(1992) Hershey's Amazin' Fruit took gummi bears to previously unheard of levels of sugary prestige. These candy bags were full of what seemed like the kind of gummi bears we'd eaten for a millennia, but looks can be deceiving. These bears packed a fruity wallop like none other, made from real fruit juice and colored like real fruit bears. Hershey's, having tackled the esteemed arena of chocolate, sought to usurp control of other parts of the sweets market by going absolutely insane and injecting poor, innocent, translucent, minuscule living bears with doses of juiced peaches and strawberries. The bear community wasn't a big fan of this, but our tongues remained appreciative.
What made Amazin' Fruit special wasn't the bears' flavor or the fact that they used natural ingredients -- it was all in the marketing. No gummi bear had ever seen such promotion before, and not even the huge gummi conglomerates were able to get their wares placed alongside everyday candybars for any extended period of time. With the powerful name of Hershey and the powerful power color of baby blue on their side, Amazin' Fruit proved that gummi bears weren't just for special occasions anymore.
And though some may exist, I can think of no other gummi bear candy that's ever had its own commercial broadcast several times a day during children's programming hours for seventy-four months straight. Okay, maybe it wasn't that long, but it was long enough to get their ad jingle stuck in my head and STUCK THERE SO HORRIBLY WELL-STUCK THAT I STILL HUM -- NO -- SING IT EVERY HOUR OF EVERY DAY WITHOUT FAIL AND....WITHOUT....CURE. It's the most sense-assaulting and brain-shattering and fruit-plattering theme you'll ever hear. AND IT'S SUNG BY A BUNCH OF CREEPY, TALKING, DANCING GUMMI BEARS. It's...Amazin' Fruit!
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So you're sitting there watching television, completely minding your own business, absolutely lulled into a semiconscious semi-coma by the repeat episodes of whatever crap you were watching at the time. You're barely awake, save for that small part of your mind that leaves room for danger alerts whenever something really peculiar is going on. The 'danger alert' isn't something to pine for, much less something to encourage. It's the six-year-old stroke - the closest kids would get to a heart attack without immediately being cast in a science special about six-year-old kids who get heart attacks. The danger alerts are there in case of an emergency. The schematics of how it's triggered were never perfected in our process of evolution, so some things that aren't emergency material are able to slip through the cracks and unnecessarily cause us great panic and stress. Case in point: the Amazin' Fruit commercial.
Out nowhere during a commercial break, a red gummi bear hops on the screen. Carrying a strawberry, which is comparatively gigantic, the gummi bear segues into a song and dance number about himself. But! This gummi bear is not alone. In the words of the Uncle Louis from Christmas Vacation when he was playing the pet shop owning mobster in that other movie, the gummi bear was really...not alone.
It's Amazin' Fruit! It's Amazin' Fruit! It's our Amazin' Fruit!
AMAAAAZIN' Fruit!
It's....Amazin' Fruit. Amazin' Fruit Amazin' Fruit. Cha Cha cha.
That's how it went, and you want to know the worst part? It's the catchiest motherfuckin' song ever recorded. It took all of three viewings to memorize every nuance of the theme, not by any act of intent, but rather because it was impossible not to. You can't even fault Hershey's for any of this -- it wasn't illegally subliminal or anything, it was right there in front of you. Actually, it was too right there in front of you. The bears seemed to crawl right out of the television, like the girl from The Ring, (or Ringu if I want to sound cooler) only without the associated fear of dying.
One by one, each of the bears appeared. Strawberry Bear, Pineapple Bear, Lime Bear, Grape Bear, ALL BEARS. Singularly, I might have been able to handle 'em. When they're all together...well...
It's Amazin' Fruit! It's Amazin' Fruit! It's our Amazin' Fruit!
AMAAAAZIN' Fruit!
It's....Amazin' Fruit. Amazin' Fruit Amazin' Fruit.
CHA CHA CHAHAHAHAHAH.
It was pure insanity, and it made you want the candy more than anything else in the world. I mean, LOOK at those bears. Cute? Perhaps. DEFINITELY edible. You were salivating long before you understood all of this to be a food commercial, and by the time the Amazin' Bears explained that they were for sale, you were ready to trade your kidneys in for a taste. As they finished their voodoo chant, a voice-over by some Hershey's guy details Amazin Fruit's high class ingredients and attention to flavor. See what I mean? No other gummi bear companies ever put on a show like this before.
After they're done with the Song from Hell, the bears submissively enter the plastic tunnel to their eventual doom. One by one and without complaint, the bears sidestep into the Amazin' Fruit package, merging with their carried fruit into honest-to-goodness edible candy. It's the ultimate sacrifice, and they manage to keep their smiles bright the whole way through. Strawberry Bear, the unofficial leader of the pack, even volunteered to go into the bag first. Honorable Amazin' Fruit Bears. As you sat there and watched, there they went. Farewell, Lime Bear. See you when you come out my ass, Grape Bear. The last one to enter? Pineapple Bear.
