Halloween 2021: September 20th

Candyman (2021)

When it was announced in 2018 that Jordan Peele was producing a reboot of "Candyman," that seemed like an ideal matching of filmmaker and material. The original "Candyman," though somewhat sullied by two forgettable sequels, remains a respected horror classic that is rich with social commentary. An actual black filmmaker, especially one famous for cooking insight into the racial realities of America into his story, relaunching the series was great news. (Peele's name would get most of the press, annoyingly overshadowing actual director Nia DeCosta.) The police brutality crisis in this country has done nothing but intensify in the last two years, meaning now more than ever is the time for a new "Candyman." 

In the years since the original "Candyman," the Cabrini-Green projects in Chicago have been gentrified into an upscale community. Living there is Anthony McCoy, an up-and-coming artist famous for his work on racial violence. At a party with his art agent girlfriend, he's told the story of Helen Lyle, a white folklore student who went insane while researching the legends of Cabrini-Green. Anthony looks into the legend more and learns the story of Candyman, a hook-handed spectre that is summoned when you say his name five times in a mirror. Anthony bases his latest piece on the legend, which asks people to summon the ghost themselves. This begins a series of new bloody murders, causing Anthony to be drawn into the history of the Candyman story... Which, he soon learns, he has a very personal connection to. 

DeCosta's "Candyman" – a direct sequel to the original and not, as advertised, a reboot – is an ambitious film full of high-minded ideas. The 1992 film was largely about folklore and the importance it has to the communities who spread it. DeCosta and her team builds on this by making Candyman an amalgamation of different legends. The candy part of his name, we learn, comes from a kindly man who handed out candy to children in the seventies and was beaten to death by police after a razor blade appeared in a white child's Halloween candy. Other names, all victims of racial violence, are mentioned as being absorbed into the Candyman legacy over the decade. DeCosta's film shows folklore as a living organism that is constantly evolving and changing with time. Why shouldn't the legend of Candyman grow and mutate as more stories are added to his bloody tale?

Of course, this is not the primary focus of the film. 2021's "Candyman" is an elaborate expression of the anxieties of being black in modern America. Candyman is now the cumulation of countless acts of racial violence. This makes him both a victim and a victimizer, a vengeful ghost that largely strikes back at white people. Candyman, if he wasn't before, is definitely now a being made up of African-American fear and pain. The film also touches upon how the trauma of these deaths are commercialized and resold to a culture that's not really interested in the pain black society experiences, via Anthony's work as a black artist in a largely white art scene. It's also a movie about gentrification, about how victims themselves are forgotten by the movements spawned from their deaths (The parallels between the "Say Their Names" protest and the titular legend are pretty clever), about how black artist express their trauma, police brutality, and probably a lot of other stuff I'm not smart enough to understand. 

DeCosta and Peele pair their ambitious themes with a sometimes shaky script. The film struggles to get all its ideas inside its compact 91-minute runtime. This results in a random laundromat owner  – played by an otherwise excellent Colman Domingo – becoming an important part of the story or a subplot about the girlfriend's dad committing suicide being underdeveloped. It all leads to a somewhat rushed climax. Yet, ultimately, the new "Candyman" is still compelling more often than not. At its base level, it's a story of an artist becoming obsessed by a new topic. That's always a fruitful premise to play with and Yahya Abdul-Mateen II as Anthony makes an interesting protagonist. There's lots of scenes of him frenziedly painting, of his personal life crumbling, but I'm into that shit. Watching him slowly be sucked into this story, becoming part of the hive that makes up Candyman's collective legacy, makes for an involving movie.

Perhaps most importantly, Nia DeCosta makes sure her "Candyman" is a creepy horror movie. She has a really strong visual sense and, befitting a story about an artist, the movie is often gorgeous to look at. The opening credits, of the foggy Chicago skyline reflected in a mirror, sets the mood early on. The reoccurring motif of shadow puppets is an interesting way to visualize the movie's backstory. DeCosta also knows when to pile on the blood and when to hold back. Candyman usually only appears as a spectre, briefly glimpsed in reflective surfaces. This makes for some creative stalking scenes, such as the first murder in the shiny art gallery. The centerpiece of the movie is a quartet of teen girls summoning Candyman in their school bathroom, a tense scene mostly shown from the perspective of a fifth girl hiding in a bathroom stall. The sequence largely gets scares from what we don't see but still features the impressive image of blood oozing to the floor like syrup in a confectionery factory. DeCosta also throws in some squirm-inducing body horror, in the form of Anthony's body slowly being consumed by a bee sting. 

