He Kneaded the Dough: how Mikhail Gorbachev seeking to raise money for his foundation through an ill-devised pizza commercial made him an enemy at home and a meme in the west — and what it can tell us about globalisation
Please take a moment to view the commercial in question, linked here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fgm14D1jHUw
On the 1st of January 1998, one of the greatest monstrosities to ever grace televisions debuted. A one-minute (or 30 seconds; depending on the market) commercial for Pizza Hut designed to promote the brand to the Russian public. The idea seemed simple and innocent enough — a few cinematic shots of come iconic landmarks, some close-ups of tasty pizza and there you go, Bob’s your uncle. Well Pizza Hut delivered on those two points to a reasonably satisfactory degree but, somewhat perplexingly, decided to stir in an added element that irreversibly altered the world as we know it. That element? Having the star of their commercial being none other than Mikhail Gorbachev. In its target market, the campaign was received with about the same warmth as a Siberian winter, and Pizza Hut was gone by the end of the year. Those in the West however revelled in the chance to poke fun at their Cold War foes — and the clip enjoyed a few spells of internet virality in the years that followed[1]. The root moral of the story here is that globalisation has its limits. America’s cultural and economic influence was spreading like wildfire in the preceding years — and post Iron Curtain eastern Europe was no exception. Ultimately however this was deemed a step too far — exemplifying the fact that longstanding geopolitical tensions still carry immense weight in determining how well cultural objects like these will translate.
To properly understand why this ad was so poorly received in Russia, one must understand the context and history within which it exists. Of course, there is the fact that America and the USSR spent over four decades embroiled in an ideological conflict that kept the whole world biting their nails in anticipation of an impending global nuclear conflict. More contextually relevant however, is the role that Gorbachev played in all this. Following the death of Stalin, Soviet leaders generally trended away from totalitarian, dictatorial rule — and Gorbachev was perhaps the furthest away in this regard. He did have loyalties to socialist ideals and the idea of the Soviet state, but felt it required dramatic reform. The Chernobyl Disaster of 1986 proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. He introduced his policy of glasnost (“openness”) which sought to enhance the freedom of speech and that of the press, as well as perestroika (“restructuring”), which pushed to decentralise decision making on economic issues, pushing the system subtly closer to capitalist ideals. He pulled the country out of wars and opened the doors to talks with the Americans. This began to pull down the Iron Curtain, a present-day North Korea-esque restriction on information, culture, and communication that had blocked the USSR off from the outside world for decades. These reforms precipitated the progressive collapse of the union and its ultimate dissolution in December of 1991. In other words, were it his desire or not, and were he a victim of the inevitable or the architect, Gorbachev was the man who oversaw the collapse of the Soviet Union. Understandably, this won him a fair amount of both critics and admirers on his home turf. Generally, these were split along generational lines — the reforming youth supporting this newfound openness while the older generations bemoaned their collapse as a global superpower. An important note is that, regardless of which side of this divide one fell to — there was an underlying sense of despair and humiliation at the fact that the conflict which dominated people’s lives for generations was lost and the power that their nation once held had all but withered away. These feelings were particularly exacerbated by the years of economic hardship that came in the years that followed the collapse, enhanced further by the prevalence of lawlessness and mafia rule in the streets. Even the staunchest reformers would have been asking themselves if all this was worth it.
The increasing openness that Gorbachev’s reforms brought left the door wide open for the outside world, and America’s cultural and economic imperialism was quick to have its feet on the welcome mat. When the first McDonald’s opened in Moscow’s Pushkinskaya Square[2] in early 1990 — the line stretched for several kilometres. People who were used to queuing in the cold for the chance to buy a stale loaf of bread were suddenly exposed to the warming glow of the golden arches and the American hamburger. Many others followed suit and soon blue jeans and cans of coke became a more common sight on the streets of Russia’s cities. Slowly but surely American culture was seeping into Russian culture, and for the most part, the Russians accepted it. Their country had been blocked off from the outside world for the better part of a century so they grasped at any opportunity to sample the plethora of new things that were suddenly on offer.
