MovieJawn was founded in 2015 by Frances Hart Valley. Our column Days Jawn By is a celebration of our print heritage and aims to bring the past into the light. The article you are about to enjoy first appeared in our Fall 2024 print issue featuring cinematic slashers. Never miss another issue, subscribe here.

by Melissa Strong, Staff Writer

A Candyman virgin, I sat down to watch the 1992 original as homework. I avoided horror movies for years, so there is lots of catching up to do. I learned to appreciate the genre while watching it to retrain my limbic system, the part of the brain that processes and governs emotions, to understand that what I saw on screen was not a threat. Now that I watch horror for fun and enjoy writing about it, MovieJawn’s slasher issue offered the chance to catch up on Candyman.

It felt familiar, even though I hadn’t seen it before. I recognized the movie poster, with its close-up of a bee perched on a wide-open eye. A looming figure forms the eye’s pupil. Later I recognized the figure as well, from the awful hook-for-hand to the gross, fur-lined jacket. In the early 90s, my grandmother begged my grandfather to throw away a similar jacket. And somewhere, somehow, I had seen the Candyman (Tony Todd) before. Maybe in a newspaper or magazine (remember those?), or perhaps on someone else’s TV. Regardless, the Candyman is instantly recognizable, even though he famously does not appear until 44 minutes into the movie. Clearly, the Candyman is a memorable villain. This contributes to the film’s popularity, generally positive reception and cult status.

*MovieJawn will be slinging zines before the show of Candyman at their Halfway-To-Halloween Market, details* *here*

Here are some thoughts on a first viewing. Big picture, Candyman situates violence at the intersection of race, class, gender and power, which makes it seem ahead of its time. Its ideas still might be, but the approach and execution aren’t as strong. Many of my thoughts focused on the protagonist, Helen Lyle (Virginia Madsen), perhaps because of the long first act focusing on her research into the urban legend of the Candyman. It was a surprise that Helen is an academic. Although it makes sense in Candyman, I didn’t expect it and it put me on edge.

I’m an academic too, and a cis white woman like Helen, so I was wary of how the movie would portray her. Many people hold misconceptions about what it’s like to be a graduate student in the humanities (which Helen is, and I was), a professor (which Helen’s spouse is, and I am), or a woman in either of these roles (me and Helen again). Also, higher education – indeed, education itself – has undergone radical changes since Candyman’s release. Writing about Candyman as the academic year began, I felt unable to approach the film another way.

Unsurprisingly, I had cause for concern about Helen. Some synopses of the movie describe her as a professor’s wife rather than a graduate student. Using Helen’s marriage as a shorthand for her identity is casual sexism, diminishing her and misrepresenting the plot while overstating her husband’s role in it. Helen’s research with Bernie (Kasi Lemmons), not her marriage to Trevor (Xander Berkeley), leads her to the Candyman. Helen deserves props for her work because writing a master’s thesis or doctoral dissertation consumes time and energy, literally years of your life. Moreover, Helen’s research is central to the story arc.

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Yet it’s quaint that Helen and Bernie study semiotics. This field was big in the 90s, when many of my grad school professors were in grad school themselves. Semiotics is not presently a course of study, though, at least in this country. Even if it were, it wouldn’t be the right department for research on urban legends. This is the first of many things Candyman gets wrong about Helen’s work. The time devoted to it might seem tedious to some, but I watched carefully. A collaborative thesis or research project, like Helen and Bernie’s, is unheard of – you toil at gigantic projects in isolation. The respect, even deference that the professor receives? Ha. The amount of sitting/standing around and talking was pretty accurate, though. Also the smoking. One classmate smoked as much as Helen, usually while muttering about how much work they had to do. The hairstyles not so much. Helen’s varied, arty, carefully arranged hairdos were not within reach for me and my classmates. Although there was one person with expensive clothes who spent a summer touring with Daft Punk.

As I judged the accuracy of Candyman’s portrayal of a white female grad student, I fretted over the implications. The trope of a too-curious person unleashing terrible things appears in many movies, and Helen is a Pandora who can’t resist trying to summon the Candyman. She also is a grad student whose risky behavior could arise from common experiences like chronic stress, mental health issues, and getting consumed by your research and losing touch with reality a li’l bit. Since Candyman doesn’t develop characters that deeply, it instead suggests the following equation: woman + knowledge seeking = horror. It’s an alarming idea that can’t be extracted from the movie, unfortunately.

Despite these gripes, Rosen’s reinterpretation of Barker’s story has legs. Taking a tale about English lovers separated by social class, setting it in Chicago, and adding race to the mix transforms the context and significance in ways that remain resonant. Similarly, the violence and gore serve themes of suffering, injustice, and unresolved trauma, all of which continue to be relevant. Getting into horror movies has shown me how diverse they are, and that horror can be a great vehicle for exploring social issues. I’m glad Candyman is in my life, and I look forward to getting to know it better.

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