There are far worst sins a horror movie can commit beyond being overly ambitious. It's obvious DeCosta, Peele, and everyone else put a lot of thought into their "Candyman." I suspect it's a film that will benefit from additional viewings, so you can pick up more on the multiple layers cooked into the undeniably messy story. It's definitely a lot more skillfully made than the other two "Candyman" sequels. (And, yes, certain familiar faces and musical notes do eventually reappear, even if the sequel holds off on revealing them.) While not quite on the level of Bernard Rose's original, it's still a very strong picture, with a number of good performances and more-than-a-few decent chills to accompany its litany of themes and ideas. [7/10]

The Man They Could Not Hang (1939)

Boris Karloff would, of course, come to fame for playing the Frankenstein Monster. And yet, throughout his career, he played mad scientists far more frequently than he did their creations. After “The Man Who Changed His Mind” in 1936, Karloff would star in the similarly entitled “The Man They Could Not Hang” for Columbia Pictures a few years later. The film was the first of a series of other mad scientist movies Karloff would make for Columbia, several of which – such as “The Man with Nine Lives” and “Before I Hang” - also had similar titles to this one. After years of mixing all these flicks up, I think it's time I actually start to watch more of them. Let's start with this one, the first of Karloff's mad scientist cycle for Columbia. 

Dr. Henryk Savaard is a brilliant scientist and engineer. His latest invention is an artificial heart, which can essentially bring patients back to life after invasive, risky procedures are performed on them. After a student of Savaard's agrees to be killed to test the device, the young man's fiancé gets concerns and calls the cop on Savaard. Arrested before he can revive the man, the scientist is put on trial for murder. He is convicted and ordered to be hanged... But not before a colleague, willed the blueprint for Savaard's invention, visits him minutes before his execution. Savaard is hanged until dead and then revived. With a second chance at life, and legally dead, he seeks revenge on the jurors who sentenced him to death. 

“The Man They could Not Hang” essentially allows Boris Karloff to play both of the types of roles he specialized in: That of a misunderstood outsider and a madman ranting against the world that scorned him. Dr. Savaard is pretty sympathetic as far as mad scientists go. He really does just want to help the world and his invention, essentially a primitive form of open-heart surgery, isn't even that far-fetched. (Though the way the film depicts it, as an enormous pump with flashing lights and rotating glass bottles, is.) However, while on trial, Karloff gets to insult those he sees as inferior to him, that are responsible for stifling his progress. The furious and impassioned rant he gives, after being convicted, is one for the ages. After being brought back from the dead, and confronting the jurors that sentenced him, Karloff's delivery drips with devious, villainous glee. He clearly relishes having one over on these people he hates and packs every word with as much sinister intent as possible. It's a glorious thing to watch.

“The Man They Could Not Hang” only runs a little over an hour but it packs in some clever ideas within that brief amount of time. In its last third, the movie becomes an intriguing variation on the old dark house formula. Six of the remaining jurors, along with the movie's totally forgettable heroes, are invited to a home. There, Savaard greets them, mocks them, and then reveals they are all about to die. He's locked them inside, behind thick steel walls, and have electrified the only door. He taunts them from an unseen location, his voice filling the room. Various booby traps throughout the house, such as a phone receiver with a poisonous spike hidden inside, fill the room. It's a prototype for things like the “Dr. Phibes” movies or “Saw,” where a genius villain dispatches his foes in clever ways while displaying his own brilliance. To see this sort of thing in 1939 is especially surprising.

The films Karloff made at Columbia did not have the level of foggy doom or Expressionistic shadows that characterized the great Universal Monster movies. Yet “The Man They Could Not Hang” still looks nicely spooky most of the time. Once Savaard ends up in prison, we get some pretty cool shots of criss-crossing shadows forming through jail cell bars. Once Savaard makes it to his mansion full of traps, watching his enemies from his secret laboratory, the movie packs in more classic horror atmosphere. The building goes dark suddenly several times, the setting being plunged into spookier blackness each time. If you have a taste for this type of creaky old horror, the film will absolutely satisfied that.

Surprisingly, “The Man They Could Not Hang” does not end by condemning its villain for meddling in God's domain. In fact, Savaard remains sympathetic up until the end. His hatred of a world that exploits all the greatest scientific breakthroughs is understandable. Considering the heroes of the film – including a journalist and a screaming damsel-in-distress – are completely generic, I suspect Savaard is meant to be the movie's villain protagonist. Actual open-heart surgeries and pacemakers would be common by the end of the 1950s, meaning this movie went from science fiction to relatively plausible within a decade. I do wish “The Man They Could Not Hang” did more with its hanging theme – all the trips to the gallows happen off-screen – but I guess that's to be expected from a Production Code era horror flick. The movie is well worth seeing for a delicious Boris Karloff performance and a cleverly macabre last act. [7/10]

Creepshow: Model Kid / Public Television of the Dead

I enjoyed the first season of Shudder's “Creepshow” show, allowing me to inject some E.C. Comics flavor into my Halloween marathon, so I knew I'd check out the second season as well. In “Model Kid,” Joe is a kid in the seventies who loves monster movies, model kits, and his mom. When she dies of a long-term illness, his aunt and uncle move in. His Uncle Kevin is an asshole though, who dismisses Joe's love of horror... But this fandom ends up providing Joe's path to revenge. In “Public Television of the Dead,” a public broadcast station is home to a foul-mouthed children's show host and a soft-spoken painting instructor. The kids host demands the painting show get canceled, to expand her budget. When the Necronomicon is read on an antiquing show, the painter gets an unexpected chance to save his himself and his program. 

