## Interviews on the Silent Announcer ad
### Retrieved from the [MarketingPorn](https://marketingporn.d3.ru/nastanet-den-i-ia-skazhu-vse-chto-ia-dumaiu-po-etomu-povodu-1105954/?sorting=rating) blog, originally in Russian and translated into English using Kagi Translate.

## Pisarsky's Interview
At the dawn of Perestroika, we had a brilliant story involving a silent announcer. We had bought airtime—30 seconds right after the 'Vremya' news program—but we couldn't find an advertiser, and we had to fill those seconds somehow. So, we sat a silent announcer there. He was a photogenic guy who just stayed silent on air while we feverishly looked for someone to sell the time to. A month went by, and our announcer started to capture the public's attention. For the last 15 days, he would say: 'The day will come when I say everything I think about this.' He became a mythical character; people wrote him letters. And when a comic strip about the silent announcer appeared in 'Izvestia,' we knew we had achieved fame.

Then we found a client, and on the final day, our announcer was supposed to say: 'I was silent because there is a wonderful bank where you should deposit your foreign currency.' Suddenly, we realized with horror that he had been silent for a month, but would say everything in just one day. We had to somehow herd people to their TVs. We made an arrangement with the news anchor (it was still possible back then), who said before the 'Vremya' program: 'Dear comrades, immediately following the "Vremya" program, an important message will be broadcast; please do not turn off your televisions.'

The effect was staggering. The broadcast first went out to Siberia and the Far East. Nobody was watching 'Vremya' anymore; everyone interpreted the message as a declaration of war and rushed to stock up on salt and matches. Consequently, there was a phone call to the TV station from the powers that be, and they were told: 'What are you doing? Making such announcements is the prerogative of the President.'"

*Igor Pisarsky, CEO of the R.I.M. agency. R.I.M. (Advertising, Information, Marketing) is a private Russian company founded in 1993 and is among the leading PR agencies in Russia.*

## Ivan Chuvelev's interview
"I worked at the Metapress agency, which belonged to Menatep, and I handled advertising on firewall walls. Surkov was the boss there. I don't know if it was his official title, but effectively he was. Him and his wife, Yulia Vishnevskaya. Well, one day I happened to drop by his office. Surkov is sitting there smoking. He looked at me, squinted, and said: 'Vanya, I need to talk to you.' Like, nothing scary, it won't hurt, we're going to an audition.

The thing was, I had brought back an English blazer from a business trip. It actually turned out to be Italian, but it was good regardless. It fit me like a glove. I think that played a significant role. Because Slava said: 'We're going to an audition now. Bring your blazer. We'll pick out a shirt and tie now.' And off we went. Not to the TV station, but to the Novosti Press Agency, where RIA Novosti is now, on Zubovsky. And that's where we filmed, in some hallway. The cameraman told me: 'Don't do anything. Look here, into the camera, but not exactly into the lens—look further, past the lens where you'll see the sea. Just look at the sea for a minute—and don't do anything else.' I sat down and looked through the lens at the sea. Apparently, it turned out well because the cameraman said: 'Good job, that's it, we're done.' I didn't even know what it was for.

A few days later, they put that image on the air immediately after the 'Vremya' program. There I was, looking through the camera at the sea and saying nothing. This went on for a minute. There was nothing on the screen except the blazer, the tie knot, and my unkempt head. No captions, nothing. Not a single word. This silence lasted, I think, about three weeks. A long time, basically. All my relatives unplugged their phones because their acquaintances were pestering them with questions; everyone was curious. But how would they know? They'd call me: 'What is this?' And I didn't know what it was either. Nobody knew! They didn't know themselves! They launched this thing so that later, as I see it, they could sell this advertising gimmick to someone. Because after a silent person, you could develop in any direction.

'Do not leave your television; an important government message will be broadcast'

Then Surkov said: that's it, according to the laws of the genre, we need to heighten the intrigue, reinforce the anticipation; the tension must build. 'You have to say...' I was stunned. Sitting silently in the box was one thing, but speaking on TV is a profession, after all, and I didn't know how. The phrase was: 'The day will come when I say everything I think about this.' Now the announcer was speaking! And he said it for a week.

The conclusion of the epic happened, I think, after the coup. The final phrase of the whole story went, if I'm not mistaken, like this: 'The day has come when I can tell you: "Everyone join Menatep!"' The tape was taken to Ostankino. This thing ran for two days. But, as I found out later, they brought the tape to Ostankino and spoke with the broadcast editor of 'Vremya.' After which, the anchor during the broadcast to the Far East said: 'Do not leave your television; an important government message will be broadcast.' Following this, the primed public in the Far East, understanding what follows such statements, swept the stores clean of salt, matches, vodka—whatever they could grab. Basically, you can imagine what started. And around five o'clock, they got a call at Ostankino from Staraya Square: 'What do you think you're doing?' And they killed the chance to repeat that intriguing phrase for the European part of the country. In the end, it didn't turn out as planned because many people, not being warmed up by that phrase, simply didn't watch until the end of the program, as usually happens. And right after the 'Vremya' program, I would appear with that phrase and the name 'Menatep' on the screen."