Humor sells

Humor sells

The currency reform that took place in Czechoslovakia in the early June of 1953 provided for a huge paradigm shift in advertizing. The reform put an end to the 14-year-long ration stamp system and unified ration-based distribution and free distribution into a single market for all types of goods.


I. Serious work

Two months later, the Ministry of Internal Trade instructed all the relevant organizations that they should, in accordance with central planning, control supply and demand by means of advertizing. It was supposed to put an end to the "decorative playfulness and meaningless formalism" of the previous epoch, while informing citizens about new goods and services in a matter-of-fact, truthful and straightforward manner.[1]

These ideological directives made an impact on advertizing. You could see ads in newspapers informing readers that they may buy shoes in Footwear (Obuv) shops and fruit preserves in Pramen stores. The slogan that read "The spring is here" may have been fitting in advertizing paints and varnishes as well as walking shoes — but only if winter was safely gone. A department store informed shoppers that the drugstore offered "a variety of products for a spring cleaning" while the stationery provided "a wide range of writing utensils". These factual claims were accompanied by images which, too fearful of a metaphor, only portrayed the product mentioned in the text.

Product wrapping was also of a strictly informative nature. František Nepil, Czech writer who also worked in advertizing at the time, compared product labels to official forms. The labels listed "with remarkable diligence" the various norms and licences, together with the names of various ministries and data for hygiene inspectors. The sheer volume of useless information interfered with any innovative graphic design, and the overall look was somewhat off-putting for the customers, which resulted in low sales.[2] Newpapers would publish complaints about fading colors, bad paper quality, lame design and a lack of professional interest from designers who had graduated in applied arts. Improvement was to be achieved via the State Trade Advertizing Agency [3], which was established in the March of 1954 and started off with a mere sixteen employees. However, their number grew fast, with fresh art school graduates replacing graphic designers who were used to capitalist agency routines.[4] One of the remarkable achievements of the agency's graphic design studio was creating large-format posters using offset printers with up to 10-color scales. These were meant to be placed in shop windows; however, their aim was not to advertize particular brands. Rather than that, they were supposed to depict particular types of goods, and to do so with meticulous precision. Although the posters proved commercially effective [5], the designers themselves soon began to criticize their strictly verbatim nature. They did not reject the socialist art programme; rather than that, they criticized the techniques of soft painted lines and retouching. Marcel Stecker from the graphic design studio limited this form of "naturalist illusionism" to the United States (as if the techniques did not appear anywhere else), claiming that the design in American advertizing is of a form of "kitchy mannerism, technically calculated". He contrasted it with French poster graphics, which were, to his mind, full of humor and optimism while being only loosely connected with the commercial offer they were supposed to present. The concise form, relaxed style and modern techniques were to become a model for Czechoslovak advertizing graphics.

Humor was never explicitly left out from socialist advertizing, but its effects were deemed questionable, mainly due to the doubts and warnings voiced by the founders of modern advertizing. Claude C. Hopkins, whose views were well-known and respected in pre-war Czechoslovakia, claimed that humor had no place in advertising, because spending money, which is the equivalent of life and work, was very serious business. His opposition to humor was summed up in his memorable quote — "People don't buy from clowns."[6]

This traditional dislike towards humor was, however, countered by the belief that the use of jokes and hyperbole could make advertizing more appealing to customers. The place of humor in socialist advertizing was not the issue; the question was, what kind of humor is acceptable in the new political order, and what traditions it should follow form. And since humor was regarded as the "blood sibling" [7] of circus art, it was used in situations where it was assumed it would be well accepted — in promotional materials of circuses that had by then been put under state control and were considered an acceptable form of entertainment. One example of such optimistic advertizing, as presented by the printed media at the time, was the promotional booklet for the Slavia traveling circus.


Slavia traveling circus promotional booklet, mid-fifties, 445 x 105 mm

The text, which was then considered key in conveying the message of an advertisement, made an appeal to the parents, asking them to take their offspring to an exciting performance, while the accompanying pictures (where animals take a trip by train) spoke directly to the children, pretty much like illustrations in children's books. While encouraging expectation, they also concealed the joyless reality of the creatures' lives, who were kept in cages and dragged from one venue to another.


