A TV show called reality

Doctor deNiro hires a big-name Hollywood producer, Dustin Hoffman, to manufacture news that will divert the attention of the populace from the goings-on in the White House and to make the president a hero.

Based on deNiro’s brief, Hoffman produces a war, no less. The enemy is the all-purpose bogey of international terrorism. The warfront, picked out of a hat, is Albania. A video clip is created of a young girl fleeing for her life through a war-ravagedvillage. The whole thing is actually put together in an American studio using a model and stock shots of a devastated village.The video clip is planted onto the evening news. Stories that the president has sent in troops are then “leaked” to the media. Subsequent denials of the stories lend greater credence to them, and soon the mindspace of an entire nation is occupied by the romance and excitement of war in Albania. And the president’s ratings shoot up.

When the rival presidential candidate gets wind of what’s happening, he simply announces on TV that the war is over. “But, but, he can’t just do that,” Hoffman splutters. And in reply deNiro makes the telling statement: “If they’ve said it on TV, it’s true. The war is over.” But deNiro isn’t stumped. He “creates” a war hero called Schumacher, who is supposedly stuck behind enemy lines. He gets Hoffman’s music director to record a song about an “Old Shoe” which overnight becomes the anthem for the nationwide movement to bring “Old Schu” (asSchumacher is nick-named) safely home. Predictably, the imaginary Schumacher is brought back from Albania. The song becomes a superhit. And so does the president.

The film fascinated me because it seemed a horrifyingly accurate reflection of the truth. That the news, like everything else on the boob tube, is manufactured for mass appeal or, worse still, for mass manipulation may not be a new theory. But Wag the Dog certainly makes it more believable. And of course, the Albania reference is almost prophetic.

Which is why the nine o’clock news stopped me in any tracks and made me wonder. Is reality just another television programme? And if so, who is it sponsored by?

The other reason Wag the Dog struck me was that it reminded me so much of what we do in advertising. Got a not-so-popular brand? Come to us. We’ll think up an idea that will help make it more loveable. Create some stories. Get them out to the public through press ads. Or be even more creative and get your PR department to place thestories in the media – that way it sounds more authentic and you don’t have to pay for the space. Hire a producer to shoot a film. Get a top-notch music director to record an emotionally-charged track. Put it on television. And voila – the whole country is singing your time. And while they’re at it they also buy your product in droves.

Advertising isn’t a bad way to earn a living, as long as you believe it’s for a good cause. Like the spin doctor in Wag the Dog who believes (or would have you believe) that it’s all for the good of the country. The only small hitch is that as a creative guy, you have to accept the anonymity that comes with the job. Because the ads you create usually glamourise someone or something else, rarely you.

Otherwise, you might end up like producer Hoffman in the film, who is tired of not getting credit for his work. When he insists on publicly claiming his authorship of the whole affair, he myseriously ends up dead from a massive heart attack by the poolside of his BeverlyHills home.

(Sumanto Chattopadhyay is a associate creative director, Ogilvvy & Mather Advertising. His opinions, however, are not necessarily shared by his employers.)