Coca-Cola weren't the only brand to attempt to forge a connection in consumers' heads between the charms and mystique of the magnificent ice bear and the seductive delights of a sugar-filled beverage. In the mid-1980s, bar-goers were heavily into something called "wine coolers", a drink comprised of wine, fruit juice and lashings and lashings of sweet addictive sugar. The Canadaigua Wine Company of upstate New York was one establishment eager to make a killing on this hot new fashion, and in 1986 launched a campaign founded on the observation that consumers are drawn in most fervently by two kinds of advertising hook - endorsements by celebrities and endorsements by freaky-looking animals; in both cases, creatures whose bizarre eccentricities were intended to embody everything fun and enlivening about the brand in question. Hence, the Sun Country Polar Bear campaign was conceived as a means of getting the best out of each possible world. Why a polar bear? "Cool and refreshing" explained Steven H. Rotter, of the Towne, Silvestein, Rotter ad agency.
Unlike the playful, puppy-like polars of the Coca-Cola ads, Sun Country were quite content to make their own eccentric ursine an icon of sheer terror; aesthetically, we find ourselves back in the territory of George the Hofmeister Bear, tasked with getting cosy with the horrifying visuals of a human figure buried beneath the sheathings of a moth-eaten party suit. A bear on the outside and a human within, the mascot's heart and soul were distinctively those of a chameleon, in that he (or she) had no set personality and took on the characteristics of whichever celebrity was playing him (or her) in any given spot. The ads followed a formula in which a different celebrity, their features obscured by the kinky furs of that infernal bear costume, would deliver a customised endorsement of the Sun Country Wine Cooler, removing the bear's head at the end in order to confirm their true identity while delivering a final punchline. No doubt intended as a light-hearted lampooning of the frivolous nature of celebrity endorsements, the ads became an exercise in the marrying of the familiar with the dislocating - the dark, lifeless eyes of that artificial polar seem all the more uncanny when matched with the reassuring vocals of an esteemed celebrity. Numerous celebrities lined up to receive the Sun Country treatment and endure the indignity of having to clad up in that repulsive suit. In an effort to appeal to as broad a demographic as possible, the line-up included everyone from Michael Nader of Dynasty fame to The Four Tops, although none did a more cracking job of it than Vincent Price. It goes without saying that when you get Vincent in to dress up as a polar bear and talk about the terrors of being inundated with inferior wine cooler brands, you're going to have one devilish delight of an advert on your hands.
The one celebrity who was not required to add his persona to the bear's ever-increasing repertoire of alternate guises was Ringo Starr, who was allowed to forgo the costume and extol the virtues of downing alcoholic pop entirely as himself. This makes sense when you appreciate that getting Ringo on board was a pretty big deal, for it marked the first time that one of the Beatles had ever agreed to do a paid celebrity endorsement. Obviously, Canadaigua wanted to flaunt their little drummer boy for all that he was worth (he was costing them something within the seven figures; why wouldn't they aim to show his face as much as possible?). This much apparently came as a disappointment to Ringo, who was looking forward to the opportunity to model the then-infamous fursuit. Still, the bear did not entirely disappear from the scene once the former Beatle took up endorsement duties, for Ringo was shown interacting with him in the closing moments of each spot, only now his antics were strictly silent. Deprived of his ever-changing celebrity vocals, the beady-eyed bear made the complete descent into the maelstrom of nightmares, even with the wise-cracking Ringo at his side. Incidentally, why Ringo? "Classic with a dry and humorous sense," said Canadaigua chairman Marvin Sands.
Classic Ringo may be, but not even he could prevent the thirst for wine coolers from petering out as the decade entered its twilight years. Consumer interest waned, and by the dawn of the 1990s, the cloying concoction was all but extinct, with increased excise taxes on wine proving the final nail in the coffin in 1991. The wine cooler was officially wiped out, leaving cheaper malt beverages like the Zima to the fill the evolutionary niches. Like many of the advertising icons we've already covered, the cooler-sipping ursine's time in the sun was relatively short-lived, and he was ultimately left to stagnate in his decade of origin. Still, we all know that freaky advertising animals never die, they just get buried in the deep dark recesses of your subconscious. I'm pretty sure that somewhere in mine there's a perpetual party going on where the Sun Country Polar and George the Hofmeister Bear are mingling and Spuds McKenzie and his Spudettes are sprawled out across the couch in an intoxicated stupor. That's a thought that I am more-or-less willing to live with.
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