“People who need people,” sings Barbra Streisand, “are the luckiest people in the world.” Maybe. But not the happiest. The happiest, it appears, are people who need Dupixent, Breztri, Rexulti, Ozempic, Skyrizi, Rinvoq, Cabenuva, Jardiance and myriad other meds in TV commercials that wallpaper the airwaves. In fact, you can’t watch the evening news without being hit by three or four dance parties hosted by Big Pharma.
These prescription drugs treat conditions that include, but are not limited to, eczema, COPD, depression, diabetes, plaque psoriasis, rheumatoid arthritis, ulcerative colitis, Crohn’s Disease, irritable bowel syndrome, obesity, dry eye, HIV-1 infection, cancer and kidney disease. None of these maladies are fun.
Yet, the people on screen appear to be the happiest people in the world—singing, dancing, hiking, biking, tailgating, line dancing, flying kites, building treehouses, making topiaries, painting watercolors, cannon balling into pools, cheering grandkids at sports, munching shish kebabs around beachside campfires.
For these what-me-worry folks working on their bucket lists, life truly is a cabaret. No hint of excessive thirst, frequent urination, nausea, vomiting, stomach pain, weakness, fatigue, shortness of breath and confusion—all of which are possible side effects of one popular as-seen-on-TV treatment.
And increasingly, the reaction of viewers to the commercials themselves. “My 60-year-old grandma said she’d rather have a genital yeast infection than to see this one more time” is typical of social media comments from viewers fed up with the IV drip of nirvana in the unceasing commercials.
Never is heard a discouraging word (or words) like “the heartbreak of psoriasis,” a catchphrase from a Tegrin ad in the 1960s. And boomers will recall the spot for a headache remedy, Anacin, during which a volatile woman slams the lid on a pot of soup and barks at her mother for asking if it needs salt: “Mother, please, I’d rather do it myself!”
It’s farcical, but these older commercials play like Long Day’s Journey into Night next to the splashy festivals of undiluted joy touting today’s drugs. Winter Park psychologist Deborah Day doesn’t prescribe medications, but the ads are a hot topic among patients. “That’s where most people get information about the drugs they ask doctors for,” says Day. “Some [commercials] are very cute and creative and convey a real message. And some, at the end, you think, ‘What was that about?’”
One factor that helped push our beloved family doctor into retirement was the growing number of patients asking him to prescribe drugs they’d seen in commercials where people are playing croquet, baking cakes, doing backflips and changing the oil in their cars.
The first commercial for an actual prescription med aired in 1983 for Rufen, a pain reliever. By 2023, drug companies were spending $4.37 billion per year on such ads, according to Endpoints Marketing, which covers the industry. That’s more than the combined GDP of Grenada, St. Lucia and Micronesia.
The United States and New Zealand are the only countries in the world that allow prescription drug commercials. In 2015, the American Medical Association called for a ban; so, too, did a few legislators in the U.S. Congress. A fool’s errand, they were told.
The Supreme Court, in Citizens United, ruled that corporate money spent on ads for politicians was “speech” protected by the First Amendment—a mantra that would surely apply to corporate money spent on ads for psoriasis remedies.
With no authority to yank ads off the air, the Food and Drug Administration was left with issuing “rules” that compelled drug companies to state facts about side effects and to use “consumer-friendly language.” And then there was this howler: “No distractions. Advertisements cannot have statements, text, images or sounds that distract from comprehension of the major statement.”
The ads are almost nothing but distraction, bombarding viewers with text, images and music that collide and overlap. Many believe that Big Pharma jumped the shark in 2023 with a Jardiance commercial that feels like a Broadway musical.
Supported by a cast of no fewer than 20 singers and dancers, zaftig, bubbly brunette (actor Deanna Colon) waltzes and gyrates across a colorful town square and farmers market, greeting admirers and singing the praises of Jardiance: “I have type-2 diabetes, but I manage it well, / it’s a little pill with a big story to tell. / I take once daily Jardiance as each day starts, / as time went on, it was easy to see, / I’m lowering my A1C. / Jardiance is really swell, / the little pill with a big story to tell.”
The warning about side effects—which is twice as long as the singing testimonial—appears on screen and is read by an unseen voice. There isn’t room to transcribe the whole thing, but it includes words like “ketoacidosis,” “dehydration,” and “worsening of kidney function.” The voice also reels off various potential infections, including a rare one (of a body part that I had to look up) that could kill you.
Viewers don’t notice. They’re focused on the irrepressible Deanna getting a wardrobe change and having her makeup done. “My father passed away, and at his viewing this commercial came on and he rose from his casket and turned off the TV,” posted one viewer on social media, speaking for thousands.
I asked Orlando Sentinel arts critic Matt Palm to critique the Jardiance commercial. He wrote: “The tune is catchy, though I don’t think Andrew Lloyd Webber has anything to worry about. The boring litany of possible side effects completely interrupts the flow of the number’s energy. The pedestrian choreography doesn’t help matters either. West Side Story this ain’t.”
Yet the show goes on and on—like Cats, but twice as annoying. Can anyone recommend an OTC remedy for frequent nausea, vomiting and confusion while watching the evening news?