Billy Mays is dead. That’s not news anymore; anybody who would care about an infomercial pitchman has already heard, and is mourning the loss of the acknowledged master of the form. I know that I am. Honestly, his death hit me harder than Michael Jackson’s. But what is probably most interesting about the sad and untimely passing of Billy Mays is that it made headlines on the major news syndicates, right up there with President Obama and the Iranian situation.
Pretty good for a guy who sold stuff on TV. He was on the Tonight Show, for crying out loud, booming and gesturing like Leno was debating the purchase of a metric ton of Oxy Clean. Go into one of those “As Seen On TV” stores and you will likely find a Billy Mays section. He transcended his shtick, became a force unto himself. “Billy Mays here for Billy Mays.”
I make no secret of my love for infomercials. For two or thirty minutes, they sell you the possibility of complete soulful satisfaction (or your money back). It’s not just the products, which range from “Who the hell would buy that?” to “Wow, cool.” It’s about how the products can improve your life, solve problems that vex you daily, make everything generally better in ways you never considered.
Stubborn stains? Don’t want to drag out the big vacuum cleaner for a quick touch-up in the living room? Dingy woodwork? Whatever it is, we’ll bring you a solution. And once we take care of the nagging little details of your otherwise under-control existence, we’ll show you how to lose fifty pounds, get your hair all running in the right direction, and eliminate wrinkles while you sleep. Go ahead, dream of the perfect life. We’ve got you covered in the next commercial break.
People of a certain vintage will remember the days of the door-to-door salesman, visiting your neighborhood and asking for just a moment of your time to demonstrate this modern washday miracle. Right there, in your living room, with a Fuller Brush or a World Book Encyclopedia, armed with a sample case and a smile. Yes, ma’am, things are going to be better.
The neighborhood salesmen are gone in this age of uncertain security and ‘round-the-clock television. And thus Billy Mays, purveyor of hope for the New Millennium. Endlessly upbeat, full of pep, overwhelming you with such a wave of positivity that you couldn’t help but like the guy and consider that he may, in fact, have the answer you’ve been seeking. His current Discovery Channel series, “Pitchmen,” shows just how much craft there is behind the kitsch. Every word, every gesture, practically every atom of Billy’s burly body was carefully aligned to make the sale. However much some people may have thought of Billy Mays as a huckster, he was a complete professional, as thoughtful and precise in his work as a brain surgeon or trial lawyer. He was the Michael Jordan of the pitch: you never saw how much work went into making it look so easy.
Lately I’ve noticed how infomercials have changed. You see a lot of former news people and TV hosts making pitches, or at least facilitating sales with pseudo-interviews. They’ve all gone soft-sell—except maybe the pumped up personal trainer guy who is going to bring you to the threshold of human physical perfection in ninety days. So it’s possible that Billy Mays’ days as the King of the Pitch were numbered anyway.
For me, it’s never going to be the same. Sure, there’s Anthony Sullivan, Billy’s partner and rival, who I guess moves up to the number one spot now. And the screeching skinny guy who sells the super absorbent towels and the slapper-chopper gizmo. More will certainly come along. But it will be a long time before I can look at a pitch and not think, “Billy could have done it better.”
Filed under: General
