He’s also learned to leave the toilet seat down when he leaves the euphemism.
Dudes will leave the roll out on the back of the toilet and not even put it on the dispenser on the wall affixed just to the right of the toilet.
As I said to Andrew, when he first came to stay a few months with us. “Though Danny and I are gays, we’re still guys.
This video makes me mad.
And why do they start with a lady powerwalking at dinnertime while wearing a fanny pack?
I think the puppy was purchased by the widower to keep him from feeling lonely now that his wife of 30 years has passed away. He knows he needs to get out there again, but he hasn’t been on a date for over 30 years!
Rick, there’s no way that woman would have married that guy. I’m still thinking younger brother and older sister.
The brother/son is probably going to lose his job because of the double dip recession and move back in with his dad–which could be fodder for a whole bunch of commercials or (whisper it) a sitcom.
The daughter will probably end up leaving the dysfunctional relationship she has with her fiance in a few months and move in, too. So now the family is all back under one roof. Except the mother, who is still dead. But maybe we’ll see her in flashbacks or something.
This will make a great sitcom.
Vin? It might. Amae? Does this have legs?
Andrew, you are a delight when you are mad. Do you mind if I say I miss you?
From: Chris Marker. “Rare Marker: An Interview.” Samuel Douhaire and Annick Rivoire.
Included in the companion booklet to the Criterion Collection edition of Marker’s La Jetée and Sans Soleil.
Shelia, I just glanced over at the bookshelf to see if I still have my copy of that. I always fall asleep during La Jetée and never make it to Sans Soleil. They show La Jetée enough times through art school it’s a nightcap of a short.
Erica, it makes me a little sad now that La Jetée is part of the art school/film school canon. That might be why it puts you to sleep. I think it might have been more fun when it was just this odd thing that the people you liked . . . liked.
Well said. I loved watching it the first time. The conversation we had about it in a second class was the thing that made me switch from a photography major to film/video. All the things I loved about photography prior to going to study it to death became fresh in the film/video departments. I had a Montreal filmmaker as a professor that loved showing it. After awhile, I just tuned out a teacher whenever they mentioned Chris Marker, Foucault, Roland Barthes’ Camera Lucida, etc…all in the same breath. I own La Jetée so I can remember what that was like. The falling asleep part is just my artistic temperament knowing I have to be at work in the morning.
Erica, just so you know: I was in Paris in March 1980, visiting my best friend, an emerging film scholar (who died oh too young). I returned to the US on March 26, the day the fatal laundry truck struck Roland Barthes. I probably have an alibi, just as I have an alibi for the JFK assassination.*
Also . . . aw, I was about to launch into something about academia and art (in response to “study it to death”), but in all my life I’ve only skirted the fringes of either, and I have to pack up my household gods/goods and clear them out in a couple of days, so I’ll pull my usual stunt and leave things hanging.
_____
*I was in Mr. Mahaney’s math class.
No worries, Shelia. Academia and art are a lethal combination for me. I love both, and I left art school without finishing my degree for a reason. You pack up and I’ll head to bed without watching La Jetée tonight.
I thought my ‘naked toilet paper’ they meant see-through toilet paper, which is a compelling idea, could possibly make for some interesting art.
I’m HERE! I just got here! Thoughts to follow!
Well, this is obviously the town of Where The Sun Don’t Shine, as evidenced by the opening logo and the strange skies. Hence, the woman outside walking is no doubt walking during what we’d consider to be “morning time” It says Est. 1996, is that when Cottonelle became a brand? Let me look it up. “Cottonelle is marketed as Andrex in the UK. Cottonelle was introduced in Canada shortly after its 1972 introduction in the United States.” Thanks Wikipedia, What the hell was established in 1996? Why, the city of Where The Sun Don’t Shine.
I was IMMEDIATELY reminded of Richard Brautigan’s fantastic “In Watermelon Sugar” where there are seven different colored suns that grow seven different colored watermelons, everyone lives at a place called iDEATH and the rooms are always changing, tigers can talk and want to kill everyone, it goes on and on.
Things visible in the house: An exercise machine, the grocery bag is from the “Where The Sun Don’t Shine Market”, fridge with cards/notes/drawings on it (denoting a child presence? grandchildren?) the woman’s purse is sitting on the counter, I believe she recently showed up, rushed in late and asked to use the bathroom.
No one has a wedding ring on in this scene. I reiterate, no one is married to anyone else in this scene.
I posit the following scenario: YOU ARE ALL WRONG. The good people of Where the Sun Don’t Shine, a planned community established in 1996, are all very close neighbors. This is a gathering of neighbors, perhaps invited over for dinner. Fatty here has already been standing around chowing down on pre-dinner bruschetta for some time while they wait for Old Old Old Tori Spelling to roll in. Clueless Gay Man is making dinner for his opinionated neighbours.
The puppy… the puppy is the key to something but I don’t know what yet. I think it’s a meta reference and not meant to be considered as actually present in the room. No one else has acknowledged or noticed it, and I think we would do well to follow suit.
This commercial is really good, and really quite creepy, a dark alternate view of an Americana we think we know.
You should get paid to do this kind of analysis.
Write your congressman, take to the streets.
Recasting Naked Toilet Paper:
Louie C.K. as Man Making Dinner
Sharon Horgan as Old Old Old Tori Spelling
Jeff Goldblum as Fatty
God, am I stupid?
Tim Heidecker is obviously a better choice for the Jeff Goldblum role.
The puppy is brand identity. It’s contractually in there. They made it run away in the first and only floor shot.
Amanda, if you ever make a toilet paper commercial–or anything involving a toilet–please cast me in it. Please. You know I’d be good.
Cindy, I’m filming a couple today, but you’ll have to bring your own toilet paper.
No problem–I wear it around my neck.
Then you’ve already read the script.
Well, it’s written on the toilet paper. What do you think I do all day?
Read toilet paper.
It occurred to me this morning that the entire scene likely takes place on a piece of toilet paper lint stuck on someone’s ass hair. You know, Horton Hears a Who style.
Can you hear me now?
Feel me. Touch me. Heal me.
What’s the most accepted way to spell a fart noise?
I just checked the AP Stylebook it says to spell a fart noise like this:
Maybe if we all scream at once.
Working title: Dingleberry World.
A world of laughter
A world of tears…
Dingleberry Shortcake. Dessert?
Late, this from an interview with Steve Jobs: