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By Professor Friar, PhD in Cerealogical Linguistics
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Crispix
The box starts with a dark blue color on top, with serious nutrition information in the upper right corner.
The tones then gradually change into a lighter-blue, ending where the Crispix pieces dance gleefully in bowl of milk, with the help of the whimsical Snap, Crack and Pop.
The transition is seamless, and is a an apt metaphor for the North American post-modern lifestyle.
Even though we adults have many responsibilities, the author reminds us to “lighten up”, and to remember our childhood roots, which made us who we are today.
As if to emphasize this point, the back of the box repeats this theme, but this time, our elf companions are replaced with sweet fruit and berries.
A commentary, perhaps, on our obsession withe materialism: we should take time to enjoy the simpler things in life. We can still have our cake and eat it to, provided we adopt an attitude of responsibility and moderation.
So as not to take itself too seriously, and not to alienate younger audiences, the back of the box displays friendly alien creatures, who invite us to check out a “mission nutrition” web sit.
In addition, the side of the box provides a recipe for Kellogg’s Crispix Krispies Original Mix, an activity that the whole family can participate in.
All in all, I found this box an excellent read: informative, yet entertaining for both adults and children alike.
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Cheerios
The title proudly announces itself in bold black letters. It is assertive, confident and inviting.
The golden rays emanating from the single oaten O dotting the “i” suggest warmth and goodness, a treasure that the Godless Demeter herself would be proud of endorsing.
This theme is then suddenly punctuated by “1 gram of sugar per serving “. At first, this appears as an afterthought, but upon repeated readings, it soon becomes apparent that this is a crucial side-story. The 1-gram sugar is the Duncanesque foil the Macbethian Cheerios.
The heart-shaped bowl, however, is somewhat over-the-top. Whether indicating true amorous feelings, or cardiovascular benefits, the symbolism was a bit too obvious here. However, the intentions are well-meaning, and most readers will accept this minor oversight.
At this point, however, the plot unexpectedly shifts. Out of the blue (literally), the storyline is abruptly broken by a free yogurt ad.
The boldly emblazoned banner takes over the story, and seems rude, crass, and out-of-place. Cheerios has been around for decades. However, the yogurt is just another johnny-come-lately trying to ride on its coattails.
The yogurt character development continues on the back, which the reader cannot identify nor sympathize with. The familiar heart-shape cereal bowl weakly tries to make a reprise, but the damage is already done.
This box started off well. But the author allowed the yogurt to completely over-shadow the cereal itself, leaving the reader confused, and without a sense of closure.
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Cap’n Crunch
The story line is deceivingly simple, yet we find ourselves drawn to the box, again and again. There is a riveting sense of anticipation here.
The Cap’n admires his cereal, yet he seems to be reluctant to eat it, let alone touch it.
It leaves the reader puzzled. What’s stopping him? Is it lack of confidence? Is it fear of disappointment?
No. There is almost a Zen-like childish innocence here. The Cap’n seems enthralled by the beauty of it all, almost like he wishes to make this magic moment last forever.
This sense of optimism is reminiscent to that found in early 20th-century literature. The Cap’n is our modern-day Hemingway. He’s a sea captain, and a rugged outdoors-man, a man of many talents.
Even when losing his sled dog in the Arctic, for example, he maintains a stiff upper lip. Rather than wallow in self-pity, he enlists our help to find the do, which we gladly do. The dog shares his optimism, also smiling, despite a sharp mountain peak wedged on his posterior.
However, the Cap’n is not 100% sincere. Just as we are drawn into his adventure, he averts his gaze away from the ice-capped peaks and dangerous mountain trails, and directs us towards the Aeroplan offer on specially marked Quaker Products.
“Come join me”, he seems to invite us. But it comes with a price.
I’ll scratch your back, if you scratch mine.
This is a harsh lesson for less mature-readers to learn.
But a valid one, no less.
The Deep Friar 