It is most reasonable to interpret this cultural object as American, as Pizza Hut is an American corporation. When doing so, it is apparent why this commercial was so humiliating for Russians. For many Gorbachev represented a bending of the knee to the West. More specifically, he was a symbol of a surrender to capitalism. And yet, here he was, endorsing a brand that couldn’t possibly be more emblematic of capitalist ideals. Seeing one of your most prominent figureheads embracing the embodiment of an ideology that your country pushed the world to brink of destruction to oppose — feels like a slap in the face and a betrayal. For them, they are having a huge flag that reads ‘capitalism won’ being waved in their face — and the flag-bearer is the man that many believe allowed it to do so.
The commercial lulls the viewer into a false sense of security early on. It opens with establishing shots of Moscow’s Red Square as the plaza’s cobbled road is blanketed in snow — the camera cuts dramatically between Russia’s most iconic landmarks to jabs of triumphant orchestral music. You’d be forgiven for mistaking this opening for a Soviet-era propaganda film. Just as quickly as it offers the carrot however, it bashes you in the head with the stick. The man who you’ve begun to identify ducks under a trio of signs reading “Пицца Хат” under the watchful gaze of the domes of St Basil’s Cathedral. These opening seconds are the most blatant expression of ‘capitalism won’ that this commercial offers. It is showing the viewers the very epitome of Russia before essentially saying “look, we’re in your backyard”. A company what embodies capitalism is within spitting distance of where Soviet military parades took place. This is understandably humiliating because it rubs salt in some very fresh wounds. The people viewing this commercial suffered years of immense hardship under Soviet rule, buoyed only by the state’s propaganda that the ideological fight must go on. Now, just 6 years removed from the Union’s collapse — a manifestation of the enemy’s ideology is sitting across the road from the country’s seat of power in the Kremlin. It is telling them that they didn’t just lose, they got obliterated.
The teasing nature of the clip is only magnified as we move to the interior of the restaurant. The man removes his hat to reveal that distinctive birthmark as the patriarch of the family we were briefly introduced to proclaims, “That’s Gorbachev!”. This is the big, extremely destabilising reveal — it is almost reminiscent of using a defecting spy’s information to toy with the psyche of your enemy. This compounds the built up humiliation because its dangling the man that most feel was responsible for the collapse in front of the viewer. Its almost saying “remember when you were a great superpower? Well, you aren’t anymore and it’s because of this guy, and he’s on our side now”. Communism was definitely bad for Russia’s people but many of them still have some attachment to it and the relevance in the geopolitical sphere that it brought. To have the man that brought it all crashing down endorsing the other side so soon after it happened is a step too far.
Perhaps the most striking representation of the victory of capitalism that this commercial leans on is the general image that it portrays of the people in the restaurant, especially the family that most of the dialogue revolves around. The entire clip is shot in a very American style, a là the Olive Garden commercials of the 90s and many others. It’s all very cheery, with family-round-the-table vibes as they engage in some friendly banter and tuck into some steamy, delicious-looking food. The ‘banter’ element here is replaced instead by bickering over whether Gorbachev is a hero or a villain, with a young and old man taking up each position respectively in line with the aforementioned generational divide, but this is perhaps the only element that it sacrifices to the realities of a meal with a Russian family (the fighting, not arguing about Gorbachev’s legacy). The numerous generations of this family are portrayed in a very American way — tucking into pizza on a snowy afternoon. It is a nod to the homogenisation of values and traditions as a result of globalisation, but this is a homogenisation around an American, capitalist ideal. So, to depict a fairly typical Russian family as living life in the American way is to emphasise that “our values won”. This again is humiliating as it sends the message that, not only was there a broader ideological victory on the macro level (which is less tangible), but that the ramifications extend to the micro level of the day-to-day way in which ordinary Russians now live their lives. It is pointing out to the viewers that they are slowly becoming Americanised, an outcome they were conditioned their entire lives to fear.
