Confronting My Monster: Candyman (1992)

I was going to have to confront Candyman eventually. 

Back in 2018, it was announced that Jordan Peele would produce and Nia DaCosta would direct a sequel to the original 1992 horror film, Candyman. Considering the source and the filmmakers involved, I knew there was no way I wasn’t going to watch the new film, which meant there was no way I could avoid reconciling some repressed childhood trauma given to me by the original film. 

I—and I imagine several other children growing up in the ‘90s—was emotionally scarred by the very idea of Candyman. It frightened me in ways I didn’t really fully comprehend until I watched it for the first time, in full, as an adult just two weeks ago. Growing up, there were moments from the film that stayed with me—the story of Candyman himself, saying his name five times in front of a mirror to summon him, and the gore, goddamn that gore. But like all memories, I erased and reshaped those specific moments into a general feeling summarized as “Candyman scared me as a kid. Period. I don't want to talk about it.” I think the correct word here is “repressed”.

My older cousins introduced me to Candyman when I was way too young, along with other films in their massive VHS film collection, including Se7en. What’s fascinating thinking back on it is how the film itself didn’t leave its mark as much as my cousins’ recounting of the Candyman myth—although those moments of gore, seeing them as a kid did sear into my brain. I took the Candyman lore as "fact", like the dumb kid I was. Compound that with going to school and hearing kids talk about Candyman in graphic detail; the fictional urban legend blurred into reality, becoming a real urban legend in my not-yet-fully-developed brain. It goes to show how effective a horror film Candyman is—it succeeded in terrorizing beyond the screen, all the way to the schoolyard playground, creating a new monster, who haunted kids like me through their adolescents. 

The genius of Candyman is in its myth-making. Helen, a grad student researching urban legends, played by Virginia Madsen with the full-throated passion of a Universal Monster heroine, tries to uncover the real story behind a deadly fable passed along through the projects of Chicago. She goes to the scene of several murders, the Cabrini-Green housing project, and is given a brief tour by a kid who tells her the grizzly story of one murder, supposedly perpetrated by the monster Candyman. Watching it now was like opening a time capsule in my brain; something long forgotten and avoided, flooded back. So this was why I had a chill up my spine each time I stepped into a gross public restroom (beyond the grossness). The story is told in flashbacks, cutting to the scene of a young boy, left bloodied, screaming, and ripped apart on the floor of the restroom. We don’t see the act; what’s impactful is how we’re told about it: “They found 'it' floating in the toilet... can't fix that, you're better off dead.” 

The threat of Candyman is established right away in the film’s opening, an apocalyptic dream sequence that’s emblematic of one of the film’s most everlasting themes. The voice of Tony Todd as Candyman is heard, underneath the image of a massive swarm of bees overcasting the city of Chicago, saying, “They will say that I have shed innocent blood. What's blood for if not for shedding? With my hook for a hand, I'll split you from your groin to your gullet. I came for you.” Even before you see him, you’re threatened with menace. And the skyscraper-sized cloud of bees makes the threat feel inescapable—a side note: I was also beyond terrified of wasps and bees as a kid, go figure. Candyman in the world of the film is that formidable of a presence, his scope immense, and beyond the film he was powerful enough to inhabit the consciousness (and subconsciousness) of so many. 

Director-writer Bernard Rose understood that the best way to establish a new horror monster is to put him in a scenario audiences are familiar with. In the film, in doing research Helen hears one story from a college student, that of a young couple, straight out of an ‘80s horror slasher. The two decide to play around with the myth, saying Candyman’s name five times in front of their mirror. Candyman rips into reality—the sound design is brilliant in its blood-curdling effect going beyond just "jump scares". Blood follows, but again, it’s not enough just to show it, what’s more effective is the chilling aftermath: “And what he saw turned his hair white from shock.” And, of course, like the dumb kid I was, and with my older cousins talking me into it, I turned off the lights in my bathroom and said that word five times, terrified the whole time doing it.

27 years later, for a film to have this much of a lasting effect on me proves the original Candyman holds a power few other films do. Freddy Kruger and Jason Voorhees have their own myths but neither felt as real as Candyman. As the new sequel approaches, I'm interested if the fear of Candyman is an isolated case, maybe it's just me and a handful of people, that's all. Regardless, those fears can't be tucked away and forgotten forever, and we'll see how many people are once again haunted by Candyman... Candyman... Candyman... Candyman...