All horror fans have one. The film that pushed you too far. The movie that caught you by surprise. That blurred the line between masochism and entertainment and called your fandom into question. For me it was Candyman (1992).

Candyman was released on VHS in 1993. On March 17th in fact, which was three days after my 12th birthday. My parents were relatively lax in letting my friends and I watch horror (Aliens was one of my mother and my favorite movies to watch together!) but even they weren’t going to subject themselves to the sideways glances that would come their way, ushering a couple pre-teens into the local cineplex screening to watch the newest slasher tear apart his victims. So waiting for VHS releases was always my first chance to see a new scary movie.

My friend Beau was spending the night. Perhaps it was to celebrate my recent birthday. That part of the memory is less clear. But what I do vividly recall is the scene that sent us both scrambling across the room, clumsily thumbing at the pause, stop and eject button all at once. Anything to end the tension and drag us out of the fictional world of Cabrini Green and back into the safety of my parent’s room where we lay on the bed watching the movie. Beau and I thought our horror cred ran deep. We’d already earned our slasher strips on many of the favorites. Freddy, Jason and Chucky were our holy trinity at this stage of life (for some reason poor Michael Myers didn’t come onto the scene for me until much later.) Leprechaun, Critters, Ghoulies and Puppet Master were frequent topics of conversation and good cheer at our after-school hangouts. But Candyman; he took us by surprise.

I’ve revisited this movie many times since and I couldn’t tell you just why this moment managed to so effectively crawl under our skin with such surgical precision. The scene in question involves Candyman’s female protagonist; Helen Lyle (played by Virginia Madsen) questioning a young resident of Chicago’s Cabrini Green projects. He tells her the tale of one of the titular Candyman’s alleged victims. The scene flashes back to show us first-hand what happened as a resident of the apartment building races into a grimy public bathroom to investigate a young boy’s screams. The scene doesn’t directly show us the violence inflicted upon the young boy, but instead offers only quick glimpses of the attack’s gruesome aftermath. But that is the beauty inherent in a certain style of horror. It trusts that nothing the filmmaker could depict on screen can match those images our mind’s eye can conjure. And boy did our young imaginations work overtime that night!

I don’t believe Beau and I talked much about how this movie affected us. We were thirteen-year-old boys after all. If I were to hazard a guess we probably switched tapes over to another less-threatening franchise (maybe Ghostbusters or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) and then went to bed. But like any good piece of urban legend (mythology even) once he sank his bloody hook into me the Candyman was not quick to let go.

The Window of Tolerance is a neurological model created by clinical psychiatrist and researcher Dan Siegel. It is a concept grounded in how our nervous systems respond to moments of stress, anxiety and of course fear. Every individual has a different ‘window’ that can respond in a variety of ways to different stimuli. Sometimes we respond to such situations with hyperarousal which can feel very activating. A surge of “fight or flight” energy leading to anxiety, increased heart-rate, breathing and tense muscles. In horror-terms think of the classic jump scare. Sometimes we respond with hypoarousal which is a response of disconnecting from the moment and feeling numb or shut down (playing dead perhaps?) As one might imagine, ‘Candyman’ pushed me to the outer limits of my window. But is that a bad thing?

In my therapy sessions, I often use the window of tolerance to help my clients understand why their bodies and minds might respond in the way they do to the stresses of their daily life or past adverse events. It can be validating to recognize that your responses to fear, anxiety and stress are actually very normal and are even survival strategies that have been intentionally wired into our brains through many generations of evolutionary adaptation. The window of tolerance also provides a framework for understanding personal growth and change. While we might assume it’s ideal to stay safely within our window of tolerance as much as possible, that can actually rob us of opportunities to learn and grow. Growth happens when we push ourselves to the very limits of our window of tolerance. When we challenge ourselves to step outside of our comfort zone and confront situations that test our abilities and beliefs in ourselves.

Which brings me back to the Candyman. This larger-than-life figure, embodied with such simmering, electric (borderline sensual) menace by the late great Tony Todd. The mythological figure of Candyman has transcended the world of film such that even the most casual fans of horror know better than to utter his name in the bathroom mirror. It’s not just Bloody Mary that children have to beware while entertaining themselves in the late night hours of their adolescent sleepovers. Most of them probably haven’t even seen the movie, yet his name has become part of our cultural milieu.

Several hours after my fateful first (attempted) viewing of Candyman, I found myself lying in bed, eyes wide open, pondering the shadows as they flickered along the ceiling of my bedroom. Beau snored comfortably in his sleeping bag across the room. How he had managed to exorcise this demon from his mind I had no idea. But I knew sleep would continue to allude me as long as this fear remained unchallenged. Which is why, sometime in the early hours of the morning, while my friend and my family slept, I found myself creeping down into the television room, VHS tape clutched tightly in my hands. I had no true desire to finish this movie, but instinctively I knew that the reality couldn’t be more frightening than those intrusive images keeping me awake. Tentatively, volume low and lights out, so as not to alert my parents that I was still awake, I knelt in front of the television (not unaware that I was mirroring the pose of poor Carol Anne of Poltergeist fame) and I pushed play.

I actually don’t recall much from my second attempt at finishing the movie that night. And it certainly wasn’t until much later in my life when I began to grasp some of the fascinating themes around race, gentrification, urban mythology and cultural trauma that the movie was exploring. But I do remember when the credits began to roll. I silently made my way back to bed and shortly drifted off into dreamless slumber. I faced my fear and I survived. Not to say that the influence of ‘Candyman’ entirely faded that night. It wasn’t until many months later that I finally worked up the nerve to close my eyes while taking a shower again.

But thirty-two years later, I still carry this formative film memory with me as evidence that I was able to explore the frightening, dimly lit edges of my window of tolerance and live to tell the tale. This is one of my favorite qualities of the horror genre. The lessons it can teach us about our resilience and ability to push through discomfort to a place of genuine entertainment, intellectual stimulation and even joy. This is a lesson that has generalized to many spheres of my life: Taking the risk of coming out of the closet as a gay man, moving out-of-state to attend college and live independently, accepting the challenges (and finding the joy) in becoming a father. Even taking the risk to publish my writing in a public forum for the first time (that one still scares me!)

Horror has much to teach us, both in how the protagonists we root for often dig for internal reserves of power they didn’t know they had, and how we the viewers can push ourselves to journey into the dark and disturbing, and yes, entertaining, worlds that these filmmakers create for us. ‘Candyman’ taught me that I was stronger than I thought. I wonder what other lessons the genre has in store for me?

Media & Notes:

Film:

Bernard, Rose. (1992). Candyman.

Writing:

For more information on the Window of Tolerance click here.

Man in the Mirror