CANDYMAN
Decided to give this a rewatch after suffering through the 2021 film, and reading the AV Club's shower of lies masquerading as review that tried to claim that Bernard Rose was just portraying "White anxieties using a scary Black man."
While racial politics and racism are present in
Candyman, they are not what Rose and original writer Clive Barker limit themselves to. Candyman is a striking, fascinating exploration of the power of folklore and urban legends, and how they are developed and exploited both by oppressed societies and those who do the oppressing.
Nia DaCosta's
Candyman (2021) was content to tell us racism is bad, and have an avenging ghost give us some gore. Rose's
Candyman wants us to squirm. This is not a White guilt story, in which the audience is absolved by the end when the characters admit things could have been done better, nor is it a diatribe against racism, in which the audience can relax because, "Hey, I don't do hate crimes." Rose and Barker's tale is one that can work anywhere where divisions and inequality exist.
The stark contrast between Helen's (Virginia Madsen) and Anne-Marie's (Vanessa Estelle Williams) home is a good measure of what Rose is trying to say. Helen lives in a gorgeous, spacious apartment that overlooks the city's skyline. Outside her home are large parks or clean public spaces. Anne-Marie lives in the ghettos with her baby son. Her apartment is tiny and cramped, but she has done her best to make it cosy and clean. However, the illusion of spruceness is shattered whenever she opens the door. Filth, rubbish, graffiti, and even excrement await with the gang members making crass comments towards the female form. When Helen visits the projects, the opulent, distant skyscrapers of Chicago loom over what looks like a warzone.
Seeing this nightmare outside her home, it's easy to know why a boogeyman like Candyman exists. A story told by parents to their children to make them vigilant. Explaining gangsters, rapists, and drugs to a small child may be difficult for the child, and hard for those living there to admit to, but a monster is simple. No questions asked.
Candyman wants you to feel outraged. It is not one to judge, for the film doesn't have any answers to a punishing problem. It just highlights how society has failed and betrayed communities that they are forced to invent monsters just to survive their plight.
Even if one were to remove the social studies and subtext,
Candyman is a magnificent horror experience. The legend of saying his name five times in a mirror is alluring, and perhaps the main reason why the film was a schoolground favourite growing up. At eight years old we were too young to understand class division, but we would all dare each other to say his name five times.
Speaking of alluring, Tony Todd is perfect as Candyman. Apparently, Eddie Murphy almost played him before dropping out. I like Murphy, but Todd was born to play him. Tall, handsome, and with a voice to make you weak at the knees, Todd captures the enchantment and terror such a creation can draw. His target, Helen, is played with grace and tragedy with Virginia Madsen. Her performance plumbs depths you rarely see in a genre film. Honestly, both actors should have had Oscar nominations. They are well supported by the film's beautiful visuals. Rose and cinematographer Anthony Richmond employ strobing colours and slightly-slow-motion to give the film a hallucinatory experience that you cannot wake up from. Complimenting it all is Philip Glass's extraordinary score that sells the menace and the tragedy of the Candyman legend.
Candyman is a film that keeps getting better everytime I see it. There is so much to dig into when one isn't hiding behind the settee. The final scenes make you wonder how the sequels missed the mark so much. Characters may die, but legends live on.