The 1984 British Pork Ad is both a car crash and a classic, all in one state-funded Freudian fever dream

When I was asked to contribute to this classics series by the fine folk at Creative Moment, I was scratching my head a bit.

Not because I couldn’t think of one, but it got me thinking as to why the classics are the classics in the first place... and why I was struggling to think of any advert from recent times that had actually burrowed into my brain.

Were ads just everywhere back then? Did we all share them before social media gobbled them up and influencers pinched their lunch? Or am I just not seeing them, or are they simply not worth seeing?

The nightmare you didn’t ask for

While wrestling with these questions, one ad came screaming to the front of my mind—the one I didn’t expect. Not because it was good in any traditional sense, but because it is utterly unforgettable.

And I suspect Lucy was hoping for a nostalgic riff on an iconic Levi’s ad or the majesty of Guinness minimalism, but instead, I brought her a 30-second state-funded fever dream in the form of the 1984 British Pork ‘Sunday Lunch’ ad. This was a time in the UK when government-backed campaigns were common, and Sunday lunch was an institution woven deeply into the fabric of British family life.

Original? Yes. Memorable? Completely. Good ad? Not a chance. It’s a total car crash. 

If you’ve not seen it, brace yourself. It’s pure nightmare fuel.

A cultural document of the ‘Good Old Days’

For me, this isn’t really an ad. It’s a snapshot of so-called ‘good old days’ Britain.

Boom times, big ads, families shifting. As food advertising, it’s a flop. As cultural horror, it’s a winner. It shouldn’t work, but it does—not for selling pork, but for showing what we’ve lost. Somewhere, we stopped taking creative risks. We stopped letting things be odd, raw, or a bit off. The quirks and awkwardness got ironed out. 

Old ads like this have a real unpredictability and charm. Not polished, but you remember them because they don’t tie up neatly.

On paper, it’s simple. Sunday lunch, family, friends, roast pork, warmth, plenty of food, everyone at ease. The food should glow. The room should feel soft and comforting. But none of that comes through on screen.

Flat light and hostile cutlery

The lighting is flat, and it feels more like an interrogation room than a dining room filled with grey, dry pork and horrendous potatoes. Plus, the camera stares at you rather than invites you in. And the sound? God, it is brutal with the sound of the plates and cutlery with an individual mic for each, so every scrape cuts through you like you’re in a prison canteen.

Then the father speaks. “Got what it takes. My wife. Got friends round. Got roast pork for lunch.”

He delivers his lines like orders, eyes locked. No warmth. No rhythm. He stares through the camera, past you, like he’s quietly fuming instead of enjoying lunch. The words and tone don’t match. Everyone else cracks on, which only makes it weirder.

More David Lynch than Bet Lynch

Here, nothing lines up. Images, sound, performances, message—all pulling in different directions. And that’s exactly why it works.

Back in 1984, I doubt anyone saw it this way. The dad carving the meat was just authority and provision, all very normal. Now, in a post-true crime world, that fixed stare and stiff family set-up feel like something else. More coercion than care. That’s why this ad has a second life online. People share it because it feels wrong, even if they can’t say why. It sticks.

The death of the glorious mistake

And the truth is that this weird tension survives because no one stepped in, and now production scrubs out anything odd or unpredictable in the drive for smoothness and emotional polish, which sands the sharp edges that made ads stick. That’s why most modern ads blur together, while the British Pork ad stands out. The tension forces it into your memory.

Most ads now are easy to get and easy to forget. You know what you’re meant to feel, and then it’s gone. This one does the opposite. 

You’ve no idea what’s going on, and that’s why it stays lodged in your brain. Something’s off, and that’s exactly what makes it memorable.

Truth is, there’s a handful of ads that stick because something in them doesn’t quite add up. Tango’s slap. PlayStation’s weird faces. Pot Noodle’s Too Gorgeous. All ads where the tone goes off-piste. This one’s in that club, just without the self-awareness.

The tension is harder to forget than the appetite

So, this isn’t a plea for bad ads. It’s a plea for leaving space for things that don’t tie up neatly. The bits that should have sunk this are the only reason it cuts through now.

Think of Tommy Wiseau’s The Room, which is a total and near-perfect disaster that has become the ultimate cult classic. And like The Room, what sticks is the tension and the oddness of the tone, which lasts long in the memory and is impossible to recreate. And I picked it because it shows what happens when no one tidies up. 

It’s not an auteur piece. It’s a mistake that became one. Clumsy, misjudged, totally broken.

And it’s more memorable than most of what we make now, for exactly that reason.

So yes, we’re technically better at making ads now. But we’ve lost the knack for making ads that actually stick. The price of perfection is forgettability.