What's your net worth?

Here’s my response to a recent Artist in Residence callout by POCC on the subject of “Self Equity”. POCC is a creative network that supports UK artists of African, Caribbean and Asian descent, partnering with companies including Clear Channel and Shutterstock to run nationwide campaigns. Last year, my poem about aging was featured on billboards across the UK.

Brief
Equity belongs to every single one of us. When we invest in ourselves on a personal level, we learn, grow and create value and energy. So it’s important to unapologetically take care of our own needs and not sacrifice our wellbeing to please others. So for this brief, we want you to shout about how you show yourself gratitude through self-love and self-equity

My approach
I once read that art is advertising for what we really need. So for this self-equity callout, my first thought was to mimic a billboard ad. We’re obsessed with wealth in society, particularly the Gold Rush of the digital economy that only delivers real ROI for those at the top. The rest of us are merely data points. I thought it would be fun to reframe “net worth” as self-worth. To suggest how you can accumulate that throughout your life. Fight for it. I let the rhythm of a good day dictate the flow and this is what came out.

The work (extended version)

Wander.

Wonder at those what-ifs.

Get lost in the moment/music.

Make new friends.

Have awkward conversations.

Defy expectations.

Disagree … with respect.

Self-care can be caring…

Less about who’s right.

And more about what’s right for you.

Take a “risk”.

Start Project “One Day” today.

Dare to make it beautiful.

To put a shard of your soul in there.

And keep flirting with failure.

Find the freedom in it.

Forgive and forget mistakes.

It’s what comes after that counts.

Experience beats ignorance.

Learn any way you can.

Pass it on.

Run a bath.

And breeeathe.

You. The best investment you’ll make.

When car ads became movies

When it comes to automotive advertising, or branded film in general, BMW series The Hire is without equal. The concept was tight – sending mysterious Driver (Clive Owen) on a series of tense missions – but each in-demand director had the budget and freedom to impress their visual style and sensibility. From Wong Kar Wai’s wistful romanticism in The Follow to Tony Scott’s high-octane action and trippy flash cuts in Beat the Devil. Each story revealed a different nuance to Owen’s character.

Series one of these ‘webisodes’ was released on bmwfilms.com in 2001 – targeted at a core audience that was used to researching their next model online. A smaller second season followed the next year, wooing film critics at Cannes. A DVD collection was also produced for owners to order, and to promote the vehicles at dealerships.

BMW flipped the traditional approach by spending 90% of the budget on production and 10% on paid media. The Wire was advertised through a mix of direct marketing, in magazines, using TV trailers (just like the movies) and OOH (Out of Home) as well as on a DirecTV channel.

But with no social media or YouTube to help build or sustain hype. And yet, according to BMW Blog, the films were viewed 11 million times in four months, and sales went up by 17% between 2000 and 2002. When BMW Films hit the brakes, these films had clocked up more than 100 million views. Fourteen years later, Clive Owen would reprise his role in a short co-written and directed by Neill Blomkamp (District 9, Elysium) who was in awe of the series as a film student.

Beyond notable names and numbers, these films made a huge impression because they packed so much story into a handful of minutes using a wide palette of emotions. How quickly they build tension by withholding information, and yet the characters manage to establish themselves through short lines and gestures.

I used to work as a content editor on the Lexus account in London. We would often hear the phrase “the car is the star”. Not so in The Hire. The stars (and directors) are the stars and the cars are in service of each film.

In the context of branded content, I would argue this was the first time that viewers had experienced the concentrated power of cinematic storytelling from their computers (albeit in mpeg4 instead of 4k). Look at the dramatic and suspenseful storylines involving a mysterious child monk, a strange briefcase, a deal with the devil, molecular genetics gone rogue… These shorts went way beyond product placement.

What better way to convey the joy of owning a BMW than to show the “Ultimate Driving Machine” pushed to its limits on dangerous missions? A series of fantasy scenarios that the target audience could lose themselves in. The Hire was entertainment first, message second. It shifted the mindset of marketers and showed what’s possible if you’re brave, bold and have the budget. And in a full-circle moment, Owen’s brooding Driver even inspired a feature film character, Transporter.

BMW’s films were also a decent dress rehearsal for a certain British spy but, despite lots of speculation, Owen missed out on the iconic role. He’s not bitter though, saying that “Bond was the best thing that never happened to me.” That’s because within a few years of playing Driver for some of the biggest directors on the planet, he was starring in big-budget King Arthur, working with Spike Lee (Inside Man), Robert Altman (Gosford Park) and Alfonso Cuarón (Children of Men). He’s good.

Watch all the films here, upscaled to 4k by superfan YouTuber SuperWind.

And here’s a useful case study from a marketing perspective.

Grinning and bearing it?

Warning: sensitive topic below but we need to talk about it.

The Last Photo, the latest project from Campaign Against Living Miserably (CALM), hits you right between the eyes. How out of the blue suicide can feel to the loved ones of the deceased, someone they may have been laughing or joking with only the day before.

Just look at these phone clips, the sort of videos we watch, make and share every day. But what's happening behind closed doors, when they are alone with their thoughts?

I think many of us carry some form of sorrow, and whether we feel able to share it depends on the strength of our support network and the extent of our desperation. Or as Harry says of his father Will, "My Dad didn’t want to die, he just didn’t want to experience the pain he felt any longer. He couldn’t see an alternative."

Everyone's baseline of mental health is different, influenced by contributory factors developed over the years. With the quickening pace of life, digital culture perpetuating the illusion of connection/contact, and the mounting strain of the past few years, it's all too easy for a person to feel adrift or alone in their suffering.

