What's a concept?

On September 3, I left this comment on The Denver Egotist about the definition of the word "concept."

I think the problem is the floating definition of the word "concept." In ad school, they teach you one definition, which revolves around the idea that the consumer must bring a bit of himself to the work in order to understand it. But I've heard people use the word concept as a synonym for "theme." And as a synonym for "cool to look at..." [T]he word concept is like the word edgy - so overused it borders on meaningless.

I can't remember who first explained the word concept to me. It was probably one of my teachers at The Creative Circus. But I've always found the following explanation interesting.

Consider the three arcs to the right. In each, the "A" represents the product and the "B" represents the ad.

In the top arc, the product and the ad are right up next to each other. There's no room for the consumer to have fun with the ad, to feel a connection to it. The headline is probably something like, "Today, you can buy this chair for $99." And the visual is probably a chair. This is not a concept.

In the middle arc, the product and the ad are nowhere near each other. Nobody could make sense of this ad. The headline probably says, "Attila the Hun loves you." And the visual is probably a boat, upon which sits a hippo. This is not a concept.

But the final arc is. The product and the ad aren't smothering each other, but they're close enough to make the consumer feel the shock of recognition and a bond with the brand that transcends any short-term product offering.

Of course even that labored and lengthy definition can't possibly explain something as good as this:

The idea still rules

From Sally Hogshead via The Denver Egostist:

We're entering a new renaissance, one with more creative opportunities than ever before, a time when "idea" is no longer synonymous with a 30-second TV spot. Yet in our rush to conquer new media, true insights are often becoming an afterthought. Especially among clients. We're at risk of going to an opposite extreme, throwing out the baby with the 30-second bathwater. As we're exploring various mobile-platform-this and Facebook-application-that, there's only a fraction of time and energy left over to spend on a little thing I'll nostalgically call "the concept."

Sounds about right to me.

The National: What genius sounds like

There are many creative ads. But even the best present you with Z's that you can easily trace back to A's. Most music is the same way. Great song after great song has been built with familiar chords and proven progressions.

And then there's this.



Boxer is the latest the new album from The National. I haven't any clue how they discovered their Z's. I can't imagine at which A they started. But I know the album elevates our aging - our "uninnocent, elegant fall into the unmagificent lives of adults" - into something tragic and epic.

Final Destination and the importance of insight

There are only two scary movies. The simplest is called Bad Things Happen Off the Beaten Path. It goes like this:

• Act One: Sin - People choose to stray from the beaten path.
• Act Two: Penance - People are punished for straying from the beaten path.
• Act Three: Redemption - The survivors run back to the beaten path.

During the first act of a movie like this, you find yourself screaming at the screen quite a bit. "Don't create super-smart sharks, you fools!" Or, "Don't sneak into the woods to have sex, you morons!" Or, "Don't go searching for a local legend named Dr. Satan, you dumbasses! Because he's not a legend. He's real. And you'll find him. And things aren't likely to get any better from there."

This first type of movie is a lesson written in blood, encouraging teenagers to follow the established norms of polite society.

The second type of horror movie is trickier, and perhaps impossible, to pull off. It's called Sometimes Bad Things Just Happen.

• Act One: Fate Appears - A mysterious force comes to town.
• Act Two: Fate Decides - The force randomly chooses a victim.
• Act Three: The Fight Against Fate - The victim battles back.

This second type of movie is a way for humans to try to understand the cancers and the car accidents and the horrible accidents that destroy and take lives. It is an explanation of the awfulness of fate.

Over and over, horror movies have tried and failed to mythologize around the randomness of life. Michael Myers was visited upon Laurie Strode for no particular reason, until the makers of the sequel concocted a relationship. Jaws picked Amity randomly, but the town fathers sinned when they decided to keep the tourist beaches open. Sidney Prescott was forced to atone not for her sins, but her mother's. The victims in countless zombie movies will never learn that the zombies were inadvertently created by, say, our own government.

So close, yet still so far away.

In a life of watching scary movies, I have only seen one film that ever really challenged either of these two essential structures. Final Destination. In it, a premonition helps teens escape a fatal accident. Several of the survivors die mysteriously, and the rest realize that by evading death, they have interrupted its grand design. They search for a way to escape their fates as death circles back to complete its plan.

Final Destination squeezes the villain of the latter type of movie into the structure of the former. And in doing so, it captures the very essence of human existence. We come into this world randomly, unable to choose either our parents or our station. And we are faced with only one real possible outcome. Nevertheless, we give great weight to our own choices, imagining that perhaps we'll find some way to rewrite the script of human existence.

It is unlikely that Final Destination was supposed to be a message move. But it is. I've watched it and its sequels a dozen times, always admiring the perfection of their concept, if not their execution. They lack the energy of The Descent and often waver between Black Christmas 1974-style tension and Black Christmas 2006-style gore.

But they have something more important. Insight. And that's why I can't get them out of my head.