CANDYMAN (2021): FILM REVIEW
When I watched Candyman (1992) for the first time, I was a child who knew little about the film industry, let alone the racial politics in the United States. In fact, I was just a nail-biting kid who liked horror movies more than I liked Disney. This was something my father was thankful for when he showed me Bernard Rose’s cult classic about mythology and Black American trauma, starring Tony Todd as Candyman. Maybe my father saw this as an opportunity to teach me about the suffering of Black American enslaved people and their descendants while also serving me my daily dose of fear. And he was right—my exposure to Candyman at such a young age was crucial to my understanding of how Black American trauma is translated to pop culture and shaping my expectations for the media.
This brings me to 2021, when director Nia DaCosta and producers Ian Cooper, Win Rosenfeld, and Jordan Peele’s long-awaited continuation of the film by the same name was released in theaters. The movie was released at the tail end of the summer and became one of the first films to have a successful box office release in theaters since the initial outbreak of COVID-19 in the U.S.
DaCosta’s Candyman is jam-packed with violence, disturbing tales, and puppeteer-inspired depictions of urban legends. But, when one looks past the surface of the movie’s horror, does it live up to its predecessor in regards to content?
The original film follows the story of Helen Lyle (Virginia Madsen) as she researches the urban legends of Chicago’s Black community, Cabrini-Green. She learns about the Candyman, who murders anyone that chants his name five times into a mirror. She recounts the story of Candyman: Daniel Robitaille, the son of an enslaved man and an artist who fell in love with and impregnated a white woman, resulting in his murder by a lynch mob. The film depicts Candyman’s wrathful murder of innocent people as he attempts to validate his legend, which he believes Lyle has discredited. Candyman attempts to sacrifice an infant, Anthony McCoy, who Lyle saves by becoming, like Candyman, part of Cabrini-Green’s folklore.
McCoy’s story continues in DaCosta’s Candyman. Couple Brianna Cartwright (Teyonah Parris) and Anthony McCoy (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), an art curator and an artist respectively, invite Cartwright’s brother and his boyfriend to their new apartment, where they’re told of the legend of Lyle, which was reinvented to paint her as an unstable killer. McCoy, grown, does not remember his experience with Lyle and the Candyman, and he instead becomes engrossed in the tale of Cabrini-Green. Searching for new content for his art, McCoy travels to Cabrini-Green where he is stung by a bee (a tell-tale sign of Candyman in the original film) and begins his spiral into obsession and madness.
DaCosta’s Candyman should not be viewed as either a sequel or a remake, but rather a continuation of the disturbing mythology of Rose’s film. Candyman (Michael Hargrove) is mostly depicted as a man by the name of Sherman Fields who, according to local legend, had been suspected of giving razor-stuffed candy to children. Fields had gone into hiding in the walls of the local laundromat. When he was discovered, he was beaten and killed by police. Later, it was learned that he was, in fact, not the culprit targeting children, and was wrongfully killed.
This new Candyman storyline suggests that DaCosta intended to continue Rose’s original concept of Candyman being a myth built on Black American trauma. This collective trauma eats McCoy alive, his bee sting deteriorating and rotting his skin which acts as a visual representation of Black people’s systemic oppression. William Burke (Colman Domingo), who as a child had discovered Fields in the wall of the laundromat, frustratedly tells a questioning McCoy, “Candyman ain’t a ‘he.’ Candyman’s the whole damn hive. [...] Candyman is a way to deal with the fact that these things happened to us are still happening!”
DaCosta is unapologetic about her intention of bringing racial disparities to light. Whether or not she successfully executes this ode to the original will be discussed later. However, it is clear that DaCosta leans toward referencing racial justice movements such as Black Lives Matter (BLM), right down to the “Say his name” slogan. This is especially important given the theme of legacy in the movie, in which Candyman relies on people to say his name in order for his story to be remembered, which parallels the efforts of BLM activists. In a Vulture article, Angelica Jade Bastien writes, “2021’s Candyman is not just the spirit of Todd’s Daniel Robitaille, but of an entire legion of Black men killed viciously by white, state violence, who act as vengeful spirits—more keen to harm white folks than the Black folks whose land their spirits are now tied to.”
However, many have criticized the various elements present in the movie that seem to overwhelm and confuse the audience. While the film seems to advocate for equity overall, it also features a cast of majority upper-class characters, in turn criticizing McCoy and Cartwright for speaking on gentrification when they, themselves, contribute to it. Bastien points out that it is unlikely for successful Black people’s intentions to be as cruel or racially motivated as white gentrifiers, a distinction that the movie doesn’t make clear. Additionally, DaCosta seems to pivot toward a discriminatory lens through which we see Candyman taking revenge on oppressive white people for the system to which they contribute. However, Candyman does kill a pair of black siblings in the 2021 film, contradicting the former intentions, which would have otherwise made perfect sense. Some could argue that Candyman must be indiscriminate in order to make his legend eternal, though this is refuted when he one person live—although, you’ll have to watch the movie to find out why.
I was one of the many people who waited on the edge of my seat for Candyman’s release, feeling like my childhood depended on it. I left the theater, loving every second. It was successful in the way you’d want every horror movie to be: by making my skin crawl. But as I thought more about the message between the lines, my opinion became muddled. I couldn’t explain away the too-complex plot that left the audience scratching their heads or the directing that turned the classic gothic horror into a foggy, visual bore. The heavy-handed nods toward racial justice were appreciated, but were they too simple? DaCosta’s easter eggs didn’t feel much like easter eggs at all, but rather placed in plain sight for the ease of ignorant watchers who would otherwise let it fly over their heads. Overall, I liked the movie for what it wanted to be, but it just wasn’t the original. And maybe nothing ever will be.