CANDYMAN, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, 2021. ph: Parrish Lewis / © Universal Pictures / Courtesy Everett Collection
29 years later and the legend of Candyman returns: a film that I was exposed to when I rented it from a Hollywood Video back in the day (I think it was a Wednesday). This film scared the absolute shit out of me. At the time I heard of Bloody Mary, but knew nothing of Candyman. Oddly enough, if asked to rank them, Candyman is far more frightening to me than Bloody Mary. I wondered why that was and after seeing Nia DaCosta’s Candyman Sequel, I can finally put words to those feelings. Candyman is truly frightening because he’s a result of trauma that directly affects the black community. This was hinted at in the 1992 original, but DaCosta lays it out for the audience where the power of Candyman truly comes from: shared trauma.
In the film we meet Anthony and Brianna, a couple that have connections to the Chicago art scene. Anthony struggles with finding his big piece that can set him apart from other artists. The audience is then treated to examples of how Black artist are expected to contribute, which is by representations of trauma. Anthony’s last big piece depicted a hangman noose wrapped around black hands. A white artist he’s working with encourages him to tap into trauma for this audience, because it sells. This is the catalyst that leads Anthony to become obsessed with the tale of Candyman.
His girlfriend Brianna is also a part of the cycle of trauma. Her connection to art stems from her father, who she watched commit suicide in front of her. This tragic back story is something that she attempts to move away from initially, but is the focal point of her success in the art world. The back story of her suicidal father and the depraved art of her boyfriend are traumas that can be commodified.
Lastly, we’re given the connection of trauma to Black communities. The character William Burke, who is a follower of Candyman, explains that the repeated traumas in the black community are what make Candyman strong. He describes it as a “stain”, one that is repeated in the spot over and over and over again. The repetition of that, in the same spot over time, wears the fabric of that space thin. Meaning that the community can never truly recover, since it continues to happen. This leads us into the monologue that Candyman delivers to a police officer, one where he circles the vehicle and transforms into the other versions of Candyman. As he phases between different faces he gives the argument that he will continue to exist due to racial injustice. With that he delivers his final decree, “Tell everyone”.
Candyman stepped into 2021 with a new slant on the story, but still gives respect to the original. It’s a film that is self-aware and uses real world moments alongside fantasy horror to bring to light the realities of Black communities. So make time in your schedule to check out the film and be sure to cover up those mirrors. Black people don’t need to be summoning shit.
