William Drenttel, "Review of Where the Suckers Moon: An Advertising Story by Randall Rothenberg." I.D., 42:2 (March/April 1995) 88.


As reported by Randall Rothenberg, the development and marketing of consumer products in America is not a pretty business. His story of a single advertising account reads at times like a thriller, as it details the search by Subaru of America for the right agency, the race by six rival firms to land one of advertising's ultimate prizes (a car account) and the winning agency's efforts to create a $75 million national campaign.

Granted insider status by all parties, Rothenberg, a former New York Times business reporter, draws vivid portraits of the bureaucrats, rainmakers, New Age ad men and other cultural villains and visionaries who populate this dysfunctional world. In explaining how advertising really gets made, he gets close to describing what product and communications designers see all the time, but with one key difference: the drama of this tale is rooted in the impact of advertising and the way it has eclipsed design as a powerful tool of commerce. The Subaru engineers who design the actual cars remain largely unseen.

The book documents Subaru's quest, resulting in the unlikely selection, in 1991, of Wieden & Kennedy--the innovative Portland, Oregon, agency of Nike fame--then traces the evolution of its ad campaign, taking the reader inside client presentations and agency brainstorming meetings.

In true dramatic style, the narrative ends with hubris all round. By 1992, the advertising had been judged a failure and almost everyone had lost their jobs: Wieden & Kennedy (who were more concerned about the soul of its own advertising than of the product they were promoting) and the managers at Subaru, whose marketing programs were less focused on product communication than on placating local dealers.

Certain scenes sound truly farcical. Wieden & Kennedy hired Tibor Kalman to direct its first commercials for Subaru, but the mismatched collaboration led to a disatrous film shoot at an enormous Subaru plant in Indiana, reminiscent of Hollywood's Heaven's Gate. Later, they hired designers Pittman-Hensley to produce film titles for the commercials--used, primarily, to cover-up (albeit stylishly) the inadequate film footage. Ironically, the titles were probably the most influential aspect of the advertising, foreshadowing the aggressive typography that has emblazoned almost every bank and phone company commercial in recent years.

The rivalries in Rothenberg's saga raise other important issues. Probing corporate histories of Subaru and Fuji Heavy Industries (the Japanese parent company) provides interesting background reading in the context of the U.S. economy's dominance by foreign manufacturers in many markets. And he weaves in a compelling social history of modern advertising--especially of Jewish and Italian roots working their way onto a WASPish Madison Avenue--highly relevant given advertising's role in defining cultural and ethnic identity.

As a West Coast agency taking on East Coast institutions, and as a leading exponent of Postmodern "anti-advertising," Wieden & Kennedy enjoys its own regional and generational rivalries. Since the Rolling Stone "Percepion/Reality" campaign of the 1980s, many New Age agencies have explored advertising that reveals itself as a commercial message and attacks consumerism, while purporting to sell products.

Weiden & Kennedy is an outstanding agency trapped in this dangerous territory. Yes, its advertising failed, but the larger failure was that it spent over $100 million during its Subaru tenure and was still incapable of affecting the quality of the product or the commercial culture of selling cars in America. In this battle between perception and reality, the biggest loser was the consumer.

Back to top