Philip Morris's Ad on Macaroni and Peace --- Kosovo Tale Narrows Gap Between Philanthropy, Publicity
By Shelly Branch
Staff Reporter of The Wall Street Journal
07/24/2001
The Wall Street Journal
B11A
(Copyright (c) 2001, Dow Jones & Company, Inc.)
The TV screen shows a 10-acre refugee camp, its makeshift tents trembling in the snow. Hundreds of Kosovar
refugees, shielding their faces from the harsh conditions, march toward safety and shelter. In the distance, a
military helicopter pierces the gray sky. The words "based on a true story" appear on screen. As the aircraft
lands, cargo doors fly open to expose the contents of its belly: huge cardboard boxes marked "Kraft."
"Hi, I'm Molly from Philip Morris," shouts a passenger above the din of the rotors. Actually, "Molly" is an actor
who was flown from Atlanta to an elaborate set just south of Prague to star in one of the most lavish recreations ever attempted for a TV commercial.
The 60-second ad, which began running in April, is part of the New York cigarette maker's ongoing corporateimage campaign, intended to remind the public about its non-tobacco brands, such as Kraft cheese, as well as
its commitment to charitable giving. "It's important for Philip Morris to get across the message that we're more
than a tobacco company, and that we have dedicated employees," says Karen Brosius, director of corporate
affairs.
Similar spots have touted Phillip Morris Cos.'s disaster-relief efforts on a smaller scale. But "Molly's story," as
the ad is known internally, documents with Klieg-light intensity the lengths to which the company is willing to go
to publicize its good deeds. With production costs far exceeding the actual food donation depicted, the ad is
also a celluloid reminder of the increasingly awkward intersection of corporate philanthropy and marketing.
The commercial was set in motion last spring after public-affairs executive Molly Walsh volunteered to
accompany a five-ton shipment of Kraft food to war-scarred Albania. Returning home with vivid accounts from
the refugee camps, Ms. Walsh shared her emotional experience with colleagues at Philip Morris. Eventually,
her stories made their way to advertising agency Leo Burnett, a unit of Bcom3 Group Inc., Chicago. Within
months, a creative team was working to reconstruct her trip on film.
Leo Burnett shot the ad in the Czech Republic, in part because "we wanted access to plenty of extras that look
like they come from that part of the world," says account director John Gatti. Working with a local production
company, the agency secured the scrubby, expansive terrain for the set. It had to be big enough to
accommodate a huge, fake refugee camp (built weeks in advance of the four-day shoot), barren enough for a
convoy of rented civilian and military vehicles to rumble through, and suitable for helicopter takeoffs and
landings.
"It was as demanding a shoot as I've ever been on," says Mr. Gatti, who flew to the snow-draped location to
help oversee a crew that included script writers, production assistants, translators, and an Australian director.
For the commercial's cathartic final frames, 350 extras -- hand-picked for their dark olive complexions -- huddled
over bowls of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese prepared by a team of local assistants who had never before seen the
bright-yellow noodle dish.
Ms. Walsh came along to ensure the accuracy of certain details, such as whether the head rags worn by "the
babushkas," as she calls them, were properly frayed. Her recollections were less useful when it came to the
Kosovar boy with whom she says she formed a relationship, and whom Leo Burnett scripted into the ad with
emotional zeal. Asked about his name, she says, "I never really got it."
Other details found more creative leeway. Philip Morris's donation, totaling 43 tons over several months, was
airlifted in spring of 1999. At the time, the weather was mild, not frigid, as the ad portrays. Leo Burnett felt the
snow -- which was unexpected -- added a sense of realism to the commercial.
Philip Morris's Ms. Brosius says great care was taken "to convey as much realism and authenticity as possible."
Stillking, the Prague production company hired for the shoot, describes the ad as an "epic film" on its Web site.
But some people say that the depictions -- no matter how skillful -- are in poor taste. "The idea that they've re-
created a human tragedy to promote a corporate triumph strikes us as fundamentally offensive," says
Raymond Offenheiser, president of the hunger-relief organization Oxfam America. "Why not fund an extra 250
volunteers instead of paying 350 actors to play make-believe?"
Sokol Rama, an editor at Illyria, an Albanian-Amerian newspaper, worries that even small misrepresentations in
the ad, like the extras' neat appearance, serve to sanitize the many horrors of the camps. "The reality was more
extreme in fact," he says. "I am thankful to Kraft for the assistance they've given to the refugees, but I don't
think it's right to capitalize on that."
Philip Morris declined to disclose the net value of the donated food (Per-pound wholesale costs for items such
as macaroni and cheese suggest a value of about $125,000.). Neither will it reveal production costs for the ad
(Producers not involved in the project peg its cost at well over $1 million, excluding airtime.). AmeriCares, the
not-for-profit group that worked with the Belgian military to deliver the Kraft food, as well as medicine and other
provisions, isn't mentioned in the commercial. AmeriCares vice chairman Andrew Hannah says that Philip
Morris did contact his group about the ad, but only after production had begun. "They asked us if we wanted to
participate in an advisory fashion or if we wanted to be mentioned, although it was not planned," he says.
Mr. Hannah says the group declined to participate in the commercial -- a decision that isn't surprising, as the
orginazation has taken heat for accepting donations from a tobacco marketer. Nevertheless, AmeriCares was
pleased with the final product. So was the National Albanian American Council, which contacted Philip Morris to
praise the company's efforts. "Philip Morris lent credibility to the initiative," says Richard Lukaj, chairman of the
advocacy group. "Plenty of organizations were involved who took nothing for themselves. At the end of the day,
we need them all."
As more companies beat the drum about their charitable giving, "It's becoming very difficult to pick apart where
there is more of a marketing effort than a true philanthropic effort," says Peter Radford, executive director of the
Center for Responsibility in Business. "This is one of the most complicated aspects of social responsibility."
Since 1990, Philip Morris has contributed more than $380 million to various hunger-relief organizations.
According to its corporate Web site, the company spent "$125 million in 2000 alone . . . to help feed the body,
ease suffering and nourish the spirit." In 1999 Mr. Radford's group gave the company an average grade of "C"
for its charitable contributions relative to other large companies.