Yahya Abdul-Mateen II in a scene from "Candyman." Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures.
When you look at your reflection in the mirror, what do you see? Do you stop to notice any changes in your face? Does your gaze wander to the side, searching for hidden threats just out of your peripheral vision? Is the looking glass an unforgiving document of your reality, or is it a deceitful trickster, patiently waiting for the right moment to catch you unaware so it can wrap its tendrils of despair around you?
The new “Candyman” returns viewers to the Midwestern urban maze that made the original, one of the best horror films of the 1990s, an unusually satisfying chiller. It's clear director/co-screenwriter Nia DaCosta took a long, hard look in the mirror and saw a horror franchise with more than frights and viscera on its mind. Then she took it one step further.
The Universal Pictures release, which plays like more of a legacy sequel than a reboot, eschews jump scares, or most scares of any kind, actually. Instead, DaCosta tinkers with the trappings of the genre, like a master puppeteer pulls the strings, to deliver a slasher film where the real villain is never in doubt: not the malevolent entity that unleashes bloody mayhem whenever it's summoned, but the deep-seated, centuries-old hatred of one race toward another that willed this force into being.
Tenoyah Parris in a scene from "Candyman." Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures.
The narrative arc here, set in Chicago's art world, is a familiar one: bristling with Jekyll-and-Hyde vibes, albeit given a loud political urgency. Painter Anthony McCoy (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) is struggling to find his muse, despite past successes and a stable relationship with his curator girlfriend Brianna Cartwright (Teyonah Parris).
During a visit to the couple's apartment, Troy (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett), Brianna's flamboyant and sassy brother, piques Anthony's interest with the disturbing tale of Helen Lyle, the college researcher at the center of the first “Candyman.” In the “official” version of events, Helen, played so well by Virginia Madsen in the older film, snapped while investigating the titular urban legend, a Black man in a fur-trimmed coat with a hook where his right hand should be, and she went on a murderous rampage, even going so far as attempting to burn a baby she kidnapped from a young mother living in Cabrini-Green, the public housing story where this “myth” originated.
Colman Domingo in a scene from "Candyman." Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures.
Anyone who has seen the 1992 film, director Bernard Rose's adaptation of Clive Barker's short story “The Forbidden,” knows that what really went down is considerably different, but the lurid details give Anthony the creative spark he needed. (DaCosta delves into the events of the older film, but it's best for those who haven't seen it yet to watch it before seeing the new one.) Anthony's research unveils the way to call Candyman: you say his name five times in front of a mirror, and he appears, hook at the ready to tear through flesh and create living nightmares. When he goes to find answers in the remnants of Cabrini-Green, he is bitten by a bee (a spine-tingling vestige from the original film) and crosses paths with former resident William Burke (the ubiquitous Colman Domingo), who has his own connection to the murderous apparition and shares his own tale of domestic tragedy and police brutality.
Nathan Stewart-Jarrett and Kyle Kaminsky in a scene from "Candyman." Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures.
Such weighty concerns at the expense of straightforward jolts and flying limbs might come as a letdown for genre fiends looking for a visceral charge. DaCosta is simply not interested in that. She doesn't shy away from the gore but observes it from a clinical distance. In one of the film's most effective shots, the camera glides away from a high-rise just before Candyman claims another victim, as the window that acts as a blunt object grows smaller and smaller. The gashed necks and trails of blood depicted here are a conduit the director uses for a somber meditation on the dark side of the artistic impulse and the minefield Black Americans are still required to navigate on a daily basis. More intriguingly, she strikes a parallel between skin deterioration and urban decay. A queasy bit involving a rotting fingernail shows DaCosta paying homage to a similar moment in David Cronenberg's “The Fly.”
Yahya Abdul-Mateen II and Vanessa Williams in a scene from "Candyman." Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures.
Where the filmmaker falters is in overexplaining. Flashbacks are dramatized using shadow puppetry, which gives the stories an eerie glow. All well and good, but she also saddles the actors with delivering screeds on race relations and the changing face of Chicago that overemphasize what she already conveys so well visually. (The screenplay is a collaboration between DaCosta, “Get Out” director Jordan Peele and Win Rosenfeld.) You get the feeling DaCosta is uncomfortable with the way the 1992 film used the suffering of working class Black residents as a backdrop for genre thrills, but while she is smart about the way she uses contemporary Chicago to deconstruct gentrification (through her lens, it amounts to a collective soul snatching), she doesn't trust viewers enough to see, in the physical manifestation of Candyman, what is already a powerful metaphor about oppression.
Yahya Abdul-Mateen II in a scene from "Candyman." Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures.
DaCosta also bungles part of the third act with an abrupt transition that transfers the central point of view away from Anthony in a way that feels like she has snatched the movie out of his hands. It's particularly unfortunate, considering how good Abdul Mateen, whom you may remember from HBO's “Watchmen” series or “The Trial of the Chicago 7,” is in this film. What saves the day, in addition to a cast that includes some familiar faces from the 1992 production, is the gravity of the imagery. Those robust widescreen compositions, as muscular as the film's star, crawl under your skin and cast a dark spell that lingers days later. Also noteworthy is Robert Aiki Aubrey Lowe's atmospheric, often dissonant score, a shrewd departure from Philip Glass' masterful work in the older film that still manages to sneak in that memorable theme from the original.
The 2021 “Candyman” is a film fueled by anger, the kind that implodes and implodes until it can't help but jab its finger, not only as those who would seek to deny African Americans their humanity, but also to those viewers who view the inclusion of a timely political message in this context as an obstacle to their enjoyment of superficial thrills. (Yes, fanboys, she is calling you out. Deal with it.) Movies that turn preachy are one of my pet peeves, but this is the relatively rare instance where I was in the mood to hear a sermon, especially one delivered with such confidence and control of the medium. DaCosta is holding up the mirror, and in the overpowering bleakness, there's just the faintest glimmer of hope. It's rather small. Actually about the size of a bee. Beware its nasty sting.
(EDITOR'S NOTE: The producers of the movie along with educational firm Langston League is providing a "Candyman" Official Companion Guide: A Thematic Exploration," a 47-page "impact" guide includes insights from Black educators, genre experts, and the horror-obsessed examining the legend of "Candyman" and Black culture. You can download it here: Candyman Guide. )
Nia DaCosta's “Candyman” is now showing in wide release across South Florida, including Dolby Cinema engagements at AMC Aventura and AMC Sunset Place. Bernard Rose's “Candyman” (1992) is available to rent on Amazon Prime, iTunes, Google Play, Redbox and Vudu. It is also available to stream on Peacock.
