This sequel/reboot sees a young Black painter (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) named Anthony, who is forced to explore the infamous, mostly abandoned Cabrini-Green public housing projects after his white boss asks him to create a new and preferably Black poverty porn inspired art piece for an upcoming gallery opening. Anthony soon finds that this housing project is rife with a history of Black tragedy, stemming from the legend of Candyman (Tony Todd); a Black boogeyman with a hook for a hand who kills those who say his name five times in front of a mirror. At first this journey simply changes Anthony’s art, as he moves from creating pieces which symbolize violence to pieces that actually depict violence. But after he says Candyman’s name, he finds that he has not only summoned a single entity, but something much more powerful.
In the 1992 original, a white grad student becomes obsessed with the legend of Candyman and decides to venture into the projects to see for herself. For how beloved it is, in retrospect the original is problematic, as it is a story about Black mythos told through the eyes of white people (a white main character, writer and director) who treat a segment of Black culture/trauma as something too terrifying to speak aloud. 2021’s Candyman takes the legend and not only removes the white main characters, but uses the original story as an allegory for gentrification and culture vultures; the white fascination with Black “ghetto” culture and the theft of Black art that is then repackaged into something which titillates white suburbanites. This version is based on the theory that white people are turned on by the history of Black poverty and trauma.
Executive produced by Jordan Peele, there was a standard I walked into this horror film expecting. A standard that had nothing to do with jump scares or gore, and everything to do with depth of story. No “Candyman” is not a “scary movie”. But in the same way learning about the real-life brutalities inflicted upon Black bodies throughout history would be, I would classify this as a terrifying watch. Also, the direction from director/co-writer Nia DaCosta is so poetically claustrophobic, it makes me eager to see what’s next for her fledgling career. As for the story itself, the few tangential scenes throughout that struggled to propel the story forward, didn’t take away from the impact of any underlying message.
Final Thought: As I alluded to earlier, the original depicts Candyman as basically a demon; a single man turned monster who punishes and kills and torments, relishing in indiscriminate violence. What DaCosta’s suggests with her version is that while violent, the Candyman is not evil for the sake of evil, but more so an accumulation of Black pain; an amalgamation of persecution towards the Black community throughout history, and thus, justifying the violence of Candyman. But she doesn’t stop there. In the end, DaCosta puts forth the argument that as terrifying as Candyman is, he very much is something liken to a Black superhero.
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