Screen Notes: Candyman; Shang Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

Candyman  dir Nia DiCosta

It's clear that Nia DiCosta's new Jordan Peele-produced and co-written reboot/extension of the 1992 Bernard Rose film Candyman is presenting some difficult challenges for audiences of the black horror new wave, and while attempting to put into balance ideas about race and class with genuine scares is nothing new at this point, Candyman 2021 also wants to add the visual arts world and art criticism to the mix while also, possibly, being a movie entirely about it's own creation. Unfortunately, the film never quite finds how to balance being an "art" and "horror" film effectively, and while the original Candyman existed far from the era of BLM and Trumpism, my memory is that it never quite found a way to make this seemingly simple horror trope effective in it's era either. The most memorable aspect of the original might have been that it was uniquely scored by Phillip Glass, but looking back on the film from the vantage point of the new Candyman, it's production does seem glaringly white for a film about early 90's Caprini Green--as much as I love Glass, star Virginia Madsen, and director Rose (who would go on to make one of the great, underseen post-2000 films, ivans xtc.), the 90's Candyman never quite came together for me, yet it still seemed significant as a film trying to weave horror into an urban setting. Granted, the original has mostly faded from my memory, and I'm more haunted by the reflection of inherently racist mythologizing that comes with having grown up a rural white kid less than 2 hours away from Chicago's south side on Interstate 80, where Caprini Green definitely played a "boogeyman" role for any directionless bumpkin who dared journey to the windy city, which, in some cases, was exactly the place artistically inclined rural kids needed to get to in order to thrive. DiCosta's Candyman takes us through the gentrified Caprini Green of today, where the "boogeyman" is called forth from the mythology established by the previous film, still materializing to the call of "Candyman" repeated five times into any mirror.

DiCosta's direction is inventive and captivating at times, whether revealing Chicago architecture through an inverted looking-glass lens, or catching glimpses of the hovering, hook-handed specter  from a fumbled compact mirror sitting half-opened under a bathroom stall. Yet, somehow, while Candyman looks great, it isn't particularly scary. And, while I admire horror films that are trying to evolve the effect and weight of their scares, possibly by constructing them in concert with social themes, as seems to be the trend, Candyman lands uncomfortably in a sort of in-between space stylistically and culturally. While the film has a crisp 90-minute running time, the storytelling feels so mired by its own themes that it fails to carry much suspense, surprise, or clear narrative impact. Once the film reaches a climax that involves a vaguely Cronenbergian transformation of the central artist character, Anthony (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), into the titular monster, the narrative through-line becomes particularly unclear, and somewhat unbelievable, while the themes seem to drift from an examination of the contemporary black artist to a revenge fantasy about the embattled state of law enforcement and black Chicago, but in a way that makes the film seem overstuffed at that point; confused, rather than compellingly complex. I also got the feeling that Candyman may come off as condescending for some black audiences, if not just a downright drag, which seems to be bore out by some of the black critical response (Angelica Jade Bastién's review for Vulture, for example), and for white liberal audiences not much more than an opportunity to pat themselves on the back on the way out. If Candyman had anything in it's bag that was genuinely risky or jarring horror-wise, I might feel differently. And, yes, I own that I'm clearly part of that white, liberal audience that probably makes black critics and fans not want to like Jordan Peele movies. And yet, for me, the effortless balance of commentary on race and horror technique that Peele achieved in Get Out in 2017 was one of the cinematic highlights of that year, and in some ways Candyman takes some important risks in extending the conversation and critique established by that film in terms of addressing the art world, as well as some queer representation that feels fresh, but the overall effect is not effortless here, nor was it with Peele's Us from 2019. Like with Us, I left Candyman somewhat exasperated and disappointed, counterbalanced by the realization that it was probably richer in what it was attempting than anything else currently playing on repeat in a mainstream multiplex, even if it didn't quite get there in the end.

Two side notes: 1) please, check out film critic (and new Dad! Congrats!) Marcus Pinn on Candyman at his blog Pinnland Empire. He's also pulled a really cool set of image comparisons for further reflection on this one.

2) Director of Candyman Nia DiCosta has been drafted by the almighty MCU, with her next film The Marvels, currently in production. As with a director like Chloe Zhao (The Rider, Nomadland) who was picked to direct the upcoming Eternals, it seems disappointing that we won't be getting more Chloe Zhao movies, or see a clearly inventive new directorial voice like DiCosta's develop outside of the confines of mega-franchise filmmaking. While I welcome seeing the MCU nudged in some interesting ways by introducing directors with strong vision, I'd much rather see where DiCosta and Zhao would go creatively on their own from the standpoint of their current films.

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings  dir Destin Daniel Cretton

Shang Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings is the new Marvel film by director Destin Daniel Cretton who first garnered attention with the very small-scale 2013 indie Short Term 12. As far from the intimate, personal mode of that film as one could get comes the slam-bang-pow origin story of Shang-Chi (aka "Shaun" - played by Simu Liu), estranged from his super-villain father and sister, on a hero's quest to stop the destructive use of the legendary ten rings and defeat the dragon. Shang-Chi's best friend and coworker Katy is played by the funny, deadpan Akwafina, and much of the film's charm is dependent on her banter with the titular character, as well as a pretty hilarious "wrap-around" story involving a dinner date with two friends who goad Shaun and Katy's anxiety of arrested development.

Shang-Chi carries with it a welcome and smartly drawn presentation of Chinese characters inside an otherwise standard super-hero vehicle, and in the wake of recent anti-Asian violence it feels even more important that the writers so effortlessly wove into the story some relatively complex depictions of Chinese-American life, particularly in the scenes where Akwafina negotiates her own Chinese-ness within her family. While this aspect of the film felt fairly vital, it was constantly in tension with the aspects of the film that felt regressive and rote. While we all collectively cheer for some Asian representation within the confines of the MCU, it feels like a good time to note that much of the same American audience will never go out of their way to see a Chinese film, and will likely overlook the aspects of Shang-Chi that play less authentically, reading something more like Ben Kingsley's "Mandarin" character from Shane Black's Iron Man 3. Also, Shang-Chi features one of the great actors of Chinese cinema, Tony Leung, who has appeared in masterworks by Wong Kar-Wai, Hou Hsiao-Hsien, and Zhang Yimou. For fans of Leung, seeing him in a Marvel movie is not a particularly great step forward, the upside being that some will be curious enough to eventually discover his indispensable body of work. There are a couple of fun action set-pieces in Shang-Chi, though nothing as well articulated in terms of choreography and camerawork as Zhang Yimou's Hero (2002, featuring Tony Leung). And while the central characters played by Liu and Akwafina are well drawn, the storyline involving Leung and Michelle Yeoh--established by a fairly weak homage to another film featuring Yeoh, Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon--never has any weight. Likewise, the finale, as with so many Marvel films, is the least interesting stretch of the film, and the inability to make a film that feels like it succeeds on it's own storytelling terms continues to be the Marvel curse.

Side Note: High on the list of questionable Marvel product tie-ins is this: an alcoholic product called the "Shang-Chirita" available at the Marcus Cinema where I saw Shang-Chi. I had to snap a picture for proof that this exists. Unbelievable. I imagine it pairs well with the "Cry Macho Nachos."