Just scroll down the comments to this campaign video. There are a lot of people out there battling depression, grieving, barely hanging in there. They might choose not to show it or not know who to speak to about it.

According to the charity, 125 people take their life each week in the UK – 70% of them are men. A YouGov survey in June revealed that 61 per cent would struggle to tell someone if they felt suicidal, while more than half (51 per cent) said they didn’t feel confident helping someone who is at risk.

Only 24 per cent of people think that someone experiencing suicidal thoughts would also smile and joke, while just 22 per cent of those polled would share happy photos on social media. Credit to CALM for working to raise awareness of the warning signs, if any, and encouraging everyone to have more open conversations about this crucial topic.

Thanks to the families as well for their generosity and compassion in sharing these stories. It's worth reading some of the short tributes.

For more information on the campaign (which included a photo display by South Bank, digital ads and billboards), head over here.

An awkward affair

Amid all the awkward, evasive and stilted exchanges between Nick (Joe Alywn) and Frances (Alison Oiver) in the recent TV adaptation of Conversations with Friends, this banter was like a life preserver thrown out to us. Imagine if they’d adopted this tone all the way through…

It’s not a criticism of the acting but I remember these characters being more interesting in the book. Ennui plays better on the page, as does awkwardness, and we ask less of the dialogue there. Their interiority is richer. Even the more languorous moments can be telling, in a subtle and nuanced manner, if we let our imagination engage.

Writing for the Evening Standard, Phoebe Luckhurst pinpoints what’s lost in adaptation: “Frances is a passive, malleable drip of a girl … at times so passive, such a spectator, she almost disappears off the screen — and Nick is a charisma vacuum. In the book, this is the point: fiction’s best characters are the introspective introverts, the watchful observers who dissect reality for us. But on screen, it means Frances and Nick are constantly outshone, upstaged — to the extent that scenes with just the pair of them can drag.”

The line that really spoke to me when I read Sally Rooney’s novel is this closing thought from the author as narrator: “You live through certain things before you understand them. You can’t always take the analytical position.” It cuts to the core of Frances and how she is so desperate to feel sure of herself, to assert herself as a writer, an adult, a woman.

Capitalism, class and power play into these concerns and the book does a better job of exploring them in the context of her relationship with Nick. How he loans Frances money when dad’s allowance stops. And when she asks Nick to hit her, almost as punishment, after a one-night stand with a guy on a dating app.

Frances has her struggles with mental health, low self-esteem, is quick to self-harm and is diagnosed with endometriosis. She’s going through a lot. But when it comes to Nick, it’s hard to sympathise too much with someone who wants someone else’s husband all to herself and uses her best friend to make him jealous. Here, Alison Oliver does a good job of wringing maximum solipsism out of Frances.

It took a while to empathise with Nick’s struggles, let alone care about them. Anyone can feel worthless or rudderless at some point in their lives, even handsome people. But this revelation felt more out of character than in the book. Lots of people think Alwyn portrayed him perfectly. Maybe he did and I’m asking too much of a depiction on screen. Both are men of few words, I’ll give them that.

nick is dull, emotionless, awkward, and depressed. that’s what he’s supposed to be. joe alwyn portrayed him perfectly https://t.co/QEBnIeG8dU

— abdullah (@abdullahosmn) May 15, 2022

“jOe alWyN is bOriNg aS niCk” DID YOU EVEN READ THE BOOK? Nick has the personality of unseasoned tofu

— laura🏹🪩 swifthaim nation (@taymyepiphany) May 16, 2022

TV Nick does give us some LOL moments though, as if he’s dialing up the “dull” and “emotionless” parts. The way he acknowledges Frances’ suggestion that they talk about their forbidden tryst by grunting “yeah” – I had to run that back 😂 The Terminator had more chat and personality. PS, what’s up with that accent?

When his wife Melissa (Jemima Kirke) has a heart-to-heart/showdown with Frances, her description of him as “pathologically passive” was such an acerbic but appropriate put-down. Kirke delivered it with just the right blend of exasperation, frustration and disdain.

In the book, however, Melissa writes a carefully constructed email to Frances and uses the description “pathologically submissive” – a curious amendment. You might say the two are analogous but for me, one is more extreme than the other. And that does shift their intimacy into a slightly different territory.

Frances tells Nick he is such as appealing “love object” because he is so “curiously passive”, which is not the impression we get in the show. She elaborates: “I knew I would have to be the one to kiss you. And that you would never kiss me, which made me feel vulnerable. But I also felt this terrible power, like, you’re going to let me kiss you, what else will you let me do? It was sort of intoxicating. I couldn’t decide if I had complete control over you or no control at all.'“ I suppose this aspect of their affair, and what they mean to each other in it, is open to interpretation and could have been explored further.

One comment piece argued that the show has merit because it offers a more nuanced portrayal of infidelity on screen, one that’s rooted in unresolved feelings, a desperate need for validation and to be desired, and not the caricature of promiscuity, revenge or pure selfishness we’re used to.

Polyamory is a big talking point at the moment. A challenge to the tradition of monogamy as our best chance of a happy relationship. The “epitome”, as Rooney has described it. In that context, the show is interesting.

When they kiss, you can feel how much Frances and Nick need one another. It’s effusive, overwhelming, liberating, as if their souls are ignited and their bodies must follow. And nothing else matters. Their anxious minds can switch off. Otherwise, their dynamic is flat on TV. And the self-absorption is fatiguing, as her best friend and former girlfriend Bobbi (Sasha Lane) tells Frances.

What did you think of it? How did it compare to the book?

Conversations with Friends is on BBC One and streamable on BBC iPlayer.