Say his name, if you dare. You may be petrified by what you see, or what you’ve unwittingly become.
What makes a good horror film? The most rudimentary and obvious element is that it simply must be frightening, but other parts are imperative to reinforce those sturdy scares- artistry concealed behind the buckets of blood and chilling threats of monsters and ghouls. John Carpenter’s 1978 masterpiece Halloween remains so thrillingly effective because the film understood the deeper ideas that Michael Myers embodied as a specter of pure evil. For all the dagger-wielding and, well, murdering, the crazed killer was an insurmountable force of terror that seemed to always be lurking around the corner, a harbinger of inevitable mortality, which is, understandably, a tough pill to swallow for most people with a pulse and a will to live. An unwavering homicidal maniac is certainly scary, but to be struck with the realization that our days are finitely numbered is downright terrifying.
A rich swirl of slasher mythology wrapped around an allegory for perpetual racial injustice, this 2021 legacyquel may have just found a way to uphold that horror cinema mantra famously demonstrated by the likes of Carpenter. Ignoring the two sequels to the 1991 original of the same name and operating as a direct successor, Candyman finds virtuoso co-writer/sophomore director Nia DaCosta (her fantastic debut feature Little Woods is currently on Hulu and very much deserving of your time) and esteemed co-writer/producer Jordan Peele of Get Out and Us fame delivering a potent update that transcends the rote reputations of horror reboots and sequels. It’s a complex web of sophisticated, deftly crafted scares and razor-sharp political commentary that blisters in each exhilarating moment just as much as its pensive thoughts linger far after the credits roll.
Thirty years have passed since the events of the initial film in the now-gentrified Chicago neighborhood of Cabrini-Green, where an apparition known as the Candyman (Tony Todd)- a dismembered, vengeful ghost of an innocent Black man who was lynched by an insidious mob in the late 19th century- had appeared in front of and annihilated with his hooked hand any person who would recite his name five times in a mirror.
Anthony (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, dependably great), a struggling artist, and his girlfriend Brianna (Teyonah Parris, also dependably great), a gallery curator, move into this notorious neighborhood together, where the very landscape is haunted by both that hidden supernatural entity and the blatant, seemingly untenable effects of systemic oppression. Life-long Cabrini-Green resident William (Colman Domingo, as captivating as ever) imparts the history behind this mysterious legend to Anthony, which stokes his creative fervor once more but also invokes the reappearance of Candyman killings.
Just like its predecessor, this film examines issues that are unfortunately still timely today: police brutality; gentrification; cultural appropriation and the marginalization of minorities, specifically African Americans, in urban areas. Where DaCosta and team find her film’s singular vitality, though, is how they enrich and recontextualize the Candyman concept to reflect the generational trauma of these issues, lensed through the repression and sorrows of her well-rounded characters.
Candyman is brimming with ominous atmosphere and enthralling paranoia, but DaCosta and Peele understand the ideas this character represents – a manifestation of racism’s malice – leave far more indelible scars than any trite jump scare. A fluid intensity permeates this film, which aligns perfectly with its gradual crystallization of the truth as the story broadens this mythology’s narrative scope while retaining its substance.
DaCosta truly is a visionary, an intellectually perceptive filmmaker more concerned with than anything else the turmoil of the people that occupy her striking frames. With two features under her already-accomplished belt (and more to inevitably come, including the 2022 sequel to Captain Marvel) she has thoroughly demonstrated a knack for lacing her films with both muscular tension and compelling empathy, all pierced by astute observation.
With each haunting, introspective scene, the systems of white supremacy – both systemically and interpersonally – are elucidated through a palpably engrossing slasher mystery with feverish style and keen uses of gore. What ensues smartly eviscerates the transgressions of cultural appropriation with an incisive tale of cultural reclamation, culminating in a profound, harrowing conclusion that breeches the screen with a simple statement that bears credence around the globe: “Go.” Even if some of the outer plot mechanics become vague as it fixates on the specificity of its message, the central thesis is indisputably strong.
One of the most effective horror set pieces in this excellent cinematic spine-tingler takes place in an elevator lined with mirror walls and ceiling. As Anthony finds himself adrift somewhere between the intrigue of fabricated truth and concealed injustice, he sees the titular gothic figure above, plaguing him with his presence. He frenetically gazes to both his sides in terror, his reflection infinitely replicated, the fissures and fractures of his identity visualized with gripping conviction.
Candyman isn’t necessarily about physical and emotional violence (and it certainly never glorifies or indulges in it) but the eerie implications and effects of it that seem to reverberate eternally. That is, until we know and make amends with the sheer extent of evil that continues to victimize those in minority, not any sort of entity but the vile systems of oppression that lurk in modern America. It’s both a premonition and cautionary tale that righteously demands our attention, hopefully before a twisted avenging angel claws and jabs at it from a mirror.
Grade: A-
Candyman is now available in theaters.
Photo Credit / Universal
