Analyzing the semiotics of GM’s bizarre post-bankruptcy ad.

Faced with bankruptcy, government control, and negative headlines, GM has decided it needs a makeover. Its first image-changing effort is this ad, a minute-long admission that GM screwed up and needs to "start over." The narrator spins an inspirational yarn, but his words are accompanied by strange, brief clips of images that have nothing to do with cars. Some visuals stay on the screen for less than a second, pulsing past so quickly they blur into one long, subliminal vignette about the American spirit. But the images are there for a reason. Allow TBM to explain. (Click on the right arrow above to continue.)

The ad opens on a rising—not setting—sun. It's a new day in America; it's a new day for GM. The lighting is beautiful, the skyline is glowing, the trees are in bloom. Wait—the trees? Where are we? Central Park? New York? I thought what was good for GM was good for Detroit. The new GM doesn't want to introduce itself with Detroit straight off—it's a more glamorous, some might say cooler, company.

"No company wants to go through this," the narrator says as the sun continues to dawn over a new skyline. This time it's Detroit, that besieged capital of American industry. No city wants to go through this, either, the ad suggests. But if a new day is dawning on GM, then a new day will also dawn for Detroit. GM may be different, but it hasn't forgotten where it comes from. GM is still Detroit, now it's just about more than Detroit.

On Passover, Jews put a leafy green on the Seder plate to symbolize spring and the rebirth after years of suffering. GM follows suit, showing a plant in time-lapsed bloom. If the country's economy is showing green shoots, then so is GM—because the country's economy and GM have become one. They are forever bonded, intertwined as they push their way up through the dark, heavy soil to a new, healthy future.

GM knows some are lucky enough to have other transportation options. City dwellers can take the subway to work, suburban folk can ride the commuter train in. It knows, too, that these are greener alternatives to the solitary car ride. The new GM is sensitive to that reality in a way its past iteration never was. Sometimes taking a train isn't feasible. Sometimes you need a car. Sometimes you need GM.

America was wounded. GM was wounded. Both shared a villain: the recession. But does that mean we stew in our pain? No. It means we get up, figure out a work-around, and go out to compete just as before. We may not be just as fast, but we will appreciate what we have, no longer taking for granted a healthy economy and a healthy business.

"There was a time when eight different brands made sense," the narrator says, leading into this image of a full lot of cars. The picture is the most explicitly violent of the ad, proof that GM's disaster did indeed happen. There were dealerships that couldn't move a car off the lot for months. There were plants with nowhere to send the new models. This is GM's equivalent of a flag-draped coffin being brought home from war. It is our most visceral reminder of the fight being waged far from our living rooms. As the ad fades the image to black, the narrator continues where he left off: "Not anymore."

Leading into this, the most inexplicable of all the images, the ad shows video from inside a factory. Narrator: “There was a time when our cost structure could compete worldwide.” Then, as the ad cues this nondescript (and, from what I can tell, nonfamous) image of a hockey player splayed on the ground, the narrator returns to his catch phrase: “Not anymore.” It’s the American auto industry lying on the ground, hands to the face, decked by a stronger, vaguely foreign competitor. Hockey players don’t stay down, though. They pick themselves up off the ice and retaliate. They hit back.

Another nondescript image. No sign of where the bridge is leading or what bridge it is. But that’s the point: GM doesn’t care how or by what means, it will find a way across the chasm that we’re all staring into. American engineers once figured out how to build a bridge to span unimaginably long distances. A different kind of American engineer—an automotive one—can figure out how to build GM’s. And once it’s built, we can all drive across it together.

And when we can't intuit our way across, we will use our brute strength. We will stay cool under pressure, even if it's bearing down on us with the weight of a 300-pound lineman. Even when the stakes are highest—the Super Bowl, or the stage of history—we will find a way to win. We will ride the arms, the backs, the will of our heroes through the storm.

And, remember, even when it looks the bleakest, when acts of God aim to strike us down, we have survived. In the midst of even the greatest Hurricane—Katrina, we have no choice but to presume—our dignity, our heritage, and our flag survives. It may be tattered, but its moorings hold. It isn’t going anywhere.

