My dear readers, while this critical business of mine could not exist without the cavalcade of dreamers who turned an interest in the arts into a full profession, I must confess that I hardly envy any individual who has plotted this particular course for themselves. The number of bonafide successes is rather paltry compared to those who never found the recognition they had sought. I find no more pertinent an example than my own great, great Uncle Godwin Hauntedhouse. He was positively obsessive when it came to his muse -- Eustace Reedhobble, sole heiress to the estimable Reedhobble fortune. Godwin was sure that if his work could somehow capture her great beauty, his legacy as an antecedent of the “Old Masters” would be secured. Unfortunately, Eustace passed away long before Godwin had finished his composition. But that was not enough to discourage old Godwin, oh, no! The man had no intention of discontinuing his efforts and by bribing the appropriate number of funerary professionals, he was able to proceed in the peace of his own home. Though the stillness of his subject was now unmatched, he insisted on keeping the representation as contemporary as possible, and some of the revisions he made in the weeks after her demise doomed any chance of conventional acceptance. I suppose this is all to say that while I have nothing but admiration for those who affix their greatest hopes to imagination and aesthetics, it is a bit too fraught with complications to interest a person of my disposition.

Daniel Robitaille (Tony Todd) is also very much familiar with the pitfalls of a career in the arts. His skill with a paintbrush has attracted the attention of a plantation owner, who selects Daniel to produce a portrait of his daughter. While the historical record is unclear on whether patron of the canvas was pleased with the painting, it is unambiguous on his feelings towards the romantic affair that blossomed between his daughter and Daniel. The prevailing attitudes on decorum during this era of the American south were not favorable towards such dalliances, and the locals are particularly incensed about Daniel’s distinctly non-caucasian ancestry. Enraged by the very thought of interracial mingling, a vicious mob saws off Daniel’s hand, smears him in honey and leaves him to be stung to death by bees. This little incident ends with Daniel being given a mean-spirited sobriquet, and legend has it that anyone who speaks the name “Candyman” into a reflective surface five times will receive a most unpleasant visit from Daniel’s specter, his absent appendage replaced with a bloody hook.

It is a legend that carries on into the present day, and one that is popular with the students of Annie Tarrant (Kelly Rowan). Annie is a primary school instructor with limited patience for supernatural tales and feels it is her duty to instill a similar attitude in her pupils. And so, demonstrating a dedication to education that goes far beyond the norm, Annie tries summoning a vindictive phantom in the hopes of teaching the kids a lesson. Unfortunately, Annie seems to have overestimated Candyman’s mythical status and shortly after this demonstration, all sorts of folks in the young educator’s social circle meet a violent end. After witnessing one of these executions with her very own eyes, Annie is forced to concede that Candyman is, in fact, quite real. But the legal authorities are not convinced that a long dead painter is the cause of all this bloodshed and find Annie’s brother Ethan (William O'Leary) to be a far more satisfactory suspect. Ridding herself of Daniel’s persistently murderous presence requires a fair bit of research into his origins, and Annie’s faithful study reveals she may have a greater connection to this eviscerating apparition than she originally suspected.

In Candyman’s first cinematic outing, his story was memorably placed in Chicago’s Cabrini Green, where his ashes were meant to have been scattered after the angry mob burnt him alive. But Candyman: Farewell to the Flesh asks us to forget all that and insists that jolly old New Orleans is actually the locale where all this business began. There is no mention of the Midwest or premature cremation and considerable portions of the narrative are devoted to a magical mirror that is meant to have trapped Candyman’s spirit. Understandably, this has caused some confusion for horror movie fans who wish for an immutable lore to emerge from the first film in this series. And yet I believe these narrative shifts are no accident. One of the many things that makes the United States so special is that wherever one goes, everyone has their own version of an apiarian hate crime victim who returns as a hook-wielding ghost. Whether they be burnt alive or merely stung to death, it is the subtle shifts between each area’s rendition of racial injustice that makes it special. It is a terribly savvy move on the part of director Bill Condon to acknowledge the universal relatability of Candyman’s saga in this manner. Like the varying spices in regional cuisine, the differences in these tales of bees and brutality are what makes the United States such a rich tapestry of tradition.

Candyman: Farewell To The Flesh runs 95 minutes and is rated R for violence, gore, some sexuality and language.