Ariel’s “Voice of God” campaign was approaching the stage of delivering negative returns due to its high frequency exposure on most television stations in the region. We brought this fact to the attention of the brand manager and Bill Bowld. This triggered a joint brainstorming session over the phone, during which we all agreed that the time had come to introduce new copy that broke the mold of classic detergent commercials. As usual, the solution came from P&G’s experience in other markets, where a user testimony approach had successfully been used and challenged buyers to trade their P&G brand for two packs of the leading competitor. The commercial recorded the refusals in a supermarket using a hidden camera. After viewing a couple of European commercials, we all felt that this could be the novelty we were all trying to add to our premium washing powder, Ariel.
As usual, the Geneva team began arriving in Lebanon at a time when street battles were becoming more vicious and widespread. Khalil Ghammache was the first to arrive and he checked-in (or the first two nights) at the Commodore Hotel in Ras Beirut, as our first film location was Krawlin Supermarket on Verdun Street. Transmed had helped us negotiate the construction of a control room inside the supermarket where the hidden camera had been installed. Khalil and I supervised the building of this mammoth structure, which held shelves to display the many flower arrangements and plants, brought in from Krawlin’s florist. We wanted to make this huge addition to the entrance look like a normal expansion, while in parallel we were keen to camouflage the camera lens. Fadia Kattar, one of the agency’s account managers, was entrusted with the task of sourcing a large bag that could carry two three-kilogram packs of the competitor’s detergent with the message “Swap 2 for 1” printed on it.
Our casting exercise was made easy by the production company, which, on the morning of the first casting day, brought in a theatre actor by the name of Paul Matar, who was so good for the role that all other candidates were dwarfed by his skills of persuasion. On the first day of the shoot, Bill Bowld, Najeeb Fayyad, Khalil Ghammache and myself arrived early at the supermarket, which was in the basement of the building, below street level. The director and the camera crew were all there, which allowed us the opportunity to get into the control room and look through the camera. Bill Bowld started getting edgy as Fadia Kattar, who was supposed to join us with the bag, had not shown up, although it was not yet 8am and Krawlin Supermarket opened to the public at 10am. To avoid my client’s repeated questions, I stepped out and climbed the stairs to street level, where I got the shock of my life. The place had changed so much during the two hours we had spent underground.
At a time of day when the sun would normally be shining brightly, the sky over Beirut was covered with thick black smoke. The smell of street fires was pungent, along with the sound of distant bombs exploding, which made the situation scary. I went back to the supermarket management office and asked to use their phone. The time I had to wait to get the dialing tone, then to get through to Intermarkets’ switchboard, seemed to take ages. Then I had to wait again for someone to pick up the phone and this caused further anxiety. Raymond Nader, the office manager, picked up the call in a panicky voice, and when he realized that I was asking for Fadia, he told me that all the staff had run down to the basement for shelter, as shells were falling all around them. Most of the cars belonging to our staff in the parking lot near to the office were on fire.
It took a few minutes and a quick chat with the people at Krawlin’s office to make me realize that the guns that had been brought to the Corniche near AUB and placed next to the Bain Militaire had been shelling East Beirut since sunrise, and many fires were reported. I rushed back to the control room and quickly briefed Bill Bowld about the situation. The production team agreed to carry on with the shoot for the first day, hoping that the security situation in Ras Beirut would not deteriorate. The swap bag was still missing, and I realized that Fadia would not be able to make it from Monot to Verdun. I went out in a hurry looking for an alternative supplier, hoping to get help from my friend and client Rafic Najjar, whose office was at Najjar Continental’s head office in nearby Sanayeh. A hundred meters before I reached the Najjar building, I saw a sign that read: “Itani Sign Maker”. I ran up the flight of stairs to meet the jolliest Arabic calligrapher I have ever met working on a banner stretched between two trees on the balcony of his workshop. By the time I finished sharing my predicament with Mr. Itani, he instantly put his brush and can of paint on the balcony sill and said: “Do not fear, Souheil Itani is here.” He then dashed up to his attic and in less than two minutes returned dusting down what looked like his grandmother’s shopping bag, which, to our good luck, seemed to exactly answer our specifications. Souheil was the savior of the day. He finished writing on two sides of the bag just in time for me to dash back to Krawlin Supermarket, where I saw Paul Matar getting out of a taxi. Our joint entrance to the operations room brought a smile back to the faces of all who were awaiting our arrival.
