ACTION MAN is looking to the future — by awkwardly holding a tiny pair of black plastic binoculars to the side of his head — but the future is bleak. Hasbro, its manufacturer, has refused to release its most recent sales figures, but industry insiders estimate that sales of Action Man have fallen by up to 50 per cent over the past three years, while sales of Power Rangers have gone up 33 per cent and Lord of the Rings characters by 79 per cent. The theory is that political correctness and post-9/11 squeamishness have ended Action Man’s reign as the archetypal boys’ toy, given that his recent, disastrous rebranding effort moved him away from horse-sized bombs and flensing knives, and introduced two new, worthy friends instead: Redwolf, “a Native American who possesses a deadly aim with his crossbow”, and Flynt, a man gifted with “amazing boomerang skill”.

Action Man, the insinuation is, has gone a bit nice-Chianti, a bit batik-waistcoat, a bit pouffy — an accusation not helped by Hasbro’s enthusiastic but gnomic claim that New Action Man loves “riding his dirt-surfer to the extreme”. There’s always the chance that this is just the latest street-slang for a Hoover — because people on the streets are always coming up with new, arcane slang for things like tumble-dryers and juicing machines — but, either way, things aren’t looking good for Action Man next time he walks into a pub in the wrong part of Macclesfield on a Friday night.

Of course, the problem isn’t that Action Man now has a friend who intends to quell the might of Dr X’s robot army with a boomerang — the weapon that’s made the Aborigine nation the military powerhouse it is today. The problem is that he has friends at all. Action Man is meant to be a loner. That’s why the plural of Action Man is, as every child knows, “Action Mans”, rather than “Action Men”.

Sure, Action Man might often work alongside other Action Mans on important missions, such as clinging to a fence for half an hour, or being pushed through a letterbox into Dr X’s house, but Action Mans always go back into the toy box alone. For Action Man knows no hierarchy or camaraderie — on each mission, Action Man must peevishly tussle for superiority with other Action Mans brought along by friends, so that he may have the tank, use the jet-pack or wear the proper trousers, rather than the ones that were knitted by David’s Nan.

This is because Action Man isn’t a man at all — he is whatever nine-year-old boy is playing with him at the time. And whenever a nine-year-old boy puts together a gang, it will consist of someone called “Brains”, who comes up with all the ideas, someone strong, who will be called “Muscle”, and a wisecracking maverick who saves the day called “Maverick”. There will be no boomerangs, no one is called “Flynt”, and no one rides his dirt-surfer to the extreme. That’s all a bit fanciful and time-wasting when there are five Action Mans hanging from a dressing-gown belt strung out of the bathroom window.

Equally gloomy sales for Barbie stem from a similar problem. There’s recently been a huge Barbie-breeding season at Mattel — a raft of new friends have been launched, including Chrissy, Theresa, Stacie and Alexa. They join the pregnant Midge who, in the box, appears to be a single mother — complete with her hair tied back in one of those tight Romford Face Lift scrunchies, and a “wedding ring” that looks like a stolen Argos sov. It’s good to see that Mattel has finally acknowledged that there’s an equal amount of modern girls destined to turn out feckless shagabouts as they are vets or drains operatives, and that they would like a doll, too.

But then again, girls aren’t buying these dolls, and the reason is that no girl wants to be not-Barbie. Indeed, when intelligent and rational women in their thirties get together to discuss Sex and The City, no one ever says “I’m Miranda!” — everyone wants to be Carrie, who is the star and gets the nicest shoes.

So what chance is there that a six-year-old girl would ever say, “Yes — I would like to be Stacie, Barbie’s hugely less famous friend, third down the cast list and so-so supporting character”? Everyone — but particularly little children with a birthday or Christmas present in the offing — wants to be the star of the show. Coming up with a load of Norms from Cheers and Hosses from Bonanza and Will McDonalds from TFI Friday is pointless.

Mattel and Hasbro should think again about getting Muscles to come up with their new marketing plan.

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