Candyman 2021 Review

Maybe I’m alone in this but, as weird as it sounds, I’m more inclined to watch sequels to horror movies that I don’t like. This philosophy is rooted partly in my understanding that horror sequels tend to get weirder and more desperate with each new installment, increasing the likelihood that I’ll enjoy something from a franchise that I find dull (Friday the 13th is a prime example), and significantly decreasing the likelihood that I’ll enjoy a sequel to something I like. And it’s also partly rooted in my understanding that good horror - truly effective, engrossing horror - is so rare to come by that to expect lightning to strike in the same place twice is just foolish. For this reason, I’ve never seen the sequels to the original Candyman and I don’t ever plan to. Indeed, Candyman is an especially rare find: a slasher movie (sort of) that’s actually scary?! Added to that, it belongs to the same underrepresented sub-sub-genre as Jacob’s Ladder: urban horror. How often do we see those? 

But therein lies a seeming contradiction, because initially I had no intention of watching the newest Candyman... until I found out it was a sequel.

My feelings of indifference toward the original sequels were based on one major factor: Tony Todd. Don’t get me wrong: I love me some Tony Todd, yessir. Candyman is my all-time favorite slasher, and Todd is at least 50% why. The other 50%? His limited screen time. The scariest stuff in the original (in fact, probably the scariest stuff in any horror movie that I’ve seen) is in the first 40 minutes of the film, before Tony Todd even makes an appearance. Like most movies in the genre (including the 2021 sequel), Candyman gets less scary in its final two acts rather than more. This is just one of many curses of the horror genre that I’ve learned to live with (not really). But that first act? Hoo-boy! Virginia Madsen exploring the mythos of the Candyman, interviewing residents of Cabrini-Green, snapping photos of eerie graffiti, discovering bee-infested public toilets -- as the kids say: take my money. 

All of this build-up culminates in what I consider the grandest entrance of any slasher icon in history: “Heeelleeeennn...”

And from this point forward, the film is punctuated by effectively brief appearances by Todd. His sparse, mysterious presence is how I’d like to remember him, and so I will. 

So what the fuck does this have to do with 2021? Well, so-called reboots are a funny thing: they sell tickets by promising “returns” and “reunions” that ultimately end up accounting for relatively little screen time (often to the disappointment of naive fans). I shrugged off the 2021 Candyman when I thought it was a remake because how could you replace Tony? Then when I found out it was a sorta-sequel I thought well, shit, not only does that mean Tony will return (which he only kinda does), but the film won’t be overly saturated with him the way I imagine Farewell to the Flesh and Day of the Dead are. I envisioned yet another grand entrance, and that palpable anticipation carried me all the way through to the end of this kind of diggable, artsy fartsy slasher movie.

As for the movie itself, I can’t say I’m surprised by its flaws: needless comic relief, attention-deficit editing, virtue signaling, convoluted plotting, and a confusing ending. You get what you pay for: a modern studio horror film. So instead I’ll focus on the positives - which, as it turns out, are super positive. Like, really: 

First of all, Colman Domingo belongs in every horror film -- nay, every film, period. He’s the new Sam Jackson, the new Denzel, the new Fishburne, the new... Tony Todd?  

Then there’s Yahya Abdul-Mateen II. If you need to wash the taste of Dr. Manhattan out of your mouth, this oughta do the trick and then some. He’s tasked with playing a more emotionally complex character than I had anticipated - more complex than Helen by a mile. Helen was tormented and gaslit in all the predictable ways, but Anthony is juggling torment and glory. His relationship with the “new” Candyman is more like an unspoken Faustian pact than any sorta martyrdom or sacrifice.

Speaking of the “new” Candyman: he never utters a word in the whole movie. Smart move not to try and compete with Tony on that front. 

And let’s not forget Nia DaCosta. She elevates some pretty fucking weak material. Specifically, two totally stale kill scenes that feel written for a lesser property, like Freddy, are at least visually clever.

But the person most deserving of a shout out is the film’s composer: Robert A. A. Lowe. The only name attached to the original more intimidating than Tony Todd is Philip Glass, and Lowe damn near bests him with what is, for my money, possibly the spookiest film score of the past two decades. Yeah, it’s that good. There are a handful of reasons why I might rewatch Candyman 2021 in the future, but there’s only one reason why I will rewatch it, and that’s him. 

Grade: B-