II. Images of a better future

In the late 1950s, cartoons and illustrated anecdotes were used in newspapers and magazines, alongside political, manufacturing and communal satire. One of the most prominent clients for the industry was the Státní spořitelna bank, which advertized — on a regular basis — a variety of bank books. One of the most popular was the so-called "lottery bankbook", which offered one of the few legal ways to make lots of money in a short period of time, without drawing unwanted attention from state authorities. During periodic lottery draws, clients could win up to fifty thousand crowns, which was five times the mean annual salary at the time. In 1957, Státní spořitelna would advertize these bankbooks using a series of cartoons drawn by the illustrator and cartoonist František Freiwillig. The cartoons came in multiple versions, always in pairs, and their task was to atriculate an argument that was embodied in the earlier and rather heavy-handed slogan "Produce more, save more, live better." The first of each pair of drawings depicted the living standard of an ordinary citizen, before obtaining their own lottery bankbook. Picture a housewife, busy with cooking lunch, or a sad, lonely bachelor sailing in a wooden washtub aptly named "Typhoon", in capital letters on the side. The second illustration showed the said individuals after they'd won thanks to their lottery bankbooks — the weary housewife tucked in a rocking chair, immersed in a book, as a kitchen robot did all the work for her, and the sad washtub owner who had turned into the proud captain of his own motor boat, roaming the lakes and rivers with an attractive female by his side. The transformation was explained in a single sentence: "won due to their lottery bankbooks".

František Freiwillig, a cartoon from the "Won due to their lottery bankbooks" series commissioned by Státní spořitelna, 1957, Reklama III, issue 5, back sleeve.

The series won critical acclaim due to its use of humorous hyperbole. It also serves as evidence of the changes that took place in post-Stalinist-era society. The utopian idea of a commune of responsible householders had already become an unattainable illusion, but the key ideological goals of the Communist party remained valid. However, the belief in socialist ideals, still widely shared, was no longer maintained and spread by means of the hard-line propaganda of the late 1940s and early 1950s. Rather than using slogans and visuals that called on all people to participate in an altruistic, communal effort to build a better future, the Státní spořitelna campaign encouraged, and quite explicitly so, a desire for greater social status, which is really the aim of all effective advertizing, even one working within the rather tight constraints of the Czechoslovak socialist state and its centrally planned economy. The series also demonstrated an important rule of modern visual communication — if you can show something visually and in an interesting way, you need not put it into text. In short, good advertizing doesn't waste words on a better future — it puts it right in front of the customer's eyes. A similar strategy was used by Jiří Winter in his series of posters named Saving money according to Neprakta. [8] Státní spořitelna would show this series at its various branch offices, as well as publishing select pieces in book form. The campaign used humorous scenes from the past, depicting different ways of saving money. The opening cartoon showed a primate who "didn't save money half a million years ago, and also couldn't buy anything", followed by a series of illustrations describing places where people used to put their savings — the hollow trunk of a willow tree, a cellar, a straw mattress, a stove or an animal pen. All these places had one thing in common — they were more than unsuitable for the purposes described. Secret stashes were soon forgotten, while banknotes in a stove burnt to ashes and those in a mattress fell prey to mice. It was in the last illustration that we could finally see a happy family, whose financial reserves lay in the safe confines of Státní spořitelna.

Jiří Winter, posters from the Saving money according to Neprakta campaign series, 960 × 105 mm.

Jiří Winter, posters from the Saving money according to Neprakta campaign series, 960 × 105 mm.

Jiří Winter, posters from the Saving money according to Neprakta campaign series, 960 × 105 mm.

This campaign series, just like traditional illustrated anecdotes, set the text segment clearly apart from the drawing. However, a number of 1950s printed ads featured text and graphics working together. This was the case of Josef Lada's drawings, which toyed with the literal interpretation of certain idioms, or with their double meanings. For instance, the popular saying "the eagle does not catch flies" was accompanied with the depiction of an overweight member of a Catholic sports organization, who had just begun feasting on a roast goose. The phrase "he took him up on his offer" (literal translation: he took him by his word) was illustrated by a speech baloon that one could lift up and cary and that read "I'll lend you the five thousand"[9]. In one of the Státní spořitelna advertizing leaflets, an anonymous graphic designer played around with the metaphorical nature of language in a similar way. The slogan "Don't leave money lying at home!" came with the picture of a bed, with a pair of slippers underneath it, but instead of a sleeper's head, there was a ten-haller coin lurking from beneath the duvet. The advertisement clearly suggested that not just "every crown", but even smaller amounts can create the basis for a safe and happy future. The Státní spořitelna advertizing campaign was probably a succesful one, for the yearly increase in the number of bankbooks went over a million in the years 1957 and 1958. [10]


