Commentary in remake inflicts the kind of horror that haunts
The ending of “Candyman” is going to haunt you.
And it should. The horror film’s final seven minutes are a catharsis in cinematic storytelling, as well as an expert commentary on the issues of policing in America as they connect to the all too frequent violence on Black citizens. It’s one of those endings that can overshadow a film.
Which is why we need to talk about more than just those seven minutes. Because what director Nia Dacosta does in the preceding 88 is also a marvel.
The film’s climax works so well because, much like in her previous feature “Little Woods,” Dacosta is adept at showing us the effects of violence and abuse — without actually showing us much violence or abuse.
In this tale of a bogeyman come to life, the horror is often displayed through a cracked door or relayed with streaks of blood on the ground. And the phantoms who hound us are simply flashes in mirrors before they strike, with the destruction shown from afar.
We rarely see the focused, dismantling violence that has become a hallmark of the horror genre this century.
Dacosta has said the motif springs from the fact that she didn’t want to show the destruction of Black bodies onscreen, given the tragic events of recent years. In doing so, this film reminds us it’s our own sins that manifest these monsters into action.
“Candyman” is, of course, a remake (more like an extension, though) of the beloved but unspectacular 1992 film starring Tony Todd as the titular monster with a hook where his right hand should be, a mouthful of bees and a tendency to speak like a gothic poet using autotune. The movie, which placed the horrors in Chicago’s Cabrini-green public housing project, used gentrification and (white) privilege as catalysts for fury, before an ending that made almost no sense.
Dacosta, working from a script she co-wrote with Win Rosenfeld and Jordan Peele (“Us,” “Get Out”), extends that storyline into today’s time frame. Cabrini-green has been dismantled by the ongoing tide of gentrification, but the lore of the housing project’s monster lives on.
The story from 1992 is channeled through the artwork of Anthony Mccoy, an up-andcoming artist played by Yahya Abdul-mateen II. He’s transfixed by the notion of this so-called Candyman, especially the practice of bringing him forth by looking in the mirror and saying “Candyman” five times.
That invocation becomes the centerpiece of Mccoy’s latest art display. And, as you can imagine, it prompts people to stare at themselves, call to Candyman and become horror movie fodder.
Soon, with the connection to murder, Mccoy’s art is the talk of the Windy City’s news cycle. An art critic who told him he was unspectacular suddenly wants to write about him. Mccoy’s girlfriend (Teyonah Parris), who manages gallery art shows, is invited to work at museums — but only if she can secure the work of Mccoy. And we see the artist drunk on the fresh fame, literally mumbling, “Say my name” while watching a TV news anchor talk about his work.
This is where Dacosta turns the horror game back on us. While we’re waiting for clear views of that guy with a hook arm, hubris is marked by grotesque disfigurement; blatant ignorance is met with swift dismissal; and those who want to commodify victims of violence, turning their observed tragedy into a magnet for voyeurism or schadenfreude, become just what they tried to capitalize on.
Of course, Dacosta’s restraint keeps its interesting. There’s an elegance to her storytelling, always giving us just enough to keep us moving forward without signaling too much of what’s to come. And she’s so skilled at allowing us to empathize with monsters.
Here, Dacosta employs that old, effective horror movie ploy of using the monster to punish people who exhibit our society’s ills. The tact turns Candyman and his atmosphere of bees into an avenging angel of sorts, getting rid of snobby elitists or snotty teens just when we tire of seeing them on screen.
All the way up to that ending. Along the way there’s an interesting reasoning to why Candyman is revived by the people who feared him (through some excellent work by Colman Domingo), and Abdul-mateen reminds us why he’s a star growing brighter each year. But it’s the ending we’ll all be talking about in the coming days and weeks.
There’s a moment in the middle of the film when a character repeats, “Is this real?” while watching his lover bleed out. There’s a temptation to ask a similar question as the credits roll, but we all know the answer. We know which horrors are real and which are fiction.
Unfortunately, “Candyman” isn’t here to clean up our mess.
Running time: 1 hour 35 minutes. Rating: R (bloody horror violence, some sexual references).