The appeal of the horror anthology film lies in how it often mimics that classic “campfire and ghost stories” tradition, taking the viewer through a handful of short stories told sequentially over the movie’s runtime. Typically, these stories are connected either tangentially or with the use of a framing device that threads through each of the vignettes. Michael Dougherty’s beloved Trick ‘r Treat makes use of Sam, a childlike, demonic trick-or-treater who wields a razor-sharp pumpkin lollipop. George A. Romero’s Creepshow links its stories by portraying them as standalone tales from the contraband horror comics of a young boy (played by a young Joe Hill, son of Stephen King) and utilizing a “traveling ashtray” that quietly shows up in the background of each story, a subtle, almost nonexistent way of linking the tales into a shared universe.
Horror anthology films are plentiful, but their success often depends on not just how frightening each individual story is, but also on whether or not they successfully adhere to this basic idea of a series of stories connected by an overarching plot device. Sometimes these films can be near-masterpieces, and other times, they can be downright slogs to get through. In the case of Scott B. Hansen and Desiree Connell’s latest flick Bad Candy, it is an anthology horror that starts out with good intentions and then quickly devolves into a directionless mess.
Bad Candy attempts to utilize two framing devices, the first consisting of tales told over the airwaves by two horror-loving disc jockeys at the fictional Psychotronic Radio station, 66.6 FM. Chilly Billy (Slipknot’s Corey Taylor) and Paul (Gremlins’ Zach Galligan all grown up) hole up in their cozy radio bunker (and it truly is cozy) on Halloween to broadcast a series of spooky tales to their listeners. At first glance, this attempt at unification seems like a good fit for a horror anthology (and one that feels directly plucked from that episode of “Dawson’s Creek” where Jen tells horror stories over the air from her college radio station). If utilized to its full potential, the radio station could have really worked to join the stories and give shape to the entire film; however, the station often feels more like filler than an actual attempt at unification. Instead, the film tries to rely on a second framing device to connect each of the tales by introducing a demonic clown who is conjured by a young girl in possession of the power to bring to life anything she draws on paper. This clown acts as a Sam-like character, appearing on the fringes of most of the stories, but he never truly develops the same level of menace or adoration that Sam commands from his viewers in Trick ‘r Treat. This lack of a strong framing device leaves the stories often feeling disconnected and sloppy.
The biggest problem with the film, though, is that it tries to cram too many ideas into a 100-minute runtime. In total, there appear to be seven discernable tales, but too often there are side stories that lead nowhere. The strongest stories (and strongest acting) are the ones involving Abbie (Haley Leary), a mortician with a disturbing desire for necrophilia, as well as the film’s final tale, which pulls its terror from the pages of some of the best ghost stories. Too often, though, this anthology gets caught up in its desire for shock and gore, relying on half-formed frights that never really pack an emotional punch.
There is also the presence of a political “wokeness” that creeps into some of the vignettes but never fully develops itself, leaving the viewer confused as to the film’s message. In one particular story, three men help their Black friend, who just so happens to be a shapeshifting demon-man (a choice that feels problematic in its own right), attack a group of unsuspecting white people who may or may not be deserving of the brutal slaughter. In the movie’s final shots, the white man in the group is seen comforting their Black friend who has now turned back into a human by saying, “I know you get sleepy after eating white people,” a line that falls flat in its attempt at bridging the gap between racial divides. It’s hard to decipher what the film’s political undercurrent is when it is decapitating a MAGA hat-wearing intruder in one story and claiming that punching women is acceptable as a form of equal opportunity in the next.
All that aside, the film does manage to create a truly mesmerizing Halloween atmosphere. Each scene is shot with a precision that feels plucked straight out of a chilly fall night, and the use of orange twinkle lights and pumpkin décor in almost every story only adds to this nostalgic, autumnal warmth. If you are looking for a movie that feels like Halloween in the same way that films like Trick ‘r Treat do, then this might be worth a watch just for the ambiance alone. Plus, it’s gory as hell—often a delightful treat even if at times the gore feels misplaced. Bad Candy is best saved for a Halloween movie marathon, where it can be casually viewed for its effective atmosphere, even if it’s plot threads will easily be forgotten.
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