Until last month he was the spokescharacter for Sprint wireless phones, the guy who solved pesky cellular problems wherever and whenever they arose. He was ubiquitous, appearing in 155 commercials over six years. More than that, he was an icon -- the Mr. Whipple, the Madge or Mikey of his time.
Now Trench Coat Guy is gone, dropped like a bad connection.
He is, it seems, a victim of corporate politics. Trench Coat Guy was great when Sprint was selling its services primarily to household customers. But Sprint recently bought Nextel for $35 billion, and Nextel is focused on the business market, and so the company wants a new image.
Trench Coat Guy is therefore "on hiatus," explained spokeswoman Mary Nell Westbrook, who said he might reappear in the future.
Might. At some point. Maybe.
Trench Coat Guy gave a fresh face to an otherwise faceless, multibillion-dollar telecommunications behemoth (and helped make it successful enough to buy another faceless telecommunications behemoth). He was all about underselling.
Trench Coat Guy solved cell phone problems in a way that suggested Sprint knew there was more to life than solving cell phone problems. His commercials were offbeat mini-sitcoms that disarmed the viewer with their gentle absurdity and mocking self-awareness.
He came to the rescue, for example, when a talkative preteen girl faced the agony of waiting until her cell plan's cheaper evening rates kicked in. The girl spent the time braiding the hair of everyone in her family, including Dad and the dog. Trench Coat Guy pointed out Sprint's evening rates start at 7 p.m., instead of the usual 9. Problem solved.
In another ad, Olympic snowboarder Jonny Moseley grew frustrated because his big gloves prevented dialing his phone on the slopes. Trench Coat Guy came tromping through the snow, in suit and tie, to introduce Moseley to Sprint's voice-activated calling.
Another series of commercials touted the supposed clarity of Sprint's network. Mom, using the evidently inferior Brand X phone, called the babysitter, but static interfered: "I asked how are the kids ... and she floured the kids!" Cut to Trench Coat Guy sitting next to two children with faces full of flour.
A grateful customer in another ad once asked Trench Coat Guy: "Who are you"? In typically mysterious fashion, Trench Coat Guy replied: "It's not about me, ma'am."
Trench Coat Guy is a 38-year-old actor named Brian Baker, who doesn't seem a bit like the deadpan dude he's been playing. Baker laughs often as he tells of his character's genesis, and expresses bewilderment about, and gratitude for, a 30-second performance that turned into the role of a lifetime.
Baker was selected from among 350 actors who auditioned in 1999. He worked out the character's fictitious background with the commercial's director, Peter Care. "He said, `This is a guy who won't get married, won't have children, will live in his car, and will forfeit everything to stop static. It's his mission in life,'" said Baker by phone.
The distinctive look was his idea. "We tried on 50 different things -- a black turtleneck, a peacoat, you name it. I felt like the black suit and the black trench coat fit this guy best. It had a kind of iconic feel, this flowing look that you could depict in a silhouette. Not to mention that it's very slimming."
Baker says he was inspired by another unflappable figure -- the late Jack Webb, who played the just-the-facts-ma'am detective on Dragnet.
Sprint originally wanted Baker for five commercials. The early response to Trench Coat Guy -- the character never officially had a name, Baker says -- was so favorable that Sprint's ad agency, Publicis & Hal Riney of San Francisco, kept turning out TV commercials, radio and print ads, and sales-training films, all starring Baker.
With his face constantly before the public, Baker couldn't walk down the street without strangers excitedly approaching him. The attention was "surreal sometimes," he says.
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