Happy Independence Day

I had far more fun than is good for me a few weeks ago posting about my explorations of vintage advertising, so in the spirit of overindulgence that seems to characterize most American holidays...I want...some more!!

In honor of the Fourth of July a few holiday-themed bits of ephemera might be in order, especially if they demonstrate that some of our faves from wayback were not immune to hawking a good time eating, drinking and posing in strange ways while endorsing a product's transformative powers on our humdrum lives.

Let's cut to the chase, kids--everyone outside of a few sober, sensible killjoys likes a brewski on a sweltering day. Here's one of the unlikeliest ladies to be seen swilling a cold, foamy one--especially a PBR. Hipsters in the aughts have laid claim to these plebeian suds--especially if those nimble free spirits have brain cells to spare and don't have to go to work in the morning. Their discovery of this budget brew has bestowed an unexpected extended life on this product. However, even in the 1940s and 1950s, it was hardly the sort of nectar I'd expect Joan Fontaine to allow past her aristocratic lips--but then, we never actually see her enjoying it in this image, do we? It's good enough for the riff raff around the pool, though. (First prize is my undying gratitude if you can identify that oxidizing, mayonnaise-laden yellow party food curdling in the sun).




Lovely Dorothy Lamour might actually be one of the more approachable screen goddesses who could be imagined enjoying a beer now and then--especially after a hard day keeping Hope and Crosby at arm's length and her sarong in place with sheer will power. Still, like a kajillion other stars of varying candle power in the Hollywood firmament in the '40s, Royal Crown Cola was one advertiser that could be counted on for a few spare shekels, keeping several comely kissers in clover and before an appreciative public "between pictures."

I suspect that Dorothy is keeping a spare six pack of RC in her skyscraper hairdo, which might account for that phrase "(royal) crowning glory"? I like Miss Lamour's half-closed eyes in this one. Gazing out at her unseen viewers, she seems to be giving us an alluring conspiratorial look that says, "Yeah, we all know that this is a joke, don't we?"



The '30s saw at least two things happen: A world going hungry and the rise of Shirley Temple. What better idea than present this adorable little kid before a groaning board of treats for such a time--blending those two essentials of good ad copy--envy and desire? In between lifting hearts, and tearing them out of fans in a series of alarmingly powerful 20th Century Fox films that endlessly recycled plots rendering Miss Temple an orphan of some sort, the girl only had time (and a hovering Mama keeping track of appointments) to appear in a select number of advertisements.

Shirley Temple's stardom was only comparable in size to that of King Kong, so I would imagine that some very big bucks were involved in picturing her next to Drifted Snow Flour products. I can't help wondering if the copywriters for this account might have crafted a more memorable ad if they had taken the liberty to borrow from that über-masterpiece of manipulation (and profoundly emotional and cathartic work) Heidi (1937). Think of it, dear readers, with Shirley pictured stumbling through Drifted Snow Flour looking for Grandfather on the streets of Vienna. I wonder if Jane Withers ever got these gigs?



While we're at it, wouldn't it be nice to have a good dog? Words fail me when faced with the priceless description of the divinely beefy William Bendix "on the air for MEAT"...



I'm not sure if director/Svengali Alfred Hitchcock had Tippi Hedren under contract at the time of this ad, but, isn't it comforting to know that the icily pretty star of The Birds (1963) and Marnie (1964) may have daintily enjoyed a good burger now and then--just like us peasants? Even Ms. Hedren couldn't quite look lady-like and mysterious while taking a bite of this repast, so, though Hitch myth has it that he picked Hedren out for stardom from a magazine advertisement, I kind of doubt it was this particular one--even if she is seen in a clinch in the inset. I wonder if that burger had onions?



If you're going to a cookout, don't forget to choose one of your most fetching frocks for the beach party. Dorothy Malone--in her calmer, brunette phase--before she became a success by going seriously blonde and losing her mind with lust in Douglas Sirk's Written on the Wind (1956) may have seen this modeling job as a way to show her hidden assets and those darling dimples.
I wonder if this outfit was seersucker?



Of course, if we're going to look presentable on the beach or near the pool, wouldn't a filling regimen of Ry-Krisp help us achieve that svelte summery glow like Billie Burke and her daughter, Patricia Ziegfeld? Then, perhaps, we too could don these brightly colored, crisp suits and be thought chic and slim...in an awfully formal way. Complementary mommy-daughter outfits really were the rage once upon a time, weren't they? Perhaps all the effort would be worth it if we too shared Miss Burke's sunny belief that "Age is something that doesn't matter, unless you are a cheese."



Of course, since restraint doesn't really enter into (my) American life often enough, after a week on the Ry-Krisp diet, I'd probably backslide once I was tempted by Fred MacMurray extolling the brand of beer with a name like a hiccup--Blatz--especially since he is promising that Milwaukee's finest quenches that thirst built up by arduous tasks like sitting in a boat waiting for fish to bite. What really troubles me about this ad is the look of the grocery store where Fred is making this beer purchase. Isn't there a hard-looking babe in sunglasses and a bad blonde wig just beyond the picture's frame? You know, Fred--that one who made you wonder how you could "have known that murder could sometimes smell like honeysuckle?"



Drive safely, dear readers and Have a Happy 4th!