Candyman: Jordan Peele's 'Real' Sequel Trades Traditional Scares for Grim Mood and Racial Relevancy
By Thom Ernst
Rating: B+
There is a connection between the Nia DaCosta-directed/Jordan Peele-scripted version of Candyman and the 1992 original by Bernard Rose from a script by Clive Barker
It's a link that renders Peele's Candyman into a sequel-jumping sequel. This Candyman works the same way David Gordon Green's 2018 Halloween did by pretending previous sequels and reboots didn’t happen, clearing the way for a successor worthy of the original.
It is certainly a more worthy follow-up than either Candyman: Farewell to the Flesh (1995) or Candyman: Day of the Dead (1999)—both forgettable films that we can now officially forget.
Peele, who wrote the script but passed along director duties to Nia DaCosta (her first feature), is an admirer of the original.
But the monster in the original closet is that Rose, Barker, and the film's star Virginia Madsen are all white, with Tony Todd as the most notable person of colour in the movie. And Todd's the bad guy.
Even in 1992, when Rose's version was released, the line between white narrative leaning into a black story could raise a few eyebrows. Still, a discerning viewer will pick up on the film's critical take on public housing, ghettoizing a community, police harassment, and scapegoating. The story was strong and carried with it a cautionary take on the monsters we create. And it was scary.
Peele's much-anticipated script does less to correct whatever errors of perspective occur in the original in favour of incorporating the strengths of Barker's version into his own. The film remembers Helen Lyle (Virginia Madsen), the cynical student from the first film, in sequences retold through visually simplistic but effective shadow puppets.
In DaCosta's version, Brianna (Teyonah Parris), a wealthy art dealer living in a luxury refurbished loft where the Cabrina towers once stood (the site where Candyman terrorized his victims a decade earlier) glibly mentions that white people built the ghettos and tore them down when they realize they’d built ghettos. She will soon discover that her irony is correct in ways she hadn't imagined.
DaCosta's film is more cerebral than Rose's, edging in social and racial politics that resonate louder in the light of Black Lives Matter. It feels important, which can conflict with scenes staged for mere effect—like a high school massacre and a horrific gallery killing. These are definite highlights for horror fans but feel out of place in the context of the film's overall pacing and mood.
A lot goes on in Candyman, and not all of it is easy to absorb. The film occasionally gets lost while striving to be relevant. And a few choices—made either in script or direction—seem to lean towards balancing perspectives.
Example: It takes Brianna's brother's white boyfriend Grady (Kyle Kaminsky) to point out that Brianna and her boyfriend Anthony (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) are now contributors to the overall gentrification of neighbourhoods.
Candyman stems from a grim reality that is indeed horrific. But in DaCosta's vision, Candyman himself (Tony Todd) is less of a threat than in the original. He can still do damage with a hooked hand. Still, his existence is more symbolic. His appearances are shadowy, almost intangible, glimpsed in reflections, through the cracks of a door left ajar or peripherally from the corner of an eye.
But what the film lacks in traditlonal scares, it makes up for with an unsettling scenario that plays slowly throughout the film, indicating harsher realities even legends can't compete with. And DaCosta's vision is highly stylized, accented with performances that resonate with disquieting accuracy. It's impossible not to sense the foolishness it would take to say his name five times in front of a mirror.
(I have not done it, and I never will).
Candyman is directed by Nia DaCosta, written by Jordan Peele, and stars Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, Teyona Parris, and Tony Todd. Candyman begins in selected theatres on August 27, 2021.