III. Fresh lines from the West

The use of humor in advertizing was largely inspired by the official cartoon production in Czechoslovak printed media at the time. In the late 1950s, illustrated jokes and anecdotes were fairly commonplace in Czechoslovakia, but the use of purely graphic humor was scarce. Nor was it used in advertizing, even though excerpts from foreign ad campaigns with purely graphic humor were being published in scholarly literature and they received much critical acclaim [11]. The reasons beind this lack of interest in text-free humor were twofold. Not only was there an established tradition in producing illustrated verbal anecdotes; it is also much easier to accompany pictures with text than come up with purely visual jokes. Information about contemporary developments in visual humor abroad contributed towards its spread in Czechoslovakia. Miloš Macourek, a poet and playwright, was one of the first proponents of modern illustrated humor. As early as 1957, his short texts about various foreign artists appeared in the Czech magazine Výtvarná práce. These included Moïse Depond (Mose), Jean-Maurice Bosc and André François. However, it was Saul Steinberg, a naturalized U. S. citizen, who allowed Czech catroonists and graphic designers to discover, quite literally, a new world. Steinberg became famous for his illustrations in The New Yorker. Starting in 1945, his graphics were published in book form and a year later, they first appeared at an exhibition in the New York Museum of Modern Art, alongside works by the abstract expressionists Arshila Gorky and Mark Tobey. Since Steinberg's illustrated humor hardly ever used captions, it was assumed he does not need them: "The drawn line becomes the punchline. The things he can express with it!… Another artist simply wouldn't be able to do without accompanying text, but Steinberg, that's the Thales or Deburau of the drawing stylus. He simply draws it — with him, we're in some sort of new dimension, where everything is possible. [12]"

Steinberg's unique style, with inspirations drawn from European modernism and contemporary American pop culture, became a fascinating lesson for Czech cartoonists. It influenced the work of the Polylegran society [13], as well as various spheres of aplied arts, ranging from magazine and book illustrations to advertizing graphics. The cartoonist and designer of animated films Svatopluk Pitra even remarked that Steinberg was "so popular that when you're a graphic designer and a marketing director orders some advertizing graphics — to promote cameras, for example — he tells you,'We would like it drawn the way Steinberg does it!'. [14]"

Saul Steinberg, Emerson TV ad, 1956.

The Těžká Barbora (second edition) theater programme ads, ABC theater, Prague, 1960.

The Těžká Barbora (second edition) theater programme ads, ABC theater, Prague, 1960.

During his studies at Adolf Hoffmeister's studio at the Academy of Arts, Architecture and Design in Prague, Pitra developed a unique drawing style based on using a ruler and a French curve. Whenever he was happy about a particular character or composition, he did not hesitate to use it again. However, he did not simply take his drawings and merge them with the text of the advertisement. His illustration that accompanied Dashiell Hammett's detective story [15] was later used in an advertisement for the Supraphon record company, and what Pitra did was a play on words and shifts in meaning. He used the original scene, but he changed the setting — the street in front of an American hotel became a street in Prague. A man is about to cross the street in front of a moving car, and a malicious bystander wraps his hand around his ear, to enjoy the screams, thuds and the wailing of brakes that usually accompany a car accident. The advertisement text read "Your favorite melodies in all record stores", in the form of a caption that is used in illustrated anecdotes to change or shift the meaning of the visual component.

Svatopluk Pitra, illustration for Dashiell Hammett's story "The Man Who Stood in the Way", Světová literatura VII, 1962, 3, 250.

Svatopluk Pitra, advertisement for Supraphon, Technický magazín V, 1962, 7, back sleeve.

Graphic artists in Czechoslovakia were also inspired by Steinberg's ability to play around with reversing graphics and text, as well as his use of various combinations of decalques, fingerprints, symbolic figures, abstract arabesques and photographs. This led to a revival of the art of the collage, which had disappeared from the public space following the dogmatic promotion of socialist realism. Collages thus reappeared in the late 1950s, be it in magazines, book illustrations, exhibition halls or advertizing graphics. Ads in the form of collage, which usually combined photographs with drawings, had nothing in common with the subversive energy of dadaist revolt or the visual poetry of the interwar period. And just like the art of photomontage in illustrated magazines from the beginning of the century [16], they offered, first and foremost, clearly understandable humor and entertainment.

