'Candyman (2021)'

Directed by Nia DaCosta and co-written by Jordan Peele, 'Candyman (2021)' succeeds at both living up to the greatness of its predecessor and outlining the heavy realities of the world around us. The original 'Candyman', an adaptation by the British filmmaker Bernard Rose of the British writer Clive Barker’s short story “The Forbidden,” was explicitly conceived and directed through a white gaze. The new 'Candyman' is the first horror feature distributed by a major studio to be directed by a Black woman, DaCosta. The film acts as both a remake and a sequel to the original by continuing, roughly, where the last left off while simultaneously rehashing similar themes and story trends.

The 1992 'Candyman' is an unsettling, captivating, and all-around masterpiece for the horror genre; the film effortlessly blends the expected horror tropes with a haunting, macabre atmosphere. While Virginia Madsen is the star of the film, an ingratiating, ambitious graduate student Helen Lyle, it’s Tony Todd as the titular Candyman that has kept the film alive for all these years. Even with the film's dissecting of Chicago's history with gentrification, disturbingly realistic practical effects, the spine-chilling atmosphere, and the slasher gore I've come to love - Tony Todd's commanding performance is what brings me back each time. His Candyman, while brutal, is also seductive. He doesn’t so much say Helen’s name but purrs it, drawing out vowels and consonants to almost enchanting and bring Helen under his control. He glides as he walks, his gaze is direct, he isn't a lifeless murder or a quippy killer — he’s a legend that lives to exist by shedding the blood of innocents and keeping the name alive in those that fear him.

In 2021 'Candyman', the Candyman mythos is ripped open with new meaning and purpose. Years after the 1992 film, Chicago artist Anthony McCoy (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) and his girlfriend, Brianna (Teyonah Parris), move into the newly gentrified Cabrini-Green projects. The Candyman myth has long since faded, only to be brought back by as Anthony's artistic inspiration. One evening, Brianna's brother Troy (Nathan Stewart-Jarett) shares the urban legend of Helen Lyle, a graduate student who went on a killing spree in the early 1990s. Her rampage culminated in a bonfire outside the Cabrini-Green housing project when she attempted to sacrifice a baby. The residents were able to rescue the child before Helen perished in the fire in an apparent act of self-immolation. Intrigued by the story, Anthony revisits areas within Cabrini-Green and bumps into an older man named William (Colman Domingo). William reinvigorates the investigative drive of the Candyman legend to Anthony who begins to fall down the same rabbit hole that Helen did. As his investigation furthers, Anthony begins to change physically and mentally as the legend and its history begin to consume him and the people around him.

Despite the divisive nature of the film amongst franchise fans and film critics, I thoroughly enjoyed the film. Yes, the film has plenty of plot holes, unused side plots, not-so-subtle social commentary, etc., but for all of the issues, the story that's there is still highly engaging and thought-provoking. The new concept is that "Candyman isn’t a he, he’s the whole damn hive.” This line spoke to Anthony by William, re-contextualizes the character of Candyman away from Daniel Robitaille, the original Candyman, and focuses on the various individuals that have been murdered by the hands of systemic racism. For those who don't know, Daniel Robitaille was a painter and son of a slave, who fell in love and got a white woman pregnant, and who was then beaten and tortured, his hand sawn off, slathered in honey, stung by bees, and set on fire, all on the land that would become Chicago’s infamous Cabrini–Green projects. From his death, the legend of Candyman was born and spread around the projects like an ever-evolving game of telephone where the identity of Candyman himself is fluid and always changing. The latest incarnation of the legend is Sherman Fields, a hook-handed man whom the police incorrectly believed was responsible for putting a razor blade in a piece of candy that ended up in the hands of a white girl. Sherman Fields died at the hand of police brutality and his existence was reborn as Candyman.

The execution of this concept is perfect. As Anthony begins to make art that challenges his audience to "say his name," Candyman is reintroduced into the world and therefore is associated with him. More and more people test the existence Candyman and pay the price for it with their lives. Although his art has made him more popular, the press and the people in Chicago start to connect the murders to Anthony, thus defining him as the Candyman. Anthony now sees Candyman mimicking his movements in his reflections as if they are the same, while simultaneously a non-threatening bee sting on his hand begins to infect his body as if to say that Anthony is next to dawn the mantle. The name of Anthony's art show and the film's tagline, “Dare to say his name”, intentionally echo the rallying cry of the current movement against undue and lethal law enforcement. Horror has always been a conduit for this type of allegory, tucking that which we’re not supposed to discuss underneath the viscera and the unreality. “Candyman” acknowledges that the real world can be even more dangerous and horrifying than the supernatural. So, every time a character utters “say his name,” it immediately conjures up the emotional pain of the intended coincidence.

Although the film has a lot of smart, innovative, and creative ideas, there are some obvious drawbacks. Because the film is written by three people, there is a lack of a cohesive plot. There are two side plots about William and Brianna that mostly go unexplored with no conclusion. While watching the film there will be a scene where one might ask themselves why this was put there, or if this has any impact as a whole. In tangent to this, the ending of the film sneaks up on the viewer in not a good way. The film builds and builds and builds only to hit the brakes abruptly to transition to a half-baked climax. There is also criticism from the black community that 'Candyman' (2021) capitalizes on black pain. Carvell Wallace from the Atlantic points out,

"The movies and shows I watched as a kid had thoroughly trained me to see Blackness through the dehumanizing and exploitative lens that white filmmakers applied to it. In much of the fare I grew up on, that filter meant that Black characters were either throwaway figures or people who had no identity outside of poverty and struggle. Today such racist notions have become more nuanced, but they still serve as a fairly sure guide to which Black screen ventures get produced and how they are developed and marketed. The popular liberal vision of the Black experience is that it is centered on pain—the enduring of it, the overcoming of it—which translates into an endless appetite and funding stream for films and series devoted to the suffering of Black people. The result for me is that my pain and the pain of people I love is endlessly and cruelly capitalized on."

For others, though, horror's newfound black representation has been in itself a good thing, and certainly an improvement on the kind of racial erasure and stereotyping that preceded it. It is all a matter of perspective and what each person takes away from what they watch on screen.

After all, is said and done, is 'Candyman" (2021) a good film? Yes. There are blatant flaws and respectable criticism to be made, but what the film does well is so creative and well-executed that I cannot simply stop talking or thinking about it. I can appreciate that it was not just another studio cash grab project, but rather an artistic film that has a lot to say beyond face value.