Symphony’s Radio Ads Set Off Wrong Kind of Fireworks

Heard the radio commercials touting the Pacific Symphony’s Fourth of July blowout at the Irvine Meadows Amphitheatre? Then you are liable to join me in wondering: To just what lengths must a beleaguered, romantically inclined chap go these days to win a woman’s affection? Here is how the mini soap opera unfolds:

She: At last we’re alone, George--a picnic lunch in the meadow. (An orchestra, tuning up, is heard in the distance.) George, what’s that?

He: Surprise!

She: Who are all these people?

He: Marry me, Bunny! I’ve brought you to the Pacific Symphony Orchestra’s Fourth of July spectacular at Irvine Meadows. Families, great American music, apple pie! I called Ticketmaster. . . . Then packed a picnic basket with peanut butter and celery.

She: Did you say peanut butter and celery, George?

He: Yes, what’s your answer?

She: Yes, George, peanut butter and celery.

He: Oh, Bunny! (They kiss, he swoons, as the music behind them swells to a crescendo and the pyrotechnics begin.)

She: Mmmmm, George, fireworks.

He: We’ll marry next week; we’ll live happily ever.

She (interrupting): Marry?

He (crestfallen): Well, yes. Didn’t you hear me propose?

She (indignantly): I heard “West Side Story” and “An American in Paris”. . . . The Pacific Symphony Orchestra. . . . Peanut butter and celery. . . . I didn’t hear you propose. But now that you mention it. . . . (aside) Hit it! (fireworks and orchestra explode as she shouts) No, George, I can’t!

What kind of promotional campaign is this, anyway? Is there no justice, no happy-ever-after endings, even in the fantasy world of commercial advertising?

I wonder if the geniuses behind this script realize that the subtext of their ad is the big R--rejection? I don’t see how the orchestra, in allowing some hard-hearted Hanna to turn thumbs down on this poor sap, is going to accomplish its real goal, which is selling concert tickets, not spurring matrimonials.

Hey, who wants to spend big bucks on concert tickets, wine and picnic baskets just to be humiliated? Happens all the time out there in Singleland for free.

Maybe the Pacific Symphony folks didn’t want her to say yes for fear that an ad such as that might set off a deluge of false-advertising lawsuits. Imagine on July 5 if dozens of irate bachelors called up moaning that even though they shelled out 40 bucks or more for a pair of tickets, their would-be partner in life said “I can’t” instead of “I do.”

Furthermore, if the only thing an amorously inclined couple wanted was music in the meadow, they take a boom box and a couple of John Philip Sousa cassettes out to Irvine Park and save a lot of dough. We are looking for bottom-line results here, folks!

It’s kinda confusing. After all, last fall the Pacific Symphony introduced a special concert series aimed at singles, asserting that the high-class surroundings of the Performing Arts Center presented a tasteful, wholesome alternative to the average meet-market nightclub.

Now, having taken that first step toward establishing a Pacific Symphony concert as the singles bar of the ‘90s for the county’s lonely hearts, they have to go and remind us that the river of blooming love is really just a black cesspool of torment.

Could be that the whole mess is just symbolic of the Pacific Symphony’s growing pains, another hurdle for an orchestra in search of a reputation.

Wanna bet that if the chump had come through with tickets to the New York Philharmonic or the Boston Symphony, Bunny wouldn’t have been so quick to turn tail and leave those skid marks on George’s heart?

But really, the orchestra doesn’t even have to get that good. They just need better commercial writers.

Here is the ad I would recommend for next year:

He: How’d you like to spend the Fourth of July with me, Bunny?

She (firmly): Get lost, creep.

He (confidently): But, darling, I’ve got tickets to the Pacific Symphony’s Fourth of July concert! I need nothing to be happy save a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, a preferred parking pass, a few dozen Roman candles and thou. What’s your answer?

She (sighing): Oh, sweetheart, I never knew you were so romantic. Of course, I’ll be yours, on the Fourth and forever!

Now there’s a happy ending that would sell tickets.