Gather around, the Candyman is here. Returning to our screens 22 years after 1999’s Candyman: Day of the Dead (or Candyman 3), Nia DaCosta brings the hook-wielding, candy-loving ghostly killer back to Chicago in the franchises fourth entry, returning once more to the series roots around Cabrini-Green. It’s safe to say the legend of the Candyman is back, after successfully topping the box office at $22 million: seems the Candyman still can. But is this revival worth becoming his next victim for…?
Candyman ain’t a “he.” Candyman’s the whole damn hive. If you’re out here looking for Candyman, you ask me, stay away!
William Burke’s foreboding warning, which naturally falls on deaf ears
A decade after the Cabrini-Green towers have been torn down and gentrified, artist Anthony McCoy (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) and his partner, Brianna (Teyonah Parris), move into a new apartment built on-top of the old Cabrini area. After talking with local Cabrini-Green resident William Burke (Colman Domingo), Anthony learns about the mythos of the infamous “Candyman” killer, and what starts as inspiration for a new art project becomes a darkly macabre obsession that threatens to take over his life as he slowly loses himself, uncovering hidden truths from his past along the way. We might feel challenged to repeat his name five times in-front of a mirror, but Nia DaCosta’s take on Candyman implies that maybe some urban legends should be left forgotten… only to be brought back in spectacular fashion!
Confusingly following the naming convention of Halloween (2018) as a sequel to Halloween (1978), Nia DaCosta’s Candyman (2021) is a direct sequel to 1992’s Candyman, that for the most part does away with the original sequels – as well as any sequentially numbered naming convention. Yet with its references, recurring locations and characters, and lore to Bernard Rose’s original, itself based on Clive Barker’s short story, “The Forbidden”, it is important to know going in that a rewatch of the original 1992 gothic slasher is a necessity that will serve to enhance the films plot elements and overall experience.
1992’s Candyman presented its own take on the slasher horror urban legends that lived and developed within the iconic Jason Vorhees and Michael Myer’s franchises, perhaps ironically closer to Freddy Kreuger for his ethereal dream-like abilities, infusing discourse on racial prejudice and tension. DaCosta’s take on the hook-handed killer is set years after the original movie, where the gentrification of the site of Helen Lyle’s climactic death-by bon-fire has been turned into a series of swanky new sky-rise apartments and wealthy clients, while the once notorious residential serial killer has been largely forgotten. At once we are challenged to consider how the neighbourhood, once populated by a very poor, majority colour residence built by white residential developers, has been taken over and gentrified by those same wealthy white developers to force it to fit with the modernised cityscape, ultimately masking the classist, racist divide that residential block represented, overshadowed by Chicago’s prominent skyline, mirroring the now-forgotten Candyman.
Candyman. Candyman. Candyman. Candyman. Candyman. Well, We’re Still Alive
Famous last words from high schooler Haley and her friends…
As the film goes on and parts of the Candyman killer’s past is revealed, expanding upon the lore of the series, we are shown a man who was wrongly accused of crimes he didn’t commit, used as an excuse for local cops to beat him to death. Scenes like this are naturally harrowing and bring a sense of real world horror in the wake of acts of police brutality from the States that we have witnessed in recent years, elevating the race politics of 1992’s Candyman with modern criticism.
The story itself, as well as the performances from its cast, will hook you, much like Daniel Robitaille if you get close enough for a handshake, and for anyone familiar with the lore of the Candyman, this film successfully expands upon it. The legend of the Candyman is shown to have survived and developed by being recontextualised around the murders of African-Americans throughout time at the hands of racist authority figures since the 19th century, resembling his own demise, becoming part of a legend – or “hive” – with a twisted, almost anti-hero angle to his motivation. That Nia DaCosta is the first black female director to hit number one at the box office with Candyman solidifies this entry in the franchise as a significant part of black cinema, in conjunction with its representation of modern race politics.
