I get it. Selling stuff is hard. So my hat goes off to advertising agencies who can skillfully construct a 30-second commercial that can hold my attention—and even better—not make me want to splatter my brains across the living room floor. The problem is simple, really... art and commerce get along about as well as my Aunt Trudy (who's currently in rehab) and Uncle Jim (who's currently serving eight months on charges of domestic violence). You either grant the two a clean and complete separation, or figure out a way where artistic expression and commercial needs blend seamlessly together—and in a way where the viewers' living room floors can exist brain-free.

And to the Brits' credit, they do a pretty nice job. American commercials tend to reflect the American psyche: We're loud, boorish, unsubtle, and we like tits—lots of them. And our commercials reflect our most base needs with dripping hamburgers, flashy graphics, and the aforementioned soft, fleshy tits. British commercials, on the other hand, also reflect their inner life, with dry humor, subtlety, and an alarming lack of tits.

Those interested in the cutting edge of advertising (or at least a different perspective) might want to check out the 2007 British Advertising Awards, featuring the best England has to offer. BUT! Before you get your hopes up, we are talking about an hour and a half of commercials, so manage your expectations accordingly.

First of all, show up 20 minutes late. Almost all of the first half hour is filled with "honorable mentions"—which in the advertising world is like the Special Olympics: cute, but devoid of true athletic prowess. The PSAs fare best, spearheaded by a commercial depicting a super hot stripper slowly taking off her top to reveal she's had a mastectomy. Message: "Breast cancer = BAD."

Unsurprisingly, the Bronze and Silver Medal categories have more to offer, featuring a truly funny spot featuring a Volkswagen dealer who continually gets coffee spit on him thanks to his low prices, and a vomit-spewing baby selling Marmite (you really have to see it to appreciate it). And while the PSAs are once again successful, they are few and far between.

By the time we arrive at the Gold Medal winner, even the sight of glorious geysers of colorful paint covering a city left me wanting more. Not commercials, mind you—I'd seen enough. I was too busy mourning over the cinematic talent that was wasted to sell some paint.