For those who don’t live in Detroit, the bronzed fist is the brute will of America. We stand as a nation clenched together, ready to punch our way through whatever obstacle is in the way. To Detroit residents, the statue is a shout-out to the city—GM’s city—where this fist—honoring boxer Joe Louis—hangs as an emblem of the city. Detroit may be gritty, but don’t question its fight. “Fix it—we will,” the narrator says triumphantly as the fist spins toward the camera.

If Americans can build a home, they can build a car. Note that the ad isn’t presenting regular construction workers. Instead it’s a multiethnic army that, with coordinated T-shirts, looks to be composed of volunteers. It’s a re-enactment of Habitat for Humanity or Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. This image isn’t just about rebuilding (“the new GM,” the narrator says while the house’s frame is being lifted), it’s about the American penchant for civic action. It’s about helping the neediest survive.

“Fewer, stronger brands. Fewer, stronger models,” the narrator tells us as the ad hops through glossy logo shots of GM’s five surviving brands. In GMC’s close-up, the blazing sun makes its return, a reminder that the sun is still rising over GM. There are more lens flares in this ad than in Star Trek, but they’re meant to drive home just how bright the future is—it’s so promising that you can barely catch a glimpse.

Before there were cars, there were horses. GM can still deliver the thrill and exhilaration of the bestial power that cars try to harness. Watching a GM vehicle move is like being at the races—the hum of excitement is palpable.

Perhaps the shortest image shown in the ad. (I clocked it at less than one-fifth of a second.) The crack of light comes sandwiched between a satellite image of Earth and video of spinning wind turbines. The narrator keeps it simple and vague: “Greater efficiencies.” The visuals imply that he’s talking about energy sources. GM is implying that no power source is off-limits. They’ll even try to harness lightning, like another great American, if that’s what it takes.

A gauge bubbles up from empty to full as the narrator helpfully reminds us that a new GM will have “better fuel economy.” Again, GM has learned from its mistakes; it knows SUVs are no longer the way forward. It’s sensitive to your kitchen-table discussions about budgets, and it knows you can’t afford to pump your car full multiple times a week. GM was depleted by this philosophy, but now it’s filling itself back up with new talent and a new approach.

Two subtleties of note here. First, the decal on the car reads “Fuel Cell” as the recognizable GM logo rests only halfway in the frame. Second, there’s the dog in the back seat, wind whipping his cheeks. It’s the dog’s own version of the American dream. Combined, they tell us that the next wave of electric cars aren’t as terrifying or un-American as it may seem. You can still bring your dog along for the ride, and he’ll still enjoy it all the same. To him, there’s no difference. To you, there won’t be, either, other than the gas mileage.

And if fully electric cars freak you out, there are always the hybrids. What was once a strength of Japan—Toyota’s Prius, Honda’s Insight—can now be the strength of America. This image is the first of two close-ups on the word hybrid (the other comes later in the ad), emphasizing once again that GM knows the political and environmental climate it’s being reborn into.

There’s no narration track over this image to help explain its meaning. It seems to be hinting at a strong sense of American community. That we can rally in one enclosed space and all root for the same team when we need. And we’ll do it proudly and loudly and with goofy foam fingers on our hands. (A side note: This clip adds to the heavy sports imagery in the ad. If the ad is supposed to be about the American grit and spirit, is it only showing the images that connote that for sports fans, who are predominantly American men?)

We’ve dreamed. We’ve strived. We’ve accomplished. Impossible is nothing.

Oh so briefly (as fast as lightning), we’re treated to the portrait of the man behind the fist, Joe Louis. Detroit has built legends before, and it can again.

While it’s been declining, GM has been readying itself to emerge anew. The recession barely allowed GM to breathe, and it almost didn’t survive inside of its constrictions. But GM has survived, and it looks better than ever. Wait until you see what it can do now.

This has been a long, hard slog. One hundred sixty-two games pale in comparison to 16-plus months of recession. But there is something waiting on the other side. It’s going to be jubilant, it’s going to be magical, it’s going to make people believe all this suffering was worth it. It may even come in one collective moment of release.

As a Chevy barrels towards the camera, the narrator coyly says, “The only chapter we’re focused on … is Chapter 1.” Chapter 11 bankruptcy? That’s a thing of the past. GM, like this Chevy, is driving into the future. A new future.