All of “Creepshow's” season two premiere are directed by Greg Nicotero. You can tell he's in an especially nostalgic mood this episode, as both segments have a retro aesthetic. “Model Kid” is a loving tribute to monster kid history. The episode begins with an imaginary silent movie where the Mummy and the Gillman fight. Aurora model kits, monster magazines, horror hosts, old film projectors, and E.C. Comics are referenced in specific ways throughout. A Glow-in-the-Dark “Victim” model is only the most obvious shout-out. Yet “Model Kid's” sentimental side is what makes the episode really notable. The relationship between the boy and his mom is adorably portrayed, immediately sucking you in. This same instinct also makes you immediately despise Uncle Kevin. Watching the abusive buffoon get his comeuppance, in a typically gory horror comic style, is deeply satisfying. 

If “Model Kid” is a lovingly sentimental homage to monster kids everywhere, “Public Television of the Dead” is a manic homage to public broadcasting and a specific eighties horror franchise. The segment's unexpected hero, an unerringly calm painter who is secretly a former veteran, is obviously inspired by Bob Ross. As soon as Ted Raimi appears, as himself, it becomes clear the direction this story is going in. Yes, it's an “Evil Dead” homage. That means there's a floating deadite, a Book of the Dead bound in human flesh, improvised action scenes, and Raimi-esque direction. The humor here is a little too self-referential, considering Nicotero started his career on “Evil Dead 2,” and some of the gags are too on-the-nose. Though the vulgar kids show host's bizarre backstory made me laugh. Nicotero does a decent job of aping Sam Raimi's style too, even if there's some sketchy CGI blood in there too. Still, it's too good-natured in its goofiness for me not to enjoy it. [Model Kid: 8/10] [Public Television of the Dead: 7/10]

Godzilla Singular Point: Terzetto

A couple of years ago, it was announced that a trilogy of "Godzilla" anime movies would be coming to Netflix. It was a great idea but the end results were terrible. They were marred by hideous CGI animation and an utterly tedious story that seemed actively disinterested in featuring Godzilla. But because it was a great idea – and because Toho is determined to keep the "Godzilla" brand alive this decade – they tried again. This time, the "Godzilla" anime took the form of a 13 episode, mostly traditionally animated series called "Godzilla Singular Point." Fan reaction has been divisive thus far but, because I am an ever-true "Godzilla" nerd (not to mention an occasional anime consumer), I'm giving the series a look this September.

"Singular Point" is set in a near-future Japan. It follows Yun, an electric company contractor so brilliant he invents advanced A.I.s in his spare time. He investigates a possibly haunted house with his beefier co-worker, Kato. They uncover a strange radio, receiving strange signals, is responsible for the unusual activity. The same night, Mei – a grad student of theoretical physics and hypothetical evolution – is called to look at a beeping machine in an old building. It's also receiving the same, unusual signal. Yun, Mei, and Kato's paths soon cross. What does any of this have to do with Godzilla? Yun's eccentric boss is building a Jet Jaguar in his garage. This becomes especially relevant when Rodan attacks a summer festival attacks a summer festival. 

The first episode of "Singular Point" leaves me with mixed feelings. The show foregoes an opening theme in favor of close-ups of strange diagrams, while overlapping voices ramble on about something. This overwhelming barrage of information continues in the first scene, as Yun – who has Sherlock Holmes-like deductive reasoning – spits a stream of nonstop dialogue. The show then shifts from overly informative to incredibly vague, as the episode's plot points are very mysterious and totally unexplained right now. It's already apparent that this show is going to pack in a lot of esoteric scientific lore while taking its time to get to the damn monsters. (Godzilla has a cameo, of sorts, in the literal last minutes of the episode.) 

The character designs are really cute though. I like the scene where the Velma-like Mei interacts with the enthusiastic A.I. Yun installs on her laptop. The animation is already a lot better than the Polygon Pictures' "Godzilla" trilogy. The kaiju are brought to life through similarly cell-shaded CGI but the redesigns of familiar monsters are interesting enough to have my attention. Rodan is the size of a Volkswagen and closely patterned after a Quetzalcoatlus. Jet Jaguar, meanwhile, is rendered as a boxy robot that emphasizes the awkwardness of an already lovable dorky old kaiju. Whether the quirks of the characters and the show around them will prove charming or grating eventually remains to be seen. I'll give this first episode a six for at least being interesting and making me want to watch more. [6/10]