Candyman tackles the issues with its white savior, origin story, and the complexity of black pain. To do so truthfully – DaCosta posits – is to realize not everyone is ready to confront their trauma, or rarely in the same way.
Deconstructing Mythology
There’s a fundamental flaw in the original Candyman, and I’m certainly not the first one to realize it or comment on this, but it bears repeating: Helen Lyle (Virginia Madsen) unintentionally co-opting Candyman’s legend weakens the pain of Daniel Robitaille/Candyman (Tony Todd). Now, there are two explanations we could focus on:
One, her actions make sense as a protagonist. She’s the vessel through which we follow the story and that things happen to, but it’s still through a white lens. To that end, the last scene allowing her to take on the mantle never felt right for me. If the idea of Candyman, as even Helen points out in her research, is an outgrowth of black pain and a way to process it, why would it center a white protagonist to take that story further?
That’s where number two comes into play: cinema’s old (but not extinct) obsession with white saviors playing out in full effect. However, fast-forward to 2021, and Nia DaCosta has an answer to these issues: by side-stepping Helen’s last moment power ascension in the original movie (sort of treating it as non-canon, as some horror movies do with that last-second jump scare, or revival of the monster) and contends that the legend of Candyman is bigger than just Helen or Robitaille’s original Candyman.
As you’ll discover from new character William Burke (played by Colman Domingo):
“Candyman isn’t a he, it’s the whole damn hive”
As far as spoilers go, I’ll dive into Burke’s comment more and the big twist in another post, but you’ll learn through Anthony (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) and his pursuit of Candyman, how tied the Cabrini-Green neighborhood is with different tales of the legend. Through this pursuit, DaCosta is able to use the way myths and legends are created in tackling the first film’s problems while also opening up the possibilities to different stories of blackness. It plays out spectacularly, especially at the ending, when the myth is yet again co-opted and we see that process play out in real-time.
It’s a great echo to the core story of the original, where discovering how myths work is featured early and often in the film.
Not A Monolith / Generational Trauma
In using the deconstruction of myth to explore Candyman’s legend, the film opens up a complexity of black pain that may often be ignored: everyone processes it differently. In this movie alone, we get four concrete, yet varied perspectives: Anthony, Brianna (Teyonah Parris), Burke, and the people of Cabrini-Green. And in turn, there are supporting or contrasting narratives within the story of Candyman presented in this film, how other black people close to the story interact, and how white people are oblivious to this even though it stares them in the face (more on that in a moment)
What had been a simple story of revenge and racial assault in the first film, becomes more and more nuanced as the film progresses deeper into the myth. This may be the heaviest part when the film dives in headfirst towards the final act, but it explains so much of what DaCosta was aiming for.
The in-movie deconstruction of the Candyman legend highlights the effects of generational pain in the real world. Some may find that comparison a bit jarring or too on the nose as the movie compares the pain inflicted by Cabrini-Green’s fictional monster to real-life systemic monsters like income inequality, gentrification, or police brutality. However, it’s a necessary view to take on, as the story has shifted from Helen’s viewpoint (which only hinted at these ideas in her research) to Anthony and Brianna, who each deal with these effects directly and indirectly through current experiences and issues from their past.
To that end, Anthony’s interactions with Chicago art critic Finley Stephens (Rebecca Spence) will hit a nerve with audiences, but it serves as a mini-lesson or example of what the supporting white characters are generally oblivious to or fail to take into account. Finley criticizes Anthony for both benefiting from the current wave of sentiment against police oppression while also noting his artistry and choice of housing has done no favors to the neighborhood. It’s only later that Anthony is able to offer a strong rebuttal of that – now enhanced by his mental state as he dives into the Candyman story – to call her out. His position, however compromised it may be as a rising artist and living in a swanky condo, still suffers from years of systemic issues – which he calls out Finley for as well. She’s only focused on the current gentrification that took over Cabrini-Green, Anthony calls out the history that led them to be in project housing in the first place.
The Chicago Upside Down
The opening sequence is incredibly disorienting and unsettling but serves as a fascinating nod to director Bernard Rose and cinematographer Anthony B. Simmons’s original sequence in the 1992 film. A major shoutout to cinematographer and Chicago native John Guleserian for his eye in this sequence and the rest of the film as well.
Whereas the original featured a top-down, overhead shot of Chicago, the new version is looking up, at such an extreme angle from the ground. That, along with familiar Chicago landmarks being obscured through heavy clouds, fog, and a pink-ish hue, creates an discomforting sensation. There are fantastic shots that echo the opening sequence, one in particular happens when Anthony is stuck in an elevator with Candyman- it’s shot from the ground looking up at them both: Anthony in full view, with Candyman behind the top elevator mirror. The original did this as well, continuing it’s own top down view in a scene towards the end where Helen confronts Candyman in his lair.
There’s a few other nods to the original film, like Anthony’s art exhibit which asks people to summon him, but the mirror itself opens up – much like the bathroom mirror in Helen & Ruthie Jean’s apartments had a passage to another room. There is one plot point and nod you’ll figure out early on if you’ve watched the original recently, but the descent into madness isn’t ruined even if you’re aware of it.
Composer Robert A.A. Lowe does a great job bringing over parts of Philip Glass’ original score while also creating something very unique for the this entry. Lowe and DaCosta tend to use that the original theme titled “The Music Box” when they re-tell the story of Helen or Candyman, whereas the eeriest of Lowe’s opening credit score, “The Sweet” takes a more prominent role throughout the film.
Performances
This movie is funnier than I expected and that’s currently not a bad thing. Being a black critic, my showing was mostly white and yet there were several instances where aside from Anthony’s journey, most of the events played out in ways that made sense to black audiences. They said things we would yell at the screen, like Brianna’s brother saying that “black people don’t need to be summoning anything”, it works on multiple levels to highlight the pop culture norms of black horror characters and real-life black communities attitudes on the occult. I can’t imagine these moments working well if the screenplay wasn’t crafted for two black leads. Add to that Parris and Abdul-Mateen balancing a small amount of camp while taking the material seriously and those moments stand out as something that’s funny, but highlights the gravity of Candyman’s purpose and what he represents.
Conclusion
As the marketing started for this film, Jordan Peele was highlighted (many times incorrectly) as the driving force of this film. You ask several moviegoers on the street and you’ll be convinced that he filmed it, just like he did with Get Out or Us. However, it’s DaCosta’s young eye and understanding of current, complex black social issues that should be the conversation everyone is having after watching this perfect homage and critique of Candyman.
Score: 9 out of 10
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