The legend is, if you say his name five times while looking in the mirror, he appears in the reflection and kills you
Anthony McCoy
But of course, at its heart Candyman is a horror movie with plenty of gratuitous, gruesome gore to delight in. And this menacing killer certainly delivers some sensational sordid slaughter. 1992’s Candyman boasted a more nuanced sensibility to its horror, adding to its unique modern urban-gothic style, where we were forced to face more political discourse in tandem with its brand of hook-handed serial slasher and mutilation, than other examples from the genre otherwise more focused on scream queens and gore. DaCosta’s 2021 sequel, meanwhile, explores more modernised horror cinema alongside its deeper examination of modern Chicago race politics, with some genuinely squeamish, bloodied deaths at the hands of the titular killer. To put it one way, his hook gets put to use. Though arguably it is towards the climax that we see the hook implemented in a far more disturbing way…
Strong as Candyman’s presentation of its themes and story are, however, it is noticeably short, running at around an hour and a half, making it the shortest entry in the series so far. Ultimately, plot twists and revelations during the second half feel as though they come to soon, or are too upfront, where a longer running time that gives audiences more time to digest, analyse, and speculate might have kept this latter half from falling into the trappings of feeling like another modern horror movie, instead becoming something as ethereal and haunting as the original. That being said, it’s hardly a weak climax, with more body horror and scares before the credits role, setting itself up for potential followups.
Troy Cartwright: As I told my sister many times, the neighbourhood is haunted.
Anthony McCoy: Everywhere is haunted.
Yahya Abdul-Mateen II takes the lead in Candyman as an up-and-coming Chicago artist who’s latest project leads him down a darker path than he could have anticipated, with links that tie back to the first movie. Abdul-Mateen’s performance is solid, showing the struggle of a man on the brink as he succumbs to a darkness that is ultimately supernatural, yet exacerbates some of his own inner-fears and personal struggles. His story echoes more of a tragedy, making it all the more horrifying and potent to watch, with a healthy does of grotesque body horror and mental torture to boot. His girlfriend Brianna, meanwhile, is an art gallery director, portrayed by Teyonah Parris, who has a troubled past of her own and adds to the narrative of the struggles of being part of the Chicago art scene.
They’re also joined by the excellent Colman Domingo as William Burke, who goes from traumatised storyteller of the Candyman incident he bore witness to as a child, to delusional madman by the climax, alongside Brian King’s sleazy gallery director, Clive Privler. And of course there’s the return of our favourite vengeful, summonable spirit, in the form of Michael Hargrove’s Sherman Fields – an unjustly killed 1970s incarnation – as well as Tony Todd, who returns as the haunting 19th century spectral killer himself from the original 1992 film. Thankfully this time round, he doesn’t have to stuff his mouth with live bees…
The more things change, the more things stay the same
William Burke
We’re also treated to a soundtrack that recalls the original Philip Glass score, including the tranquil if eerie “Music Box” theme. Unlike conventional slasher horror movies which tend to rely on high pitch, scratchy violins and jumpy musical cues to remind audiences when the optimal “jump” time is, Philip Glass opted for a score that conveyed a conversely more gothic, dreamscape dynamic to match Bernard Rose’s gothic horror rooted movie. Like the horror content of DaCosta’s movie, Robert A. A. Lowe’s score adds a modern horror dynamic to the soundtrack, at times capturing a distorted, trance-like soundscape that could be comparable to Argento’s Suspiria OST by Goblin. While a reprised version of “Music Box” makes for a potent musical moment, what would a movie titled Candyman be if it didn’t take the opportunity to up the creepy on the Sammy Davis Jr. classic?
Strategic framing helps drive the narrative and uphold the dreamy nightmare Candyman presents, with a mirrors and reflections motif echoed in the Chicago glass plated skyline. But to show-off Nia DaCosta’s expert framing design, shots of the city itself, juxtaposed against the dingy graffiti covered corridors at Cabrini-Green, hold some truly stunning if unconventional angles, some giving the illusion of a “Chicago by Escher” that add a sense of surrealism to the cinematography. But for those moments that explore the Candyman mythology more, we’re also treated to animated sequences, making use of a paper cutout shadow puppets aesthetic that not only exhibits DaCosta’s creativity throughout this movie in even subtle details, but enforces a sense of the Candyman’s mythical aura and boogeyman persona.
Anthony McCoy: Makes you think about what could make someone just snap like that.
William Burke: Helen Lyle was out here looking for Candyman. You ask me, I say she found him.
DaCosta’s Candyman does more to evolve the Candyman story than you might expect at fist glance, where its choice title suggests a modernised retelling than a continuation of the fable of 1992’s twisted mirror summoning ritual. With more hooks for fans of the series than even the Candyman himself, its discussion of political and racial topics make it no surprise that Jordan Peele worked on the film as a producer and co-writer. But more pressingly, it keeps the legend of the Candyman alive… for better or worse.
