Tales That Defy the Ordinary

Sharp takes on film, culture, history, nostalgia, and the curious corners of human life. With side-glances at nature, thought, and satire. Jackdaw Posts isn’t your average blog. Not quite a magazine.

But always worth the read.

Guinness Ads: The Art of Selling a Pint (and a Fantasy)

There are beers, and then there’s Guinness. Not just a stout. Not just a brand. A cultural hallucination in liquid form. The only drink that ever convinced millions it was somehow good for them while riding in on the back of a cartoon toucan. It wasn’t the alcohol content. It was the ads.

Over nearly a century, Guinness has perfected the art of advertising with a peculiar blend of surrealism, sentimentality, philosophy, and outright fabrication. Its campaigns didn’t just sell beer. They sold the idea that drinking Guinness was part of a larger, nobler narrative. A spiritual experience. A lifestyle choice made by men who think deeply and pour slowly.

This is not just a story about beer. This is a story about how Guinness played the world like a harp—and poured it a pint while doing it.

 

op half of a Guinness pint glass showing rich dark stout and creamy foam head
Philosophy in a glass. Foam optional. Image credit: unsplash.com

“Guinness is Good for You”: The Slogan That Should’ve Come With a Doctor’s Note

Let’s begin with the lie. A beautiful, bold, clinically unsupported lie.

"Guinness is Good for You."

First unleashed in the 1920s, this slogan was supposedly based on anecdotal feedback from pub-goers who claimed they felt “better” after a pint. Which, let’s be honest, is how most pub-goers feel after a pint. This was before advertising had to be truthful, or at least vaguely tethered to medical science.

In stepped John Gilroy, the advertising artist behind Guinness’s golden age. He gave us lions, seals, tortoises, and the now-immortal toucan—all of whom seemed to enjoy Guinness more than was medically advisable.

You’ve got to admire the audacity: a beer ad featuring a tropical bird balancing a pint on its beak while suggesting the stout will boost your iron levels, cure your nerves, and help you sleep better. In an age when opium was still over-the-counter, Guinness made a strong case for itself as the liquid multivitamin of the masses. Science said nothing. Guinness said everything. The world chose the bird.

The Animal Kingdom Joins the Brand Team

The 1930s–1950s saw Guinness roll out the greatest bestiary in advertising history. It was like Noah’s Ark with a brewery license.

There were kangaroos bouncing with bottles, ostriches swallowing pints whole, and sea lions balancing trays like underpaid waiters. Tortoises carried Guinness on their backs like sacred relics. Even the occasional zookeeper appeared, usually baffled and beerless.

Why animals? Because people believe animals. If a seal looks happy holding a pint, that’s data. If a toucan smiles while promoting liver tonic in pint glasses, that’s credibility.

It was all charming, bizarre, and very effective. These animals weren’t just mascots—they were sales reps.

And the best part? They didn’t speak. They just stared at you, with that knowing look that said, you’ve had a long day. Go on—just one.

Wartime and the Stout That Won Hearts

During WWII, Guinness shifted its marketing from whimsy to morale. They brewed special batches for British troops and even air-dropped Guinness to soldiers in Normandy. Yes—while others dropped bombs, Guinness dropped pints.

It wasn’t just branding. It was national therapy. If you’re going to charge a beach, you may as well imagine there’s a creamy pint waiting when you get back.

Meanwhile, back home, Guinness ads remained a balm. In a country rationed and grey, the adverts promised a taste of something richer, darker, steadier. Something that could be trusted. Which, considering it was a stout, and not a statesman, is saying something.

The Existential Pint: Enter Rutger Hauer

In the 1980s and ’90s, Guinness took a sharp turn into philosophy—because nothing sells beer like a brooding monologue. Enter Rutger Hauer: Dutch actor, Blade Runner replicant, and the only man who could make a stout seem like Nietzsche in a glass.

His Guinness ads were all mood and metaphor. Silhouettes, shadows, whispers about the “power of darkness.” These were less like commercials and more like miniature existential crises. You didn’t know if you wanted a pint or a cigarette and a long walk through the rain.