The depiction of the family’s babushka (a figure central to any Russian’s life) breaking up the bickering at the table by pointing out that “Because of [Gorbachev] we have many things…like Pizza Hut!”, seems like the final nail in the coffin. The music rises to a dramatic crescendo amongst the building tension and this great peace-making remark facilitates the denouement that follows. To have a Russian babushka, notoriously unwavering in their positions, endorsing the man responsible for the nation’s greatest humiliation, and in doing so rallying the rest of her family around him reads like an intentionally crude misrepresentation of the likely feelings of someone watching the commercial. The figure that one would expect would be most opposed to capitalist values is triumphantly raising a triangle-shaped, pepperoni-covered illustration of it — celebrating the man who brought it here. This aggravates the humiliation as the figure that most Russians would perceive as the last great bastion of support for their values is whole-heartedly embracing those that are the absolute antithesis.
As the family’s patriarch raises a pizza slice like a champagne flute to toast the former Soviet leader sat in the corner with his granddaughter, the entire establishment erupts into a rapturous chant of “Hail to Gorbachev!”. Gorbachev acknowledges the frenzied crowd with a subtle wave as he beams with joy. It almost appears as though he is delighted with the fact that American, capitalist values have infiltrated the Russian people at their very root — something which will inevitably stir anger in the Russian viewer. As we are treated to some swooping close-ups of piping hot pizza, the chant continues to ring in the background, turning more sinister and demonic with each repetition, as a few more iconic landmarks flash on the screen. It evokes imagery of a hero being paraded through the streets. Making very clear that that is what Gorbachev is through the lens of this commercial. That in itself is very telling as in both the leadup to and aftermath of this commercial that was the prevailing perception of Gorbachev in the west. In fact, he enjoyed far greater popularity in those years there than he did at home — the architect of communism’s collapse seen as a badge of honour rather than a mark of shame. It’s the rubbing in the face of the man that many saw as responsible for their woes in the years since that these closing moments seem to target — capitalism won, here’s the man who made it possible and everyone loves him for it. Confronting the Russian viewers with the accumulation of these images is too much to stomach and slashes through any feelings of national pride that they may be trying to cling onto — they are mortified and therefore understandably would reject this commercial.
Gorbachev would later say that he regretted starring in the commercial[3] — only taking up the offer to raise funds for his foundation, with reports clamming he was paid upwards of $1m ($2m in 2020) for the role. Though frankly this does little to mitigate the damage that was done, with the campaign’s poor domestic reception being a key contributing factor to Pizza Hut pulling out of Russia in October of that same year. The message that the commercial sent was too soon for a nation still reeling from a major loss. Elza Ibrocheva and Nadia Kaneva summarised it well in their 2012 analysis of the ad, stating that it symbolised “the passing of communism and the triumph of the new, capitalist, and consumerist order”[4], highlighting that Gorbachev selling out to be used as an advertising tool was an ironic symbol of “his irrelevance as a political figure in the post-communist context”[5]. In other words, one of the iconic Soviet leaders who espoused socialist values becoming just another pawn in an overwhelming wave of capitalist influence served only to accent the irrelevance of communism so soon after the demise of its power. Gorbachev choosing to play this role was an admission of defeat and doing so in this way forced Russian people to bear the weight of this humiliation. Americans delighted in the message that the campaign sent for reasons that were the opposite side of the same coin. They had got one over on the Russians, who were forced to bow their heads in shame and concede that they had been bested.
Ultimately, the entire saga tells us that globalisation is a very powerful force, but it has its limits. American corporations were popping up all over the eastern bloc as soon as they had the opportunity to, bringing with them profound cultural influence. For the most part, people were embracing them, infatuated with the sight of new goods and the possibility of new experiences. The influence of American values was therefore spreading at an astonishing rate and even people who had been told their whole lives to ferociously oppose them began to incorporate them into their lives — gradually homogenising the globe as globalisation is inclined to do. However, this example teaches us that major geopolitical tensions still take precedence over the powerful force that is globalisation. Especially in this case, with a country’s greatest humiliation less than a decade removed, promoting a campaign that plays on this humiliation is a step too far. Russian people held some attachment to communism and the idea of being a superpower even if it brought myriad terrible consequences, and this commercial attempt to overlook the country’s history was not something that the people could stomach even if they generally found the rise of American influence in their lives palatable. This points to the fact that macro issues still play a key role in how well cultural objects such as this translate across borders, even as physical borders become ever more irrelevant.