The Liberec trade fair, which grew from a regional exhibition of glass and textile products into the largest display of contemporary fashion in the 1960s, published a catalogue that followed up on the tradition of humorous calendars. The advertisements that presented the different factories and collectives were the work of the poet Milan Schulz and the graphic designer Milan Kopřiva. Some of their ads came in the form of tarot cards in which Milan Kopřiva, the "archaistic innovator" [17] of Czech graphic design, combined photographic elements, company logos, ornamental borders and wood engravings from the pre-WW1 period. And so, modern plastic dishes were advertized using the engravings of art-nouveau teapots and kettles, all presented in a playful, post-modern fashion. Actually, a 1966 catalogue was named The New Decameron, as if only that which is old has the capacity to be modern.

Milan Schulz — Milan Kopřiva, ad for Lisovny nových hmot Vrbno pod Pradědem. Nový dekameron, Liberec 1966.

The Contract and Trade Fair, which took place at the Brno Exhibition Center in the spring of 1967, enabled for the publication of a brochure that offered a good deal of visual humor. The authors rejected the refined, cultivated design offered by members of Propagační tvorba (a promotional design enterprise), and instead ventured into the realm of light-hearted, cheerful jokes that ignored entirely the warnings by experts who said that such a frivolous approach makes advertizing seem less trustworthy. The advetisements offered magazine cutouts combined with Steinberg-style characters, together with new variations on illustrated phraseology.

Tesla Orava ad from the Contract and Trade Fair brochure, Brno, 1967.

There were idiomatic expressions but also neologisms, such as "Fruta-morgana", a cross between a national enterprise that made non-alcoholic beverages, and an optical illusion. The brochure also featured a lot of female nude fragments, which were probably inspired by Bohumil Štěpán's "erotic" collages, immensely popular as they were at the time. Štěpán discovered that "breasts or buttocks are interesting in a very erotic way, but they could also be funny and entertaining" [18].


IV. Humor in the shop window, on the silver screen and on television

In the late 1950s, when humor had found its place in printed ads, it made its way into shop windows. Photographs from the time show designs that combined drawings (with wire substituting a drawn line) and real-life objects, ranging from shoes to televisions. Spytimír Bursík, a promotional design expert, arranged the window of a Prague housewares shop to create a carnival scene featuring Dust Devourers — a brand of circus artists whose torsos were made from the slim bodies of vacuum cleaners and their limbs and heads were made up of white wire, Steinberg-style [19]. Such arrangements were common in Czechoslovak shop windows throughout the 1960s.

A shop window with anthropomorphized vacuum cleaners, a photo from Výkladní skříň, Prague 1967.

Apart from humorous arrangements of goods, shop windows also presented designs that made use of movement and sound. In the late 1950s, the so-called "talking shop windows" became major attractions, offering a multimedia programme using a specially designed, automated tape recorder. This machine, developed in the workrooms of the Advertizing Agency, was capable of merging music with sound and lighting effects, as well as with moving objects. One of the talking shop windows was presented at the Christmas of 1958. A Prague kitchenware store at Na Příkopě featured a "military" parade of potato peelers, frying pans, dough mixers and other kitchen utensils. The products would appear at a gate called "The Armory", march center stage where they presented their skills, and then exit on the other end, through a door named "The Kitchen" [20]. Animated films had featured objects that would suddenly come to life, so this trope was a bit of a yawn; nevertheless, a real-life shop window like this became a sensation, attracting large crowds of onlookers who gathered at sidewalks and spilled onto the tram tracks.

Despite the popular acclaim, talking shop windows were criticized as too much investment in the interest of decoration; moreover, it was discovered that the show attracts too much attention at the expense of actual shopping [21]. In current marketing practice, this is known as the "vampire effect" [22]. The formal aspects suck out all the enthusiasm, which allows for the commercial message to slip away into oblivion. As a result of this discovery, any further plans on using interactive shop windows were scrapped.

