A small boy is walking home with some groceries in an Italian village, when he stops and stares at an amazing ray of light in the sky. We see the golden clouds part as a figure falls, literally from the heavens, crashing down into a restaurant table, presumably injuring some bystanders. Everyone, little boy included, gathers around what must be a corpse after such a fall. People are crying and in shock. Then the crowds part, and we see an angel, a beautiful angel, halo and all, rise to her feet as the music begins to play.
Next we have another angel, crashing into and severely damaging, the middle of a road, while an old man screeches to a halt, gets out of his car and is confronted by this creature of heaven, with tears already beginning to cloud his world-weary eyes. Now we have a full shot of the entire village, with angels falling like raindrops, as the choirs begin to sing. One angel even falls across a lady’s washing line, which gives cause to much shouting and screaming, until the lady realises, it was no ordinary human falling from the sky that destroyed her washing line, but instead the confirmation of two-thousand years of doubted superstition. The angels begin converging on one area as passing drivers skid to a stop, people are crying and praying, and even a blind man is able to see them in all their splendour and glory. Before long, all of the angels, seven or eight of them, in their holy, divine wondrousness, begin closing in on one young man, loading up his moped. Could he be a new messiah? A chosen one? The next leader of the Christian faith? The angels begin tearing off their halos, apparently denouncing their heavenly father in reverence of this young man, and shattering them on the ground in a true insult to their past allegiance. The choir singing grows to a grand crescendo as we cut to black.
And then we see the young man at home, presumably earlier that day, spraying himself with a new Lynx deodorant.
Cue the tagline: Even Angels Will Fall
Now let me just recap the facts to see if I have correctly understood the message of this advert. If I get this new deodorant, not only will I not sweat or smell, but the fictitious armies of heaven will tumble to earth in a destructive rain of bodies, stun a nation into the realisation that their previously ridiculously blind belief in a fictional deity is, in fact, true; then converge en masse at my approximate location and denounce their god in an aggressive and offensive act that will surely have grand repercussion for the very fabric of the universe, all in order to give up an eternity of divine servitude to an almighty power in the kingdom of heaven and come down to earth to have a giant fuck orgy with me. Is that right?
So, if you want to smell so good that large groups of stunningly, unfathomably beautiful, and occasionally fictional, women will happily take turns, one after another, riding you to climax until you’re so exhausted from what is becoming less like an orgy, and more like a gang rape, that you become convinced you aren’t in heaven, but are in fact burning, or at least friction burning, in the fiery desolate pits of hell, then this is the deodorant for you.