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Of all the toughs Bernard Rose could’ve picked, he went with Ted Raimi. I guess being from across the pond, the motorcycle riding, leather jacket-wearing bad boys he’s used to are of the shrimpy variety.
After the high watermark of the 80s, 90s horror had a tough time filling the void. Make no mistake, there’s plenty of suitably wild, scintillating efforts to discover and rediscover, yet the avalanche of gory gifts, both iconic and lovably cheesy, was a tough act to follow. More than a few have boldly stated Rose and Clive Barker’s Candyman is THE best horror of the 90s, if you don’t count certain genre-benders like Silence of the Lambs or a cultural phenomena like Scream and The Sixth Sense. That conclusion makes sense. Rose’s inspired decision to relocate Barker’s liverpudlian tale of the divide between the British class to the chilly streets of inner-city Chicago added a racial element which leant thematic heft to what might’ve amounted to nothing more than your average boogeyman yarn.
Rose’s startling, sometimes impressionistic imagery evokes a disquieting sense of foreboding which ultimately reveals itself in Tony Todd’s menacing yet somehow alluring spectre. His enigmatic, lethal turn was a career maker and made him an important figure in the representation of African Americans in horror. Sure, he’s still the bad guy, but his tragic backstory and the power he wields by striking fear in all those who believe and hesitate to even speak his name when there’s a mirror nearby can’t be discounted. Still, he doesn’t appear until well into the second act and this absolutely grad student and skeptic Virginia Madsen’s show.
It would be incorrect to call this an underrated performance since genre-specific awards bodies did see fit to bestow her with numerous awards, but in a field which often asks performers to run the emotional gamut, the unspeakable scenario Madsen finds herself in takes the honey cake and she’s more than up to the acting challenges. It’s a tenacious performance and Rose puts her through the ringer. As an interloper (and white, no less) wandering the streets of the crumbling Cabrini Green housing projects, Madsen represents the well-meaning but ultimately powerless and out-of-touch idealist whose quest for validation from her highly educated, pretentious peers eventually leads to her downfall. It’s hubris to the max and she’s such an appealing screen presence that one can still root for her while continuing to question her actions and motivations. As her pathetic husband, Xander Berkeley strikes just the right tone of high falutin’ skeezoid smarm to make Madsen’s situation even more unbearable.
Control is the most impressive tool in Rose’s directorial arsenal. One never feels that his story gets away from him, though the third act does drift into a mythological murkiness which his screenplay can’t entirely reconcile as far as Candyman’s weaknesses or the triangular connection between him, Madsen’s Helen, and the residents of Cabrini Green. The fiery finale is full of danger, yet the film’s dreamlike qualities also raise questions about what’s real and what isn’t. In one of the best scenes, a psychologist finds out firsthand whether Helen is lying and it’s on par with Kubrick’s The Shining as far as an evil force truly exposing itself beyond a disturbed and creative mind. Helen’s white privilege certainly comes into play, yet her involuntary involvement in numerous grisly murders and subsequent (albeit tempered) release still doesn’t feel like she could be precluded. Sometimes Rose appears to be forcing the conflict, as in a moment where she picks up a murder weapon for no reason. LEAVE IT! Yet thanks to a committed, unflinching vision of despair and degradation, not to mention excellent work by daring cinematographer Anthony B. Richmond and Philip Glass’ ominous, synth choral score, Candyman constructs a mighty and fearsome hive of horror as sweet as it is deadly.
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