Part of the props that we had prepared were a couple of large posters announcing a special one-day discount on the Ariel 3kg pack, and these posters seemed to have caught the attention of housewives who were walking into the supermarket to buy bottled water and other provisions, influenced by the heavy shelling around them. The high pyramid displays of Ariel proved to be the main traffic stopper, while our two hostesses were pushing their shopping trolleys and moving around the Ariel display, sneakily kneeling to whisper description of buyers via a walkie-talkie that was placed amongst the merchandise in the trolley. The wardrobe details of each Ariel buyer were transmitted simultaneously to the third hostess – acting as Paul Matar’s assistant – and to the control room. The assistant was intercepting the marked buyers, persuading them to approach the smiling and welcoming Paul who had an offer “they could not refuse”. The moment an Ariel buyer walked towards Paul, the camera inside the control room started filming. The first two women Paul tried to engage by raising the Swap bag, totally ignored his attempt and dashed out of the supermarket as if wanting to get back home before another round of shelling resumed. Then a couple were on their way out when the husband slowed down to read the “Swap 2 for 1” poster. Paul launched his pitch and the couple stopped, listened, looked inside the bag, and resisted the offer by grabbing the Ariel pack they had purchased and walked away; while the wife continued praising the efficiency of Ariel as the reason for not allowing her husband to accept the offer. Inside the control room the film director was jumping up and down while patting the back of Bill Bowld. Until that moment, the director and many of his camera crew were doubtful that the idea of refusing a two against one formula would work in Lebanon.
As the day progressed, the traffic into the supermarket became faster as panic signs could be clearly seen in the eyes of afternoon and early evening shoppers. The shelling during the day had dramatically increased and families were rushing to buy bottled water and provisions in preparation for another forced curfew like the ones they had been experiencing lately. The heavy traffic allowed us the opportunity to film a good number of people rejecting the swap, but in parallel we faced occasional resistance from some who were hesitant to provide us with their names and telephone numbers. These were a requirement in P&G’s “Won’t Swap Production Manual” – to secure clearance from the people we were about to show in the TV commercial.
Throughout the day, I kept trying to call Intermarkets to check on the safety of my work colleagues and their burnt cars and the damage at the office. These unanswered calls were added proof that the security situation had dramatically deteriorated, and I had to prioritize the safety of the visiting client. Their head office had been calling asking us to relay the message to abort the Ariel project to ensure that no one gets hurt while on contract with P&G. In parallel, they wanted Bill, Najeeb and Khalil to return home immediately.
Before Krawlin closed, we all squeezed into the control room and agreed that there would be no second day at Krawlin, since the sound of explosions was getting nearer and nearer. Luckily, the production plan had included two days in Jounieh Supermarket, which we knew to be far away from the battle zone, while the production company assured us that the filming set up had already been completed. Accordingly, it was agreed to move to Jounieh early next morning and to complete the filming there. As we stepped out of Krawlin Supermarket, it became clear that the day had been a very bad one, since the sky was still covered with black smoke and the sound of explosions and ambulances could be heard in the distance. I dropped Bill Bowld and Najeeb Fayyad at the Commodore Hotel, while Khalil Ghammache accompanied the cameraman, who promised to drop him at the Ghammache family home, to which he was moving. Ramsay Najjar was very concerned about the prospect of crossing to the other side of the battleground, as he had to drive past several checkpoints that were controlled by the different leftist militias. After dropping off all our foreign guests, we rushed to the house of my uncle, Inaam Raad, who was heading one of the leftist parties, and we arranged for Ramsay to carry a business card signed by Uncle Inaam, stating that Ramsay was a loyal comrade and requesting whoever read the card to extend all support to him. As we got into the car, I reminded Ramsay to destroy the card as soon as he crossed to the other side, otherwise he would get himself into a more serious problem with the Christian militias.
Melhem, the taxi driver who picked me up every morning and drove me back to my home in Aley, was trembling like a leaf in the wind as I got into his car. He was scared and wanted to get out of Beirut but did not want to leave me behind. As the drive via the Beirut to Damascus motorway did not appear to be safe, Melhem suggested that we take the road via the village of Aramoun. This required driving the stretch to Khalde, via the Beirut to Saida coastal motorway. There were no other cars on the road and Melhem was driving at full speed. Suddenly we heard an echoing explosion as the sky around Melhem’s blue Plymouth shone with what looked like a bolt of lightning. This caused the car to sway and tremble. From that moment on, I turned my back to Melhem and kept looking through the rear window to see if any shells were coming our way. This scary panic accompanied us all the way, until we reached Khalde and started the drive up the mountain road towards Aramoun.