Candyman Review (Film, 2021)
content warning: racial violence, violence against women, child endangerment, blood, gore, body horror, gunfire
In the new Candyman, a black artist’s life is forever changed while creating an exhibition inspired by the brutal true crime cases in the Cabrini-Green neighborhood of Chicago. First, Anthony learns about Helen Lyle and her many victims. Then, one of the survivors tells him about the Candyman, the vengeful spirit of a homeless man murdered by the police for a crime he didn’t commit. Anthony decides to summon the Candyman to better inspire his work. His girlfriend Brianna tries to stop him, but Anthony will do anything to find his muse and create meaningful work again.
One of the goals of the new Candyman is to reconcile a major issue in the original film. Actor Tony Todd, the original Candyman, was asked to create his own backstory for the paranormal slasher. He decided to make him the victim of racial violence, a black artist murdered by a lynch mob for falling in love with a white woman. The problem is the intended victims of the original film were never reexamined through this new lens. Why is a black victim of an extrajudicial killing by white people coming back from the grave to terrorize and murder black people? Writer/director Nia DaCosta and co-writer Jordan Peele approach this challenge in a few ways.
First and foremost, the original film is recontextualized in a way that places the blame on Helen Lyle, the original Candyman protagonist. It’s been 27 years onscreen since she stumbled upon the Candyman and the story has changed. Candyman is no longer the boogeyman; Helen is. She entered the Cabrini-Green neighborhood as an outsider trying to profit off of the suffering of its citizens. She forced her way into their lives, then started to murder them one by one. She wanted to research their pain and suffering, so she caused it herself when it wasn’t what she expected it to be. No one ever really trusted her, and they paid the price for welcoming her into their community. Details from the second and third film are similarly rolled in as urban legends as the story progresses.
Second, Anthony becomes obsessed with Helen’s story while building a new exhibition inspired by Cabrini-Green and gentrification. He actively seeks out her story and begins incorporating those details into his artwork. Eventually, he finds all of her research at the university library, including the audio recordings she made during her investigations in the neighborhood. Virginia Madsen reprises her role as Helen for all new voiceovers that discuss how easily an urban legend like Candyman can take hold in a community facing violence.
Third, the Candyman himself is a new figure in the story. This isn’t the ill-fated portrait artist of the original trilogy; this is a homeless man murdered by the police for being a suspect in a crime against a white child. The new Candyman got his nickname from handing out candy to all the children in Cabrini-Green. The police turn a harmless man into public enemy number one after a white girl in a completely different neighborhood is given a piece of candy with a razorblade in it. They beat Candyman to death, only to discover days later that someone else was targeting children in the other neighborhood.
This means we have key details of the series reexamined as urban legends; a new artist becoming obsessed with uncovering the truth behind the legends; and a new Candyman better reflecting contemporary issues of police brutality and extrajudicial punishment in America. The concept is solid and serves as a masterclass in how to reimagine a long-running slasher series without abandoning what came before. This isn’t Halloween (2018) specifically having to announce which films are or aren’t canon; this is embracing what came before and moving in a new direction for the betterment of the entire series.
The new Candyman feels more like Clive Barker’s original Candyman story “The Forbidden.” That story is a critique of academic sight-seeing in impoverished communities for the sake of a good story. Helen in the original story wants to study the graffiti in the almost-abandoned public housing blocks because she, a well off academic with a whole lot of free time, is convinced that she is the only person who can find greater meaning in it. There is an upsetting scene where she reveals the gruesome stories of unsolved murders told to her by the actual residents at a dinner with tenured professors. They laugh at the stories, then question their authenticity, then even wager with Helen about whether or not they really happened. The result of the next ghastly murder is the one professor trying to pay off his debt on the bet instead of empathizing at all with the newest victim who Helen had befriended during her research. For him, it’s purely entertainment at that point, a good story to tell for laughs and screams.
In the new Candyman, the academics are replaced by the people who run the art world. Anthony’s agent is his girlfriend, Brianna, who is trying to build a career for both of them in a predominantly white industry. The gallery owner tells Anthony that his provocative paintings of nooses in protest of violence against black people are already old-fashioned and have no place in his gallery. He wants fresh suffering, then specifically tells Anthony that art inspired by his childhood neighborhood is also passé. Anthony isn’t even allowed to create art inspired by his own experience because the art world is tired of seeing those stories told. He has to investigate the Cabrini-Green projects for a fresh story of black pain to repackage for the art world all to willing to profit off of that suffering.
It’s a powerful setup for a new Candyman film that doesn’t shy away from racial violence and how those stories are repackaged for public consumption in contemporary America. Brianna is never actually praised for the exhibits she curates for the gallery, especially any of Anthony’s work. Her value as an agent and curator is not given any weight until the media decides a brutal murder at the gallery is connected to Anthony’s “Say His Name” installation inspired by Candyman. Her career is only allowed to advance when she provides Anthony a platform to explore violence against black people, and that work is only valued when white people are murdered near it. It’s a vicious cycle of exploitation that forces the couple to explore what actually matters to them in their work and relationship.
Nia DaCosta’s direction is stunning. The use of shadow puppets to retell the story of Candyman and Helen is the perfect choice. There is enough detail in the exposition to know what happened, but the puppets themselves add distance to the story. The device had me questioning what I knew about the original films because the shadows were the same but the story they told was different. Shadows then become essential to the scares, as the Candyman can only be seen in reflections and no one has enough time to process their assailant is actually a vengeful spirit. We see what the Candyman can do, but his victims are convinced that someone has to be hiding in the shadows.
I’ve barely scratched the surface of the new Candyman in this review. This is one of the most thrilling reimaginings of a horror series I’ve ever seen. I’m excited for the possibility of more Candyman stories and for whatever project Nia DaCosta creates next.
Candyman is playing in theaters.