Il fait beau dans l’métro

(I first posted about Il fait beau dans l’métro last April. Today, an article was published with a more in-depth look at the advertisement.)

A troupe of exuberant dancers isn’t what most commuters expect when they descend into the métro. But there they were, in Il fait beau dans l’métro, an iconic 1976 television advertisement that was a triumph of public transit geekery, gaudy fashion and vintage Québécois kitsch.

The advertisement opens with the familiar sight of a métro car entering Atwater station. A troupe of lively dancers jumps out, singing, “Il fait beau dans l’métro, tout le monde est gai, tout le monde a le coeur au soleil.” The métro’s distinctive three-tone chime – created by air rushing out of the brakes when trains leave the station – is incorporated into the tune.

You would think that this ad would be long forgotten. In the last year, however, Il fait beau dans l’métro has won a new generation of fans online, part of a burgeoning trend of nostalgia for public transit imagery and pop culture kitsch from the 1960s and ’70s.

The ad has racked up more than 100,000 views on YouTube and it has been featured on most of Montreal’s most widely read blogs. On Facebook, a group devoted to the ad has attracted close to 600 members.

Andrew Martin and Michael Baillargeon, undergraduate students at McGill University, created the Facebook group this year.

“I am a rapid-transit nerd, with interests in advertising, musicals, and costumes, so naturally I became an instant fan of the clip,” said Martin.

“It was Michael who took the initiative to start the Facebook group. Part of the original intention was to get a group of people to go down and reenact the ad. Sadly, to my knowledge, this has yet to take place.”

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A Ghost Appears, But Not For Long

In a city with as many layers of history as Montreal, the demolition of a building usually entails the relevation of something else, like a ghost ad. I’ve written before about these old painted advertisements faded by time and the elements; they can be found in cities and towns right across North America and Europe, where the practice of painting advertisements on building sides was long ago usurped by billboards and other media. No matter how many I find in Montreal, though, there are always more lurking in tight corners, dark alleyways and, of course, behind brick walls.

Not too long ago I was walking down St. Denis Street when I noticed that the old building that housed L’Barouf had been completely demolished. (It caught fire in July and was badly damanged.) Behind the construction hoardings that separated its rubble from the street, I spotted the remnants of an old wall sign, mostly obscured by soot and debris. It’s pretty much illegible but a nice discovery nonetheless, just like the much more intact Lea & Perrins ad that was uncovered by another demolition on the Main. The owner of L’Barouf has vowed to rebuild as soon as possible, which means it won’t be long before this ad is hidden once again.

The old Coca-Cola ad on Ontario Street in Hochelaga-Maisonneuve, near the corner of Valois, was never obscured by a building. In fact, judging by its use of Helvetica and the slogan “Coke, le vrai de vrai,” I would guess it was painted as recently as the early 1970s. (“Le vrai de vrai” is probably a translation of Coke’s 1969 slogan “It’s the real thing.”) Until recently, the ad loomed over a autobody shop, but the garage has been demolished and will soon be replaced by the Cours Valois, a three-storey apartment building. Like so many other painted wall advertisements in Montreal, this ghostly Coke ad will soon be entombed behind a brick wall.

In the end, though, that might actually be a good thing: there’s no better way to preserve a ghost ad than to protect it from sunlight, the rain and fresh air. If and when, decades from now, the Cours Valois is demolished, Montrealers will once again have another window into the past.

“When I’m in Milwaukee…”

When I think of George Takei, I think about a couple of his two most famous roles: that of Hikaru Sulu, the helmsman of Star Trek‘s USS Enterprise, and that of gay rights and Asian-American activist. Spokesperson for Milwaukee public transit does not necessarily come to mind.

But, sure enough, after my last post on strange public transit advertisements, a regular reader directed me to this 1980s ad featuring Mr. Sulu extolling the virtues of Milwaukee County Transit. “When I’m out in space, I use the Starship Enterprise to get around. When I’m here in Milwaukee, I ride the bus to save time and money,” he says in his characteristically rich baritone before beaming off to points unknown.

This, of course, raises a couple of vital questions such as, When are you ever in Milwaukee, George Takei? and, Were you really so broke that you were forced to do ads for public transit in Milwaukee, George Takei? I’ve heard good things about Milwaukee but its bus system wasn’t one of them.

Naturally, I was curious to find out why such a well-known actor would bother to participate in such a hokey promotion for what must be one of the least important public transit companies in North America. Takei doesn’t seem to have family or personal connections to Milwaukee: he was born in Los Angeles and has spent his entire life in California. He didn’t seem to have any post-Star Trek period of cocaine-fuelled desperation, which rules out that possibility.

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Il fait beau dans l’métro!

Watching these old advertisements—one from the 1980s for the Paris metro and another from the 1970s for the Montreal metro—leave me with mixed feelings. My initial reaction is to ridicule them for their kitschiness (or kétainerie, as one might say here in Quebec) but, at the same time, I feel a slight pang of regret that public transit agencies can no longer afford to buy television air time, especially not for an entire minute. Wouldn’t the Montreal Transit Corporation benefit from more of a brand identity? Public transit doesn’t need to be anonymous, the public made aware of its services solely by necessity.

Anyway, the strangest thing about the first Paris ad is its ridiculous soundtrack, which consists of a man singing things like “tic tac toc, tata clica clic” and background vocalists replying with “tata clica clac, tata clica clac, tika tika toc.” I have no idea what this is meant to represent, but this kind of gibberish actually seems to go well with the ad, complimenting a fairly striking—but goofy—set of images, linked together by the image of a yellow ticket bisected by a brown magnetic stripe. (Update: a reader with clearer ears than mine reports that “tata clica clic” is actually “t’as le ticket clic,” which makes more sense.) My favourite image is that of a striped Eiffel Tower passing behind the silhouette of a man wearing a beret, which not only evokes two of the biggest Paris stereotypes you can imagine, but also suggests either sex (swallowing a giant yellow penis) or violence (being impaled by a giant yellow dagger).

On the whole, the Paris ad is a bit more sophisticated than its early-1970s counterpart in Montreal, entitled “Il fait beau dans l’métro.” I enjoy it because it is a perfect embodiment of the seventies aesthetic: long hair, big moustaches, and bold primary colours. I also love that the music is based around the three-tone chime emitted by the metro’s brake system when it leaves a station.

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Metatourism in Alexandria

I stumbled upon these unloved old tourism paintings on a neglected building in the back streets of Alexandria, Egypt. Somehow they fed my enthusiasm about Egypt, yet newer promotional material would have had the opposite effect. How long does it take for marketing to become heritage?

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This City is Haunted

It took me by surprise one morning, several months ago, looming four stories above the corner of Park and Bernard. An old advertisement, painted on the brick wall of an apartment building, had seemingly appeared overnight. The faint outline of words – a company name and an advertising slogan – were there, albeit barely legible. I had never noticed the ad before; it was if the right amount of moisture and light had convinced it to reappear, at least for a few hours. It was, in a word, ghostly.

It’s no surprise, then, that these painted ads, faded by age and sunlight, are known around the world as “ghost ads” and “ghost signs.” They are the ephemeral remnants of a form of advertising that was once ubiquitous. Hundreds of ghost ads lurk on building tops, alley walls and brick façades around Montreal, yet, somewhat surprisingly, few Montrealers seem to notice them. Ghost ads are intriguing, eccentric and disappearing – catch then while you can.

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