While the other bears entered without a hint of resentment or regret, Pineapple Bear shoots you the creepiest look you'll ever endure. He tries, vaguely, to make it appear like a smile. In truth, this is a promise of revenge. Pineapple Bear swears severe repercussions to all who'd dare attempt to swallow him. I took solace in my young hatred for pineapple-flavored candy, but wondered about the kids who didn't know better. What would Pineapple Bear do to them? Amazin' Fruit is pretty complicated stuff.
For a long, long time, my hunt for Amazin' Fruit has been fairly unsatisfactory. I've found traces of the beasts - empty cardboard boxes that once hosted their bags but now host other, non-gummi bags - but I was never able to actually find the bears themselves. Until last night...
At a dirty, dusty Duane Reade, there they were. Six original packages of IT'S AMAZIN' FRUIT AMAZIN' FRUIT AMAZIN' FRUIT. I quietly delighted in my find, and happily handed over around five bucks for all six packages. When I got home, I put on a bear costume and rolled all over them. Twice.
The packaging is certainly an eye-catcher, colored remarkably and swarmed with cheerful fruit-bearing fruit bears. While small, the bags contain an adequate amount of the candy -- at least enough for two mouthfuls if your mouth hadn't previously been enlarged by reconstructive luxury surgery. Truly, it's the kind of package little hands would reach out for, explaining much of Amazin Fruit's popularity.
Also of note: the bag claims that the candy is 'naturally and artificially flavored.' It's kind of like saying something's 'good and not good.'
The bears themselves weren't quite what you hoped for, though. By watching the commercial, you half-expected the candy to be alive and singing. These bears didn't even have real legs -- just nubby stubs that made the animals appear to be paraplegic. As far as taste goes, though, they scored an 'A.' These gummi bears were softer than what we're used to, and the flavors were more distinctly differentiated. You could tell which kind of bear you were eating even in blind taste tests, but I wouldn't recommend that since it robs you of the chance to scowl at the bears before chewing them to death.
What always impressed me about Amazin' Fruit had little to do with their taste. Firstly, consider how cheap these were to produce in comparison with most of the other impulse candies. I know, we're only talking pennies, but those pennies add up when you're distributing packages by the hundreds of thousands. Secondly, it's just a great study in marketing. Gummi bears were considered 'cheap candy' - the large bags of 'em rarely sold for more than a pack of bubble gum, and the biggest selling point of the boxes sold at movie theaters were the sheer amount of candy you'd get for your money. Simply by adding a neat package and constructing an impossibly engaging ad spot, Hershey's made gummi bears something far more regarded.
Amazin' Fruit also came out in the right time - gummi candies were becoming more and more popular again, with things like Lifesavers even making the transition to cash in. The bears we've just seen were the most known Amazin' candy, but there were a few others in the series...
Tropical Amazin' Fruit. Same deal, more lual-like.
Amazin' Fruit Super Fruits came out in 1995, after the originals had already tapered off into obscurity and digestion. These shared the bears' flavor, but were shaped like actual pieces of fruit instead. Definitely didn't seem amazin' to me, but then, I was always the type who got off on murdering little candy animals.
When Hershey's noticed all the press being lent to the first Jurassic Park sequel, Amazin' Fruit was sent in to scavenge the financial remains. This version, based on The Lost World, featured gummi candy shaped like the movie's starring dinosaurs. If you think gummi dinosaurs are taking things a little too far from realism, try to remember that the J-P trilogy featured raptors capable of conversation and carnivorous frilled demons who tormented Seinfeld regulars. Amazin' Fruit was just following suit. Amaaaazin' suit.
They're not easy to find today, but they are still around. Several online retailers continue to sell boxes of Amazin' Fruit, though never with a clear warning that they're, you know, over a decade old. In this case, I'd say it's worth the risk. Your stomach might revolt, but nobody should go through life without trying the Bears Who Sing And Let You Eat Them. Check out the commercial for details, download down below.
While the other bears entered without a hint of resentment or regret, Pineapple Bear shoots you the creepiest look you'll ever endure. He tries, vaguely, to make it appear like a smile. In truth, this is a promise of revenge. Pineapple Bear swears severe repercussions to all who'd dare attempt to swallow him. I took solace in my young hatred for pineapple-flavored candy, but wondered about the kids who didn't know better. What would Pineapple Bear do to them? Amazin' Fruit is pretty complicated stuff.
At a dirty, dusty Duane Reade, there they were. Six original packages of IT'S AMAZIN' FRUIT AMAZIN' FRUIT AMAZIN' FRUIT. I quietly delighted in my find, and happily handed over around five bucks for all six packages. When I got home, I put on a bear costume and rolled all over them. Twice.