By the late 1950s, advertizing had spread to all available media in Czechoslovakia. The year 1957 saw the rise of the Propagfilm studio, specializing in creating commercials, and in May the same year, the first of these appeared on TV. While printed advertizing graphics took their inspiration from illustrated humor, TV ads followed up on the well-established traditon of the slapstick. For example, a short feature by Ladislav Rychman, which was shown in cinemas in 1958, met with an enthusiastic response from the crowd, who "enjoyed themselves splendidly and kept interrupting the movie with laughter", as was reported by the press at the time [23]. The film was called The Fateful Linens, or A Disappointing Trip and it used a standard tragicomic plot — a husband finds his wife in bed with another man. The setting was a bourgeois parlor at the turn of the century and the sketch featured many of the well-known tropes native to slapstick, from static camera shots to musical score typical of the genre. The lover is chased around the room, and after a brief skirmish, he chooses to escape through the window, on a rope made of linens. However, the worn-out material cannot carry his weight and the man falls, from the black and white shot straight into the color interiors of the Prádlo communal enterprise in Prague, where the torn linens are promptly accepted by the helpful staff, in order to be repaired — for the movie advertized renovating old fabrics, so that they could be re-used. The popularity of slapstick also inspired Eduard Hofman, co-founder of the Bratři v triku animation studio, screenwriter and director known for a great number of successful animated films. In 1966, he designed an animated figure for the opening sequences in TV commercial breaks. His character — mute and equipped with a walking stick and a bowler hat — was the direct descendant of Charlie, The Little Tramp. People gave him all sorts of names — "Pumprlík", "Šiška" or "Tipálek", but in the early 1970s, he came to be generally known as Mr Egg (pan Vajíčko) [24], which has stuck with him until today. Mr Egg's comedy sketches were used to separate a set of commercials from the main programme, and the character suffered many a misfortune in the process. Ideas for sketches came from the Czech TV advertizing studio, as well as from the viewers. These ideas featured little accidents, and rarely was there serious cause for alarm, such as in the situation where Mr Egg shot down a plane with an arrow. Later, a character known as the Doll (Panenka) became the counterpart to Mr Egg, appearing before commercial breaks on the second channel from May 1970 onwards. Save for a few poetic moments, such as when the Doll cut out a ribbon from the night sky or used a cloud as a pillow, she was subjected to a similar dose of misfortunes; this time, however, they arose from particular gender stereotypes. As a bride, she tripped over her wedding dress and fell; as a housewife, she broke a window while cleaning it, or managed to empty a whole sugar shaker onto a sponge cake. The Doll won the viewers' sympathies as quickly as Mr Egg; perhaps it is because success breeds envy, but misfortune often inspires people's interest as well as pity.

Czechoslovak TV commercial break intros, 1960s and 1970s

In the 1950s and the 1960s, a number of cartoonists and illustrators took part in creating TV commercials. To cut down costs, their designs "came to life" on screen with the help of a moving camera or editing, in what came to be known as partial animation. Břetislav Dvořák's animated short, Whatever You Want (Co si kdo žádá), is a case in point. Shot in 1957, the film is probably the only surviving part of a series that promoted the spread of the first self-service stores, where the shopkeeper didn't have to look for the goods, weigh them or wrap them. These and other benefits of self-service enterprises were illustrated using a number of visual metaphors, as drawn by Jaroslav Malák. The wide range of goods was symbolized by a beach full of women, as observed by a voyeur through a hole in his newspaper. A mother wrapping her child in clean diapers represented hygienic wrapping, while the final scene reminded viewers of the terrible queues in traditional shops — the moving camera showed family members, one by one, who were sitting at the shore of a lake, holding their empty plates, their cutlery and a frying pan, and waiting, waiting, waiting for the father to catch a fish for their Sunday lunch.

Shots from the Whatever You Want (Self-service store III) commercial. Graphic design: Jaroslav Malák. Studio kresleného a loutkového filmu, Prague, 1957.

Animated commercials advertized new services (such as self-service stores) and they also promoted new products. In the late 1950s, one of these products was Kalorka, a mix of oat flakes, dried milk and sugar, which was set to replace high fat breakfasts in an attempt to promote a healthier lifestyle. An animated commercial by Václav Bedřich had a running time of two and a half minutes, and the entire second half was devoted to listing all the vitamins, the nutritional value and the various dishes one could prepare using Kalorka. However, this was preceded by a much more viewer-friendly animated segment. It was designed by Karel Nepraš, a then fresh graduate from the sculpture studio at the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague. He introduced the potential customers to the benefits of Kalorka using visual versions of popular sayings. And thus, a child who preferred Kalorka to a bread roll with cocoa grew up within seconds, and learning quite literally entered his head. Visual shortcuts stressed the energy potential of Kalorka — with a few hits of the hammer, a sculptor created the innocent Venus from a marble block, and lazy farm hands could suddenly weed out a whole beet field within three seconds. The positive effects of Kalorka on people's skin were illustrated using a simple stop trick. The drawing of a lady whose face was covered in a terrible rash was replaced with a carefully retouched color photograph. These techniques became common in animated commercials — not only were they cheap and easy to make, but they were usually also quite funny.

