Beer me, Tuna.

I can't find the original. Only this spoof replacing the sound of a bottle opening with person peeing in the bottle. Classy, huh?

In only 30 seconds, you can view paradise. A lounging figure balances the opening scene with a two companions: the ocean and an empty Corona bottle. (Empty—isn’t that a party foul?) The commercial’s composition features an idyllic tropical environment with azure waters of the Caribbean, white sandy beaches, and shady palm trees. As the camera captures a medium, close-up shot of the empty beer bottle on the right side of the frame, the left portion of the frame reveals the back of an individual facing the ocean waves—the soothing watery song accompanies the scene. Not Enya, but the pure sound of nature without screaming city tires or the shrill wail of a sleepy child who thinks it’s too early for her bedtime. This must be paradise.

The composition of the commercial represents a sense of luxury and seclusion—a lifestyle that is, for the average individual, not easily attainable. In a sense, this commercial clearly intends to “sell” its audience a lavish lifestyle through the experience of drinking a cold Corona. The composition of the commercial is a single, ongoing shot which opens to the figure of an individual whose back faces the audience. From the viewer’s vantage point, one cannot tell if the featured individual is either male or female. The aspect of ambiguity suggests that this figure could be replaced with anyone who wishes to enjoy a Corona on the beach. While this commercial could take place in someone’s backyard, sitting peacefully in a lawn chair, the location of tropical “paradise” sells the idea that drinking Corona is anyone’s paradise.

Let us not forget that the space in the frame is also occupied explicitly by an empty Corona bottle. The placement of the bottle within arm reach from the individual sitting comfortably in the chair is supposed to indicate accessible luxury. The bottle’s emptiness is also an objective correlative to the viewer’s sense of longing or anxiety for it to be full. This implicit (yet intended) effect demonstrates what the advertiser wants the audience to feel: longing. Longing, as a form of desire, speaks to a sense of entitlement for the product consumer. “If my beer is only an arm’s length away, shouldn’t I go ahead and reach for it?” When Xeno sings, “I want you to want me,” this could be the very voice of the Corona bottle if it could sing—not Enya, but Cheap Trick.

As if to speak directly to this moment directed to the theme of “longing,” a hand (belonging to another unidentified individual) reaches into the frame to take away the empty bottle. The audience sees only this alteration to the frame, and in this moment we are introduced to another sound: the “cracking” of a beer bottle. This sound is explicit and intentional, as the commercial now appeals to the sense of sight, sound, and now taste. Beer drinkers know to associate the sound of a fresh “crack” to previous experiences of the first taste of a crisp beer. The advertiser expects the audience of beer drinkers to connect that sound to taste and, in a sense, also cue the salivating taste buds.

The sound of a fresh beer is followed immediately by a display of a full bottle of beer, as it is placed upon the table in the exact location of the previous (and empty) bottle. The sitting figure’s hand reaches for the bottle, presumably takes a sip (one cannot see the mouth of this person from the angle in which the scene is being shot), and sets the bottle back upon the table. This movement is a figurative “quench” to the audience’s thirst and provides an implicit sense of satisfaction or closure. After all, isn’t it a relief to crack open a cold beer when you’ve just realized you’re finished with the one you were drinking? Let’s keep relaxing—and therefore, let’s keep on drinking! Another interesting aspect of this mysterious (yet oh so wonderful) “helping hand” lies within its ability to serve. Because the seated figure does not move to serve him or her-self a new beer, this lack of movement signifies a tactic to sell luxury: serve the self bybeing served.

Beyond this commercial’s elements of theme (paradise) and stylization (mise-en-scène), the viewer must take into consideration the overall product: alcohol. The advertiser explicitly links the perfect picture of paradise to the effects of alcohol. This implicitly suggests that the anesthetic effects of alcohol are a desired outcome. Once again, the advertiser incorporates the sentiment of desire—a desire to drink Corona—in order to reproduce paradise, a place where one does not even have to think. Is buying Corona, then, a thoughtless process? Should we not consider the price of an imported beer when we can achieve the same anesthetic affect from domestic brands? Nope. Just hand over the cash.

The entirety of this advertisement sells an ideal paradise, which is communicated through the paring of product and sentiment: Corona is luxury. The paradoxical aspect of this commercial is that beer is highly accessible in American culture, and the Caribbean getaway is not. Beer is typically a “blue-collar” beverage of choice, and the Corona label intends to convey an impression that beer is a “high society” beverage as well. The consequence of pairing these aspects of film composition and the intended message encourages the audience to justify the expense of imported beer. That is to say, “If you decide to drink a beer (and want to relax and feel extravagant), then choose Corona.” You can have your beer (your paradise), and drink it (maybe with a pinky up?), too.

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So I’d like to think that it is no secret: I love beer. Beer in the morning? On a good day of fishing, yes. Beer in the afternoon? After a day of shooting sporting clays, absolutely. Beer in the evening? If it’s the weekend, count me in. For the sake of not sounding like a full-fledged alcoholic, I confess that I am a beer enthusiast for its carbonated splendor and hop-infused glory. If Willy Wonka wants to talk “fizzy lifting drinks,” then please refer him to me.

In the spirit of this week’s readings regarding visual media and the role it plays in the realm of composition, I thought I’d revisit a writing assignment that I composed for my Pop Culture class at Wilson College. For the sake of keeping things interesting, I’ve edited it a great deal. To refer to the Miller & Shepherd reading, I wanted to keep in mind my own “blogging voice” and make it less of an academic assignment and more of a commentary on how a simple beer commercial, while it appears subtle and visually restrained, it is packed-full of implicit cultural codes.

Indeed, the simple act of purchasing beer speaks more about a person’s right and ability to consume popular product than we may consider. When Moran suggests that students’ use of technology facilitates the control that both teachers and students maintain over the classroom environment (Moran 208), I would propose that technology permits control via means of a virtual (pun intended) exchange. Moran mentions that “students are individuals with different histories of experience” and that “they will connect with technology in different ways” (208). Therefore, adapting curriculum material creatively to connect to individual histories of students—including their interests and expertise in technology—both teacher-student goals can be met. Of course these goals can be met without technology, but when opportunity allows for an incorporation of technology, a teacher may have a better buy-in with it. To be sure, the stock of a classroom/intellectual marketplace is based upon the rate of what a teacher wants to sell against the demand for the information that a student wants to buy (into).

If we think about pop culture and the modern consumer, consider the Corona commercial as an example of purchasing both a product as well as an identity. Products are not just products—they are an extension of the self, a (re)presentation of the individual. To consume a product is to produce a particular image of the self. In a sense, I can see the use of technology as a means to produce information, sell it, and consume it within the classroom.

Take the blog, for example. I love that Julie has given us a means to produce our own ideas about the text that we have consumed as a part of this class. She has sold me, at least, on the idea that this virtual space is a fantastic medium for me to express my personal thoughts and opinions regarding composition pedagogy. At the same time, I participate in this exchange with all of you as we share our ideas, consume each others’ thoughts, and therefore offer our feedback as currency to participate in this virtual community and classroom network. While a system has been set into place (the ENG 507 class, Julie’s syllabus that maintains we blog each week, the blogging website, blog templates, blog as a genre), we can actively change the landscape of the virtual network. We are not just writing about the world of technology, teaching, and composition pedagogy. We are in it.

Just think for a moment how much power we can offer to our students if we can offer a way to participate in this culture which they are already consuming. Just think of how much power teachers have if we can teach our students how to responsibly participate in the very products they wish to consume. So while some may argue that technology is an unneccessary evil, I'll say it's something to be incorporated responsibly. In the meantime, I'll try to drink my beer responsibly, too.