REVIEW
Candy – Sweet and Sour

Have you ever been on a Rotor – those enormous circular, spinning carnival rides that pin you to the wall and let you defy gravity for a few blessed moments?  Yeah . . . me neither.  With the curse of a weak stomach, I always kept my distance.  But apparently, they are loads of fun.  At least that’s what Writer/Director Neil Armfield would have us believe in the opening scene of Candy.  And it would seem he would also have us believe that the Rotor is a beautiful metaphor for the easy glories of drug use that just as easily spin completely out of control.

Based on the novel by co-screenwriter Luke Davies, Candy gives an at times terrifying, at times intoxicating look into the twisted and warped world of the junkie.  Addiction, obsession, oblivion - Candy covers it all while tracking with the lives of two young and in love bohemian teens – the sensitive and poetic Dan (Heath Ledger) and the newly converted heroine addicted artist Candy (Abbie Cornish). 

We begin the film with Dan and Candy in “Heaven” – a place where their use of drugs has yet to move into the realm of addiction.  Things are beautiful, happy, glorious.  Candy and Dan live in a world consisting solely of each other and their beloved powder, a world where they can’t be bothered with the problems of everyday life. 

“Heaven”, as expected, doesn’t last and “Earth” begins with Candy and Dan getting their first taste of responsibility in the form of married life.  Between hawking, stealing and prostitution, Candy and Dan make enough to feed their habit . . . but the joy is gone.  After a bitter attempt to get clean and the brutally emotional birth of a stillborn child, Dan and Candy descend into “Hell”, moving further and further apart as they are wrapped up into their own addiction, their own struggle.

In its division into the three segments of “Heaven”, “Earth” and “Hell”, Candy gives its viewers the freedom to wander the differing landscapes of drug addiction while being anchored by two sensitive and quietly powerful lead performances.  Armfield furthers this freedom in his arrangement of these segments - At their core, most movies begin in Earth migrate to Hell and then transcend into Heaven.  Thumbing his nose at format, Armfield chooses to keep his film honest, truthful, void of any sort of moral message by presenting the truth of most drug use stories – Heaven ultimately dissipates into Earth which ultimately dissolves into Hell.  No happy endings here - Just honest destruction.

That honest destruction is beautifully enacted by Ledger and Cornish. Candy feels like a neutral middle ground between Ledger’s teen-flick days (10 Things I Hate About You, A Knight’s Tale) and his Oscar-nominated work in Brokeback Mountain.  And to be honest, I like this Heath best.  He has depth but no air of superiority, honest vulnerability devoid of arrogance.  He’s good AND real, heartfelt AND genuine, striking just the right balance for Dan, our all important vicarious connection and partner in this film.

Cornish works well as Ledger’s counterpoint.  In fact, Cornish works well period.  In the opening scenes of the film, I had a nagging suspicion I had seen her before.  After searching the blessed databases of IMDB that are forever helping out with my brain freezes, I realized I had seen her in A Good Year – and my mouth just fell open.  I wasn’t hugely impressed with her as the free-wheeling love child in A Good Year but she blew me away as the junkie gone mental in Candy. If she gets connected with more meaty indie fare, I think it’s safe to say we will be seeing plenty more of the keen and discerning Abbie Cornish.

Overall, Candy gives a finely tuned glimpse into the highs and lows, the glories and abominations of the world of drug addiction. With pretty camera work, subtle and simple direction and nimble performances, Candy isn’t a feel good flick but it is still most definitely a notable production.  It’s sweet but still sour, sour but still sweet.