Shots from the Kalorka commercial. Graphic design: Karel Nepraš. Studio kresleného a loutkového filmu, Prague, 1960.

In the 1960s, visual humor in advertizing took on a number of different forms, from jokes based on double meanings to absurd gags. The spread of visual humor was reinforced as graphic designers were free to merge text, drawings and photographs. However, this pluralist view was gradually replaced with a more rigid approach which claimed that the customer puts more trust in a photograph, as it, allegedly, "does not use hyperbole, which is what graphic designers do. A photograph is more truthful, because it shows a reflection of reality.". At the end of the 1970s, fashion magazines and mail order catalogues began to publish color photographs which simply presented elegant articles of clothing or exciting new goods, without the need to entertain the reader with hyperbole. And even though it seemed that the principles of truthful, honest and reliable socialist propaganda had finally been established, it was, in fact, another step towards modern consumer society.


[1] Reklama v socialistickém hospodářství I, 1955, 1—2, 1—9.

[2] František Nepil, Reklamní texty a jejich nemoce, Reklama v socialistickém hospodářství II, 1956, 2, 88—89.

[3] The original title, "Reklamní podnik státního obchodu", was later shortened to "Reklama obchodu" (Commercial Advertizing), only to change to "Merkur" in 1967.

[4] Otto Jirák, 2 roky Reklamního podniku státního obchodu, Reklama v socialistickém hospodářství II, 1956, č. 1, s. 26—27.

[5] Z obchodních plakátů, Reklama v socialistickém hospodářství I, 1955, č. 1—2, s. 75.

[6] Claude C. Hopkins, Jak jsem dělal reklamu (My Life in Advertising), Zlín 1937, s. 191.

[7] Václav Šafr, Humor v reklamě, Reklama III, 1957, 4, 76—79.

[8] A pseudonym used by the cartoonist duo Jiří Winter a Bedřich Kopecný from the late 1940s.

[9] Josef Lada, Illustrovaná frazeologie a přísloví, Prague 1924.

[10] At the end of the year 1958, the total number of bankbooks reached 10 045 347. Statistická ročenka republiky Československé, Prague 1959, 486.

[11] See Šafr (footnote 12), pp. 76—79.

[12] Miloš Macourek, Saul Steinberg, Výtvarná práce V, 1957, 14, 11.

[13] A group of illustrators and cartoonists which formed from the regular contributors to Mladý svět. It included, for instance, Adolf Born, Miroslav Liďák, Oldřich Jelínek, František Skála starší, Jiří Kalousek, Jaroslav Malák, Bedřich Kopecný and Jiří Winter, Bohumil Štěpán or Jaroslav Weigel.

[14] Svatopluk Pitra, Sláva a bída moderní karikatury, Květen III, 1958, 8, 416—421.

[15] Dashiell Hammett, " The Man Who Stood in the Way", Světová literatura VII, 1962, 3, 245—255.

[16] See Jindřich Toman, Foto/montáž tiskem, Prague, 2009, 63—73.

[17] Karel Fabel, Současná typografie, Prague, 1981, 46.

[18] Adolf Hoffmeister, Erotický humor Bohumila Štěpána, in: Bohumil Štěpán, Galerie, Prague, 1968, (no specified pages).

[19] Pražský obchod s potřebami pro domácnost. Reklama VI, 1960, 5, 110.

[20] M. Lukeš, Mluvící výkladní skříně, Reklama VI, 1960, 12, 268—270.

[21] Jaromír Balák — Zdeněk Dvořáček, Výkladní skříň, Praha 1967, 19.

[22] Miroslav Karlíček — Petr Král, Marketingová komunikace. Jak komunikovat na našem trhu, Praha 2011, 30.

[23] Osudné prostěradlo, Reklama IV, 1958, 8, 190—191.

[24] Miroslav Kalous, Sedmdesát minut týdně, Týdeník Československé televize V, 1970, 2, 5.


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