(Re)building a Legend: Candyman (2021) Movie Review
Bernard Rose’s 1992 film Candyman, an adaptation of a short story from horror mastermind Clive Barker, has quietly amassed a legacy as enduring as that of Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees—if not by quantity of films, certainly in the hearts and minds of viewers. Candyman is a villain that, like another of Clive Barker’s creations, Pinhead, needs very little screen time to make his mark. So it is that fans have been holding their collective breath for Nia DaCosta’s 2021 reboot which, after nearly 30 years (or less if you acknowledge the film’s two sequels, which I, and thankfully DaCosta, don’t), Candyman returns to torture a new batch of victims.
Personally, one of my biggest concerns going into the new film was DaCosta’s, along with co-writers Jordan Peele and Win Rosenfeld’s, reimagining of Candyman’s origins. While an important part of Candyman’s story in the original lay in his life—and death—as an early 1900s painter named Daniel Robitaille, the trailers for the new iteration made it clear that this Candyman earned his name from the candy he would dole out to neighborhood children, before being beaten to death by police under suspicion that he had been putting razor blades in the candy. While topical, it wasn’t clear how Candyman’s revised origin would serve the story being told. As it turns out, however, the decision was more of an addendum rather than a revision. By expanding on the lore of the original, the Candyman of 2021 avoids the trap of trying to create a carbon copy of its source material while strengthening its use of urban legend as a vehicle for breathing life into the killer.
An Original Sequel
Despite this promise of a fresh take, Candyman follows much the same path as its predecessor, though this isn’t necessarily a problem in and of itself. Anthony McCoy (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), like Helen Lyle before him, presumptuously inserts himself into what remains of the old Cabrini-Green projects, intent on finding inspiration for his next big project. What Anthony ends up uncovering is the already-mythologized story of Helen’s own quest—promising graduate student sifts through Cabrini-Green’s sordid past, ending in psychosis and murder and, ultimately, her assumption of Candyman’s mantle. The difference here is a clever interweaving of the two stories, allowing the new to build on the foundation set by the old.
Candyman (1992) image via IMDB
Unfortunately, not everything works in Candyman (2021). The film is much more CGI-driven than the 1992 version, most notably being its use of bees. Bernard Rose famously used more than 200,000 live honeybees and had to take extensive precautions with his cast and crew to minimize stings and the result is nothing short of terrific. While Candyman (2021) is able to pull off some impressive shots with its computer-generated insects, in many cases, it’s a little too unconvincing. Another awkward decision that necessitated the use of digital trickery was keeping Candyman out of the “real world” for most of the film. For most of his kills, Candyman can only be seen in mirrors—a routine that would be much more effective if it were used more sparingly.
Regarding the writing, you’re going to hear the word “didactic” being thrown around a lot, and with reason. Candyman (2021) makes no effort to hide its intention or the themes with which it wishes to grapple. Whether or not that’s the kind of thing that turns you off, the writers certainly seem prepared to attack those criticisms head-on: An art critic makes that exact observation about Anthony’s Candyman-inspired art installation, instigating his eventual breakdown. This franchise always wore its message on its sleeve, and if this were a story that demanded a more nuanced approach, that might bother me. But this isn’t the kind of film that’s meant to be debated in graduate classes in film school. By concentrating centuries of real-world injustices into the legacy of a single fictional bogeyman (or anti-hero, depending on your point of view), Candyman—in all of his iterations—is able to stand in rebellion of his persecutors. And this is Candyman’s greatest contribution to the character. For 30 years, Candyman has existed with the singular purpose of perpetuating his own existence. It was the fans that ascribed to him this power of defiance. So just as countless other urban legends have done before it: the killer with a hook for a hand, the demon who can only be summoned while looking in a mirror, or the psycho who hides razor blades in Halloween candy, Candyman is reborn in our modern age. Ironic, then, that through his newly christened purpose is his old one fulfilled. His name will again be on the lips of a new generation, perpetuating his myth, and keeping him alive to torment anew.
Article written by Ande Thomas
Ande loves the intersection of sci-fi and horror, where our understanding of the natural world clashes with our fear of the new and unknown. He writes about monsters and foreign horror and can also be found over on Letterboxd.
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