Late last year, Ofcom, the United Kingdom’s telecommunications regulatory body, announced something surprising: beginning on February 28, 2011, paid product placement would be permitted on television in the UK.

It may be difficult for those of us familiar with the commercially-mandated American system to imagine broadcasting without product placement.  After all, even early radio featured content sponsored by advertisers, and we’ve since gotten used to seeing the American Idol judges sipping (something) out of their giant Coca-Cola glasses and seeing Jack Bauer drive around in a Ford.  My students love to talk about product placement–in part, I think, because it’s so ubiquitous.  But for the UK, having only recently (compared to the US) allowed commercial broadcasting of any kind, the move toward paid product integrations on television was big news.

Beyond the newsworthiness of the event, however, the restrictions Ofcom developed to govern paid placements provides a fascinating glimpse at the practice itself.  These restrictions include dictating what types of products can be placed, what types of programming are permitted to use product placement, and limits on the way products are used in programming.  Here, I look at one restriction in particular: regulation regarding how products may be presented.   This section of the official guidance notes reveals important issues regarding the logics of product placement, as well as its perceived ills–the UK has made explicit many of the concerns and practices Americans have been implicitly wrestling with for years.

It’s in the “How Product Placements Are Presented” section of the regulations that Ofcom addresses the issue of “egregious” placement.  The guidelines dictate that there must be “editorial justification” for the product placement, which, according to Ofcom, means that “the product must be relevant to what the programme is about. The content of programmes shouldn’t seem to be created or distorted, just to feature the placed products.”  Moreover, the release explains, “Programmes also can’t promote placed products or give them too much prominence. So there shouldn’t be any claims made about how good a placed product is, or so many references to a product that it feels like it is being promoted.”

The fact that Ofcom attempts to mandate the way in which product placement is handled within programming creatively reveals a predominant concern (in the UK and the US) regarding the practice: that advertisements corrupt storytelling.  That writing around advertisements in some way diminishes the creative integrity of television programming.  Indeed, this concern functions as the core of this very column–“egregious” product placement suggests that the ads stand out at the expense of the story being told, that the ads interrupt the writers’ work and the audience’s experience.

(Perhaps it’s too much to hope that some Ofcom executive has been reading my posts and was so turned off by the clunky Toyota placements in Bones that they felt explicit regulation was needed?)

UK broadcasters are, indeed, so tentative about integrating products that the Nescafe placement (for which the company paid £100,000!) was so unobtrusive as to be entirely missed.  The video below shows the segment in question–can you spot the placement?

In the American context, this placement seems almost ludicrous.  One wonders why a company would pay for such a plug, when the machine is barely visible in the background, let alone mentioned by name or used in a productive manner as has become common.  Obviously the notoreity of being “first” was enough to justify this particular instance, but if future placements are expected to be similarly unobtrusive, the utility of the practice has to be questioned.

The UK regulations and the “egregious” instances of product placement in the US, however, set up a false dichotomy, a sense that product placement is an all or nothing prospect.  Either you hide the product in the background of the scene (leaving advertisers unwilling to invest much for the ad) or you draw so much attention to the product that you distract viewers from the stories being told.  Despite the title of my column, and the instances I’ve highlighted here on Antenna, it is my firm belief that product placement does not have to exist on these poles.  Rather, the great majority of placements exist in a happy medium, where advertisers are satisfied that their product has gotten sufficient attention but creative personnel don’t feel like they’ve been used and abused and audiences don’t feel like their programming has been unduly interrupted for an advertisement.

Indeed, I would argue that product placement really must occupy the middle ground in order to succeed.  On either extreme of the spectrum, someone is left dissatisfied–advertisers, storytellers, audiences–to a degree which invalidates the profitability and success of both the ad and the programming.

Although it’s easy to see Ofcom’s strict regulations regarding the nature of product placements as a defensive response to the saturation of the American television landscape with these ads, perhaps regulators, content producers, advertisers and audiences alike need to step back and reevaluate where product placements are taking us (economically and creatively), and whether it’s someplace we want to go.

And now The Closer has taken Brenda’s love of candy and marshaled it into an opportunity for product placement by partnering with Hershey’s this season.  In the world of product placement, this is, as @mplsmaven notes, a “no brainer.”  The product being integrated is a natural fit for the character–if Brenda’s going to be eating a candy bar, the show might as well get paid for her to eat a Hershey’s bar.  It’s the holy grail of product integration: getting paid to advertise something your character would naturally use.

