Candyman
UniversalHorror cinema has always had a rocky history with Black people, and Xavier Burgin’s 2019 documentary Horror Noire: A History of Black Horror wonderfully chronicles how fundamental the existence of films like Night of the Living Dead and Ganja & Hess were for that community to feel seen and understood. A defining actor of the genre was Tony Todd, who not only starred in a remake of George A. Romero’s classic, but also portrayed the only black slasher villain: Candyman. The original Candyman was a successful horror that blended strong gothic undertones with themes of deep-rooted racial violence and social disparity. It was unfortunately followed by two universally maligned direct-to-video sequels, and ultimately became a true cult classic for genre fans.
Following the success of films like 2018’s Halloween, which disregards all the entries in the franchise outside of the original, Jordan Peele and his production company Monkeypaw decided to reboot Candyman for the new generation, hiring director Nia DaCosta for the job and to co-write the script with Peele and producer Win Rosenfeld. This idea of making so-called “soft reboots” is the wisest decision to revitalise stories that can really be timeless, and that is what they did with this new rendition of Candyman.
If the original is purposefully seen from a white outsider’s perspective, 2021’s Candyman is a Black film through and through. The scary and disturbing myth of Daniel Robitaille (Todd) is transformed from a spooky urban legend to yet another ugly reminder of the violent history of racial violence that is engrained in America. Candyman in 1992 was a tragic, almost gothic character who was still vicious and brutal with his victims, but this new version plays with the narrative so that he becomes a borderline anti-hero by the end.
DaCosta and Peele took the main themes of the original and ran free with them, making a film that is equally about black identity, police brutality, and racial segregation and reappropriation, as it is about people being killed for saying Candyman’s name five times in the mirror. This visual motif, forever part of the genre, is used throughout the film: characters are constantly framed in mirrors, large and small, and Candyman is seen almost exclusively in these reflections. It is the history of America staring back at them, literally and figuratively.
It is impossible not to draw parallels with the Black Lives Matter movement, not only with the way the police force is portrayed as an almost faceless villain, but also with the main tagline of the film: repeating the title, Candyman, a black man tortured and killed for loving the wrong person, mirrors saying the names of Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and countless other Black Americans who were victims of prejudice and injustice. Saying their name keeps them alive in our minds and our hearts, and Candyman’s brutal violence is an extreme way to turn these stories into legend. The closing credits of the film feature five different stories of untimely deaths at the hands of racism, brilliantly told through shadow puppets, leaving audiences with a bittersweet feeling as they leave the theatres.
The narrative definitely could have benefited from being more subtle in the way it tackled these heavy subjects, but then again, the beauty of genre films is that they embrace those elements in service of thrills for the general public, hopefully making it unlikely that someone will misinterpret what the creators were trying to say. Even then, the way the plot unravels in the final 20 minutes feels a bit rushed, and a character’s plan is overly convoluted when analysed. Those are relatively small qualms, though, when the bigger picture is taken into consideration. The entire cast does a fine job with their characters, and Yahya Abdul-Mateen II proves once again that he is a strong performer with quite the range, carrying almost the entire film on his shoulders and making for a likable protagonist who is slowly losing his mind.
DaCosta did a great job with both atmosphere and visuals, never feeling overly stylised or calculated, but clearly thought out to give this a more distinct, modern look compared to the original. The soundtrack seldom uses Philip Glass’ iconic music, Robert Aiki Aubrey Lowe using almost ritualistic whispers and hums to heighten the horror sequences while unmistakably grounding them in African American culture. The violence and body count are also higher and stronger than in Bernard Rose’s film, while never lingering on any of the gore and grotesque imagery outside of some body horror that the character of Anthony McCoy experiences as the film goes on.
While it is definitely not going to satisfy all audiences due to how explicitly it approaches its socio-political issues, Nia DaCosta’s Candyman is the perfect horror film for the Black Lives Matter, anti-police brutality, anti-oppression times that America has experienced over the past couple of years. It could have benefited from more room to breathe towards the end, but it more than makes up for it with an explosive climax and poignant end credits that are an ode to the power of Black storytelling, and the importance of letting underrepresented, marginalised communities reappropriate their own culture and narratives.