Hauer would stare into the void (or a pint), and the pint would stare back. And somehow, by the end of 30 seconds, you were convinced that drinking Guinness was an act of philosophical alignment. Plato had his cave. Guinness had Rutger in a trench coat talking about foam. 

It was advertising as sermon. Stout as self-realisation.

 

 
Rutger Hauer in “Pure Guinness” (1987–1994) — Where the Pint Thinks Before You Do. Video courtesy of the Hall of Advertising YouTube channel @HallOfAdvertising

The Dancing Man and the Joy of Being Less Profound

Thankfully, Guinness remembered that joy sells too. In 1994, it gave us The Dancing Man. Joe McKinney, bald, suited, spinning like Gene Kelly after a promotion. He dances his way through the streets to Guaglione, seemingly powered by good vibes and stout. It wasn’t complicated. It was human. It was about that buzz you get after your first sip. That itch in the foot, that lopsided grin, that “go on then” swing of the shoulders.

Behind the bar was Gordon Winter, pouring Guinness with such grace it looked choreographed. The two of them—man and bartender—created a visual duet of joy and longing. For a pint. For a moment. For something simple that made you feel alive. Naturally, someone sued. Director Mehdi Norowzian accused Guinness of nicking his style from an earlier short film, Joy. The court disagreed. Guinness kept dancing.

Because sometimes happiness can be copyrighted. Just not this time.

 

 

Guinness – Dancing Man (1994) — When a Pint Hits the Feet Before the Head.
Video courtesy of CR's Video Vaults YouTube channel: @CRsVideoVaults

Surfer: The Michelangelo of Beer Ads

Then came Surfer—the ad that blew the froth off everyone else’s pint.

  1. Black-and-white. Slow-motion waves. Horses exploding from the sea like Poseidon’s cavalry. A voiceover so serious it could resurrect dead philosophers.

“He waits. That’s what he does.”

The metaphor? The wait for a perfect pint is like a surfer waiting for the perfect wave. The execution? Visual poetry. Mythic proportions. Liquid theatre. Surfer didn’t just sell Guinness. It sold the feeling of waiting for something that was worth it. The patience. The anticipation. The reward. All set to a thunderous soundtrack and enough masculine gravitas to make a rugby scrum weep.

If you ever wanted to watch a beer ad and feel like you’d just seen the opening to Gladiator, this was it.

 

 

Guinness – Surfer (1999, UK) — The Pint That Waits, and Is Worth Waiting For.
Video courtesy of the Hall of Advertising YouTube channel: @HallOfAdvertising

Five Frothy Facts You Can Drop Mid-Pint

  1. The Toucan debuted in 1935 and became the most recognisable beer bird in history. Yes, even more than Big Bird after six lagers.

  2. The 9,000-year lease at St. James’s Gate was signed in 1759. Rent: £45 a year. Inflation: not invited.

  3. Nitrogen makes Guinness magic. It gives the iconic “surge and settle.” You’re not drinking beer—you’re observing physics.

  4. Guinness once sent beer to the front lines. Not a metaphor. Planes. Crates. Normandy. Presumably no customs checks.

  5. It’s technically not vegan. Traditional Guinness used isinglass (fish bladder) to filter the beer. Which makes the whole “good for you” thing slightly fishier.

Final Thoughts: Guinness—Because Why Let Reality Ruin a Good Pint?

Let’s be honest—Guinness could slap a pint on a platypus, call it profound, and we’d still nod like it made sense. This is the only beer that convinced us it cures ailments, sparks joy, unlocks existential truths, and surfs horses—all while charging you £5 for 4.2% ABV. And we clapped. It’s not just marketing. It’s black-bubbled sorcery.

So here’s to Guinness: the stout that thinks it’s a philosopher, acts like a poet, and sells like snake oil with better typography. And here’s to us—for buying it. Proudly. Again and again. Like very stylish fools.
Cheers.