But the Closer-Hershey’s partnership extends beyond the fictionalized Los Angeles Brenda inhabits and continues into the commercial breaks, and it’s not the product placement but the relationship between product placement and advertisement that I find so intriguing.  You see, after Brenda has a snack of a KitKat bar (or a Reese’s cup, or whatever–every episode is different), the next commercial break starts off with a type of bridge advertisement–an ad which is neither the series nor a standalone commercial–that promotes the precise candy just featured in the series.

These bridge ads open with a couple (always the same couple) sitting on a couch, watching a TV that has obviously gone to a commercial break during The Closer–we’re meant to understand that they’re watching the same show we are.  And then they have some exchange which relates the content of The Closer to a Hershey’s product.  In one episode, the young woman asks her partner for a piece of his KitKat bar.  When he refuses, she affects the Southern(ish) accent of Deputy Johnson and attempts to use Brenda’s skills for confession against the boyfriend in order to acquire the candy.  The ploy works, they’re both happy and laughing and joyful in their admiration for both The Closer and KitKat.

Like all product integration, this partnership is designed to link product and content in way that seems organic to the series and feels natural for audiences.  “Sure,” we’re meant to think.  “Of course Chief Johnson wants a Hershey’s bar!”  The bridge ads featuring prototypic viewers suggests that real viewers should be tickled by the integrated ads, not annoyed.  And, indeed…aren’t they in the mood for a Reese’s Cup themselves?  The result seems to be a mix of eyerolling irritation and a serious craving for chocolate.

After all, it’s an 18-second commercial advertising product placement.  (“Making their onscreen debut on May 27th in Sex & the City 2!”)  It’s a thing of brilliance!  HP was maximizing its exposure within a film franchise already very well known for its product placement.

But although my first thought was, “This will make a great Egregious Product Placement post for Antenna!” my mind quickly turned to confusion: “Wait a minute…Carrie Bradshaw’s a Mac, not a PC.”  After all, Carrie’s loyalty to her Macs has been made explicit throughout both the series run and the first film, and even functioned as a central plot point for season 4 episode, “My Motherboard, Myself.”  The PowerBook G3 is,  in fact, so firmly associated with the character that the partnership is listed in the notebook’s Wikipedia entry.

It turns out, I’m not the only one who’s been mulling this over.  Mashable notes that the switch seems particularly offensive given the near character status of Carrie’s Mac, sentiments echoed in this piece on Popeater.

The big computer switcheroo highlights some of the fundamental tensions inherent in product placement: including promotions without angering fans or disrupting the narrative while still highlighting products enough that audiences notice them.  It’s a difficult balance to manage, and in this case, it seems like HP might have forsaken the former in favor of the latter.  There’s no question that this partnership is anything but seamless or organic–the buzz alone reveals that.  The mere existence of this product within the story world–NOT, importantly, the actual treatment of such within the film–has become the news item.  The presence of HP computers in Sex & the City 2 has made the brand part of the story surrounding the film, not just a prop within the narrative.

So there are two issues here.  First, the issue of whether or not producers, in their efforts to recruit sponsors, are selling out in terms of narrative consistency in a way that both corrupts the story itself and also angers fans.  This leads to the second: the question of whether or not this fan backlash is a problem for the advertisers themselves.  Yes, it’s true that fans seem displeased with the switch–viewing it as a sellout of the highest order–and yet, there’s also a kind of genius to the tactic.  The additional exposure granted to HP from the fallout may, in many ways, be more beneficial in terms of exposure than any other promotional tool they might have used to promote their new line.  After all, when was the last time you heard this much buzz about HP?

But New York Magazine might be on to something with their quip that desire for sponsorship might cause the SATC women to swap their cosmos for Bud Lights.  Or maybe their Manolos for Payless?  If Carrie switches from Mac to PC, is nothing sacred?

Daisy (looking around interior of car): Why do you drive a minivan? Do you have kids that we don’t know about?
Angela: I’m an artist, Daisy, and the Sienna has plenty of room, plus I stink at parallel parking and that back-up camera thing is like the invention of the century.
Daisy nods.

…and they return to plot-related discussion.

This post could be about the seeming ubiquity of scripted product placement lately–even though that’s nothing new.  Early radio, after all, had to script their sponsor plugs (audiences couldn’t see them using Vaseline, they had to talk about it).  And shows like Alias and 24 have long irritated fans with their lingering, loving shots of Fords driven by superspies and superagents.  Televisionary has this 2006 post about when product placement goes too far, citing the presence of scripted product integration within dramas and comedies as particularly bothersome (as opposed to such integration within unscripted programming).  Jace even critiques Alias outright–in particular, an episode when the characters discuss that the “quietness” of the electric Ford Hybrid is useful for their mission.

