Cinema is universal, beyond flags and borders and passports.

(Alejandro González Iñárritu)

That’s how the director Alejandro describes cinema: an unstoppable force, faster and smarter than any form of communication we’ve ever known. Cinema doesn’t need a passport. It slips past borders, radars, censors, and customs.

It enters homes, theaters, minds, and imaginations with ease. Even when a film is banned in one country, you can still find it online, masked behind a VPN, hidden in a download link, passed from one device to another like contraband culture.

Cinema was born to entertain. But like drones, once made to shoot photos and now dropping bombs, it got repurposed. After World War II, as Cold War tensions climbed between the United States and the Soviet Union, America realized the weapon it had on hand: Hollywood. Not just a factory for stories, but a machine to shape enemies. To script fear.

From that point on, American films began painting Russians with the same brush, the villainous scientist, the mafia boss, the vodka-soaked brute, the cold and robotic soldier, the prostitute with a tragic past, the dictator, the mercenary. Always heartless. Always defeated by the brave, moral, all-American hero in the end. The same story, over and over again until fiction started to feel like fact.

But this wasn’t just about entertainment. It was a quiet psychological campaign. Over time, these portrayals dug into the global subconscious. For generations raised in Hollywood, the word “Russian” no longer brought up an individual. It summoned an image. A character. A threat.

Sociologists and cultural psychologists have called this a form of cinematic conditioning. When a stereotype is repeated enough through screens, it becomes difficult to unsee. A child in the 80s watching Red Dawn or Rocky IV didn’t just cheer for the American. They learned to fear the Russian. And this fear grew into suspicion, mockery, even hate.

Hollywood became a Cold War weapon. One that didn’t explode, but whispered. A weapon that didn’t destroy cities, but rewired minds. And while governments changed and leaders came and went, the stereotypes stayed. A new Russian generation inherited not only the ruins of the USSR, but the ghosts of how the West had already decided to see them.

Made in Hollywood: the Russian enemy through the years

It kicked off heavily during the Cold War, when Hollywood found its favorite villain, and it wasn’t a monster or an alien, it was the Russian. Suddenly, Soviet characters started showing up in every second movie: stiff, silent, heartless, always with that same cold stare like they were born in a bunker. These films weren’t just entertaining.

They were political tools, dressed as action thrillers. Movies like Red Dawn, Rocky IV, The Hunt for Red October didn’t just tell stories. They shaped minds. And here’s the injustice: it wasn’t just Soviet leaders or military figures getting dragged, it was the entire Russian people. Farmers, musicians, poets, kids in school, all got thrown under the same stereotype. One single identity, mass-produced in Hollywood, stamped on millions of people who had nothing to do with Cold War politics. That’s not just lazy storytelling. That’s erasure.

After the fall of the Soviet Union, Russia was no longer viewed as a powerful counterpart. It became a target, an easy one. And Hollywood didn’t wait. The Cold War villain got a new costume: the mobster, the arms dealer, the ex-agent lost in chaos. Films in the 90s fed off the country’s difficult transition like vultures. GoldenEye, Air Force One, The Saint all leaned into the image of a nation in freefall. It wasn’t about politics anymore. It was about portraying Russians as unstable, violent, and untrustworthy.

And once again, everyday people paid the price. As Russian citizens tried to rebuild their lives through hardship and change, they were being turned into clichés on screen. No nuance. No dignity. Just the same story, repeated until it stuck. The headlines shifted, but the stereotype didn’t.

Then came the 2000s and Russia didn’t disappear from Hollywood. It just got a makeover. No more stiff uniforms or Soviet flags. Now it was leather jackets, slick accents, clubs, mercenaries, hackers, and spies in tight dresses. The enemy got sexy, but stayed deadly. Movies like Eastern Promises, John Wick, Salt, Red Sparrow, they dressed the stereotype in new clothes, but kept the same heartbeat: Russians as violent, cold, calculated.

Either they’re running the mafia, stealing nukes, or training orphans to kill. Even Black Widow, wrapped in Marvel glitter, couldn’t shake the old cliché: child soldiers, cold mothers, a system that turns humans into machines. And again, it’s not about politics, it’s about people. Ordinary Russians, who’ve never held a gun, never worked for the state, never harmed anyone, still find themselves mirrored in these characters. It’s the same playbook, just rewritten for a streaming world. Same fear. Same enemy. Just updated for HD.

From screen to reality: the cost Russia paid for Hollywood’s stereotypes

Hollywood’s portrayal of Russia hasn’t just been about entertainment. It's been a weapon, a slow burn, working its way into minds and shaping perceptions of Russian people. For decades, films have painted Russians with a brush of villainy: cold, calculating, violent, and often evil. But here’s the problem: this isn’t just fiction. It’s become a reality for many Russian citizens who have to face these stereotypes every day, wherever they go.

Psychological studies on media influence show how repeated exposure to these kinds of stereotypes creates bias. Over time, people begin to internalize these portrayals, even if they’ve never met a Russian person in their life. These biased images stick and affect how people see the world, and it’s been especially damaging to the image of Russia. Russians are no longer seen as individuals, but as part of this monolithic, dangerous stereotype. Whether it’s in business, social interactions, or even casual conversations, the stigma follows them.

As Russia stepped into a new chapter after the end of the Soviet era, the way it was portrayed on screen changed too. The political rivalry faded but a new image took its place, one marked by disorder, crime, and moral collapse.

Western films began painting a picture of a nation adrift, caught in confusion and decay. Instead of ideological foes, Russian characters were now cast as unpredictable, dangerous figures shaped by a failing system. This shift didn’t just reflect a new geopolitical reality. It distorted it, turning a complex transformation into a convenient stereotype. And once again, it was ordinary people who were made to carry this image, reduced to symbols of instability in stories that rarely told the full truth.

Russia has a deep, rich culture. Its history is filled with writers like Dostoevsky, musicians like Tchaikovsky, and artists like Viktor Tsoi. The sacrifices made during World War II, where millions of lives were lost in the fight against Nazism, deserve recognition, not exploitation. Hollywood, however, has often ignored these contributions, opting instead for one-dimensional, villainous stereotypes. These portrayals don’t just hurt Russia. They hurt every person who's ever been reduced to a stereotype.

This whole narrative is unfair, unjust, and does a disservice to the Russian people who’ve contributed so much to the world and to the international community, which misses out on the nuance and complexity of an entire culture, reduced to the image of the enemy.

Cinema, at its core, is a universal art form meant to inspire, connect, and tell stories that transcend borders. It reflects humanity’s creativity and its highest hopes. But when art gets pulled into politics, it loses that power. It stops healing and starts dividing. It turns into a tool that spreads fear, mistrust, and flat images of entire nations.

That’s what happened with the way Russia has been portrayed. It’s been boxed into a single, cold stereotype. But Russia is so much more. It’s not just grey skies and accents. It’s a country full of poets, painters, thinkers, musicians. A place with warmth, beauty, and strength.

Now more than ever, cinema needs to go back to its real job. To show the full picture. To give voice to stories that remind us we’re more alike than we think. No more lazy labels. No more turning people into enemies before we even meet them. In a world full of war, pain, and division, the screen should be where we look for truth. Where we find peace. Where we remember that beyond politics and headlines, we’re all just people. And people deserve to be seen fully, honestly, and with heart.