FURTHER READING 

  1. Advertising the Black Stuff in Ireland 1959 to 1999 – The Irish Times
     A scholarly history of Guinness’s cultural branding.

  2. Gilroy & Guinness Advertising – Guinness Storehouse
     The story of John Gilroy and the birth of the iconic animal campaign.

  3. The Story of the Guinness 'Surfer' Commercial – SurferToday
     Behind-the-scenes look and why it became legendary.

  4. Commercial Review: Guinness ‘Pure Genius’ (1987–1993, Rutger Hauer) – Junta Juleil
     A deep-dive review of the Man with the Guinness ads featuring Rutger Hauer, showing how they transformed the brand's image.

  5. Pint, anyone? The story behind Guinness’ classic ‘Dancing Man’ ad – 909originals
     A behind‑the‑scenes look at the 1994 Anticipation ad, detailing its creation, Samba-inspired music, and cultural impact.

Most Popular — Of All Time

The Rocketeer (1991) – A Good Idea That Never Quite Takes Off

Image
Los Angeles, 1938. The world is on the brink of war. Hollywood is a neon-lit dream, full of gangsters, movie stars, and fast-talking dames. A stunt pilot finds a rocket pack and suddenly, he’s dodging bullets and soaring above the city like something out of a pulp magazine. Sounds like the perfect adventure, right? It should be. But The Rocketeer —Disney’s 1991 tribute to old-school serials and mid-century swashbuckling—never quite takes off. It’s a film that looks great, has all the right ingredients, but never fully commits to the thrill. It wants to soar. Instead, it hesitates.   Movie poster by John Mattos   A Throwback to a Time That Never Was Directed by Joe Johnston (yes, the guy who later gave us Captain America: The First Avenger ), The Rocketeer is pure pulp adventure, a love letter to old serials, comic books, and a time when heroes wore leather jackets and flew with reckless abandon. It’s based on Dave Stevens’ 1982 comic, itself a nostalgic nod to the 1930s. The...
Read more

Climbing Higher, Breathing Less: The Reinhold Messner Way

Image
They say the mountains don’t care. They don’t care if you’re strong or weak, bold or afraid. They don’t care if you’re Reinhold Messner or some guy who thought hiking boots were optional. But Messner cared. Not about the mountains’ indifference, but about meeting them on their own brutal terms. No oxygen tanks. No safety nets. No excuses. Just a man, a summit, and the thin line in between called survival.   One man, one mountain, no mercy. The Man Who Climbed Before He Climbed Reinhold Messner was born on September 17, 1944, in Brixen, South Tyrol, a rugged sliver of northern Italy where the Dolomites rise like broken teeth against the sky. He grew up in their shadow, which is perhaps the best place to grow if you intend to spend your life chasing summits. By five, he was climbing peaks most kids wouldn’t dare draw. His father, a stern schoolteacher with military roots, taught him discipline. The mountains taught him everything else. Messner’s Mountaineering Philosophy Before Messn...
Read more

USS Eldridge and the Philadelphia Experiment: Fact, Fiction, or Cover-Up?

Image
In 1943, a U.S. Navy ship supposedly vanished—then reappeared miles away. The story of the Philadelphia Experiment has baffled, thrilled, and amused ever since. Was it science, myth, or something stranger lurking beneath the waves? Let's lift the fog. The Philadelphia Experiment: When War Met Wonder and Vanished Project Rainbow: War Games and Wishful Thinking The world burned. Steel-clad ships cut the Atlantic. And somewhere in a Navy lab thick with wires and ambition, a strange idea flickered to life. The story begins with Project Rainbow , a hush-hush U.S. Navy initiative whispered to involve more than sonar and sweat. According to lore—and we stress the lore—they weren’t just building ships. They were building ghosts . Invisible ones. Enter the USS Eldridge , a destroyer escort built for the nuts and bolts of convoy protection. But it was picked for something grander. Something science-fictional. The plan? Wrap it in electromagnetism. Bend light. Maybe bend time. Make i...
Read more

Not Quite Trending. Not Quite Dead. Too Stubborn to Die.