But this post isn’t about scripted product placement, despite its prevalance and increasing audacity.  No, this post is actually about a particular moment–the one roughly scripted above.  It’s certainly the kind of thing that might irritate viewers by taking them out of the narrative through an awkward, somewhat stilted conversation related to the vehicle being driven.  But, as an audience member myself, after my initial annoyance and eye-rolling, I realized that, in fact, this particular instance of product placement was actually pretty brilliant, and a definite coup on the part of Toyota.

You see, this isn’t just placement touting the general benefits/awesomeness of the product.  No, this particular moment not only “works” (more or less) within the context of the series (Angela is, in fact, an artist and not a soccer mom)–it works within the context of Toyota’s current ad campaign for the Sienna.  The campaign focuses on redeeming the minivan and making it cool.  The key spot for the campaign, known as the “Swagger Wagon” ad, is below.  (See the entire campaign here.)

This ad, and the rest of the campaign, focus on touting the Sienna as a family vehicle, yes–but more than that, it’s depicted as much cooler and more deisrable than the stereotypical minivan, long believed to be the preferred car of “lame” soccer moms and dads.  The recurring punchline of “Daddy like” and “Mommy like” and, of course, the goofy “Swagger Wagon” concept underscore the reimagining of the minivan.

And this is why the Bones moment is so fantastic.  The Sienna appears, yes.  It is even mentioned within the script.  But even better, the treatment of the product placement underscores the larger campaign–the van is depicted as belonging to Angela, the most hip, least nerdy, childless character on the series, and she’s able to explain why she loves the van despite its “mom” reputation.

Regardless of whether Toyota arranged for this particular treatment of the Sienna within the script, or if they simply lucked out because the Bones writers decided to give the van to the character least likely (or maybe not, if we believe the campaign) to own a van, this particular moment of product placement takes scripted integration from irritating to genius.  (For the sponsor, if not for fans.)

Since the early days of radio, broadcasters and writers have asserted that product placement is best suited to unscripted programming (think game shows, talk shows, and now reality TV). The belief is that overt integration of promotions disrupts the narrative flow of scripted programs, when audiences are asked to suspend disbelief for awhile to dwell in an imagined environment. And so we are now more likely to see Survivor cast members competing to win Doritos and Mountain Dew than we are to see the cast of Law & Order interviewing suspects while sipping Diet Coke. Mind you, scripted series have their fair share of product placement (think of Jack Bauer driving a Ford…or Hyundai, this season), but the approach tends to be more subtle than in reality programming. Biggest Loser provides perhaps the most overt product placement I’ve ever seen (and I’ve seen a lot). Here are just a few examples from the first four episodes of season 9.

The most recent episode saw trainer Bob take the competitors to Subway for a treat! Because you can get lean protein and complex carbohydrates in Subway subs! And all the veggies you want! They’re the perfect pre-workout snack!

Celebrity chef Curtis Stone taught the contestants how to cook a healthy meal, one which integrated Muir Glen organic canned tomatoes. One participant was so enamored of the product, she enthused, “I’m going to put these tomatoes in everything now!”…and then giggled awkwardly.

In each episode, trainers Bob and Jillian give the competitors “Trainer Tips” on how to live healthier. Tips have included: chew Extra sugar free gum when you want a treat! When you buy all that great produce, don’t let it spoil–put it in Ziploc bags! Everyone needs to drink water when they work out, and it’s so easy to do when you have Brita water bottles with a water filter built right in!

There are many (many!) more, and they all include my very favorite element: the awkward interviews with the contestants, who rave and gush over the product and how great it is. (Think: “Boy, this Extra gum really is pretty tasty!” and the aforementioned Muir Glen enthusiastic giggle.) It’s not that I don’t think the contestants are being sincere, it’s just that they’re not actors–they’re there to lose weight and get healthy. Once put on the spot to work as shills for promotional purposes, they are no longer their ordinary, likeable selves–they become wooden and artificial in a way that offers an extreme disconnect from the personalities on display throughout the rest of the series.

I realize that all of the above makes me sound awfully cynical about these promotional moments, but I don’t mean to be. The truth is that The Biggest Loser just presents an extreme and amusing example of product placement on contemporary network TV. Extreme because there’s simply so much of it–American Idol‘s placement of Ford and Coke has nothing on this. Amusing because it’s done so artificially–though clearly meant to seem natural, the execution is too fake-y and eye-roll-inducing to come across as entirely organic or sincere. Ultimately, although shows like Idol and Survivor get a lot of press for their product placement, to my mind, there is no greater practitioner of these strategies than The Biggest Loser.