Candy is not the first Australian film to delve into the desolate realms of the heroin subculture. Many will suggest that it could act, in its subject, as a prequel to the Australian film ‘Little Fish’ (2005), despite differing significantly in both visual style and its narrative shape. It seems that while Candy completes itself with surreal moments of sophisticated cinematography and first class performances, we may add it to the collection of medium-budget Australian films whose salient feature is that their subject matter is, at its simplest level, strikingly grim.
It sticks closely to the blueprint that was laid down in Darren Aronofsky's 'Requiem For A Dream' (2000), where the highs of the users are shown in stark contrast nightmarish lows, and the intoxicating pleasure of love and lust gives way to a descent into inevitable degradation. However what does make the film stand out from its thematic counterparts is Armfield’s reluctance to take sides or sermonise as is the case in most films with drug abuse as a main point of contention. Rather the story is simply told as what it is, and the privileged audience are given a fly on the wall account of an inevitably devastating love triangle between a boy, a girl, and a drug.
Adapted from a semi-autobiographical novel by Luke Davies who co-wrote the screenplay with director Neil Armfield, Candy follows the descent into hell of two heroin junkies that are in love. Divided into three ominously titled chapters, 'Heaven', 'Hell' and 'Earth', the film begins with the lovers, the would-be poet Dan (Heath Ledger) and artist Candy (Abbie Cornish) boarding a fairground Gravitron ride. While we as an audience know nothing of Dan and Candy’s relationship at this point, the view that we are given from above is a telling one. We learn that the subsequent seduction of their sinister passion is spurred by a complete lack of responsibility, and the scene of exhilaration and regression to childhood thrills epitomises this. With an aerial shot our perspective is constructed from a view that is parallel to that of the encouraging parents as they look down at their children spinning carelessly, and this is a view that seemingly marks the audience’s relationship to the characters as the film goes on. We watch with an air of protectiveness - It’s hard to be judgemental towards characters when they are so naïve and likeable in their local realness.
This, so the chapter title tells us, is Heaven. We are given a taste of the two young lovers’ romantic bliss as they indulge in their intoxicated highs and their starry-eyed puppy love. As they paint and have sex and write poetry about it afterwards we are govened by the feeling that even the heroin they so casually flirt with is no more than an extension of the passionate world they inhabit. The cinematography in these early sequences maximises this bliss, creating a golden-hued glow as sunlight streams in from windows and illuminates the substandard house and further creates an aura of surreal gracefulness as it we see the bodies of Dan and Candy intertwine under water in a swimming pool. The underwater absence of sound gives further rise to this sense of bliss and creates a jolting sense of disruption when we, along with Candy and Dan emerge from the peace of the water.
As Armfield suggests “heroin induced ecstacy is hard to film as it's usually an experience most viewers are not familiar with”. Rather than use magic realism, as in Trainspotting or Requium for a Dream, the director externalises the users’ feelings by placing them at the centre of sensual, beautifully filmed episodes such as this reoccuring swimming pool scene. A scene at an automatic carwash, where Candy and Dan enter the fountain of water on a blissful high and exit minutes later near passed out, confused and dejected, exemplifyes the way in which the drug teases then betrays its victims. However during these moments when the addiction turns sour, Armfield's breezy visuals and music-video editing style remain. It seems that the desolution of the situation is intensifyed by the consistancy of the surreal filming style, as Armfild rejects what could easily be the graphically confronting cliches of drug culture cinema.
The low-key but emotional performances of Heath Ledger and Abbie Cornish further lend sweetness to the otherwise sordid series of events. Ledger, in particular, exerts a sideways pull as the loving but lost boy who lures Candy away from her safe but stifling milieu. Cornish - the girl of the moment in Australian film – offers a classically restrained performance as a character that requires a sense of understated realness to be as entirely haunting as she manages to be. Noni Hazlehurst and Tony Martin are given the underrated roles of Candy's parents whose apparent function in the film is to bring the bliss back to reality, and to ultimately draw the love story into the realms of the real world where ones actions will have an invariable impact on those around them. It is Geoffrey Rush, in the supporting role of openly gay university chemist Caspar, and his foreseeable tragic demise that brings home the message to all – it’s all well and good until somebody gets hurt.
As the inevitable loss of paradise dawns both the lovers and the audience are brought to “earth”, and then “hell” Armfield creates an increasingly intimate environment. The harrowing process of Dan and Candy’s first serious attempt to give up their habit “cold turkey” gives a dispassionate, fly-on-the-wall depiction of their necessary suffering. The sparse and un-flashy setting adds to intensity of the situation and allows for the complete surrendering of every bitter emotion that Dan and Candy experience. As the lovers escape to the country side to escape the habit, the film's colour palette grows ever more desaturated and the audience will shake their head in detached prudence – having learnt full well from life and other drug classics that a change of scenery doesn’t not add up to a change in personal will.
It sticks closely to the blueprint that was laid down in Darren Aronofsky's 'Requiem For A Dream' (2000), where the highs of the users are shown in stark contrast nightmarish lows, and the intoxicating pleasure of love and lust gives way to a descent into inevitable degradation. However what does make the film stand out from its thematic counterparts is Armfield’s reluctance to take sides or sermonise as is the case in most films with drug abuse as a main point of contention. Rather the story is simply told as what it is, and the privileged audience are given a fly on the wall account of an inevitably devastating love triangle between a boy, a girl, and a drug.
Adapted from a semi-autobiographical novel by Luke Davies who co-wrote the screenplay with director Neil Armfield, Candy follows the descent into hell of two heroin junkies that are in love. Divided into three ominously titled chapters, 'Heaven', 'Hell' and 'Earth', the film begins with the lovers, the would-be poet Dan (Heath Ledger) and artist Candy (Abbie Cornish) boarding a fairground Gravitron ride. While we as an audience know nothing of Dan and Candy’s relationship at this point, the view that we are given from above is a telling one. We learn that the subsequent seduction of their sinister passion is spurred by a complete lack of responsibility, and the scene of exhilaration and regression to childhood thrills epitomises this. With an aerial shot our perspective is constructed from a view that is parallel to that of the encouraging parents as they look down at their children spinning carelessly, and this is a view that seemingly marks the audience’s relationship to the characters as the film goes on. We watch with an air of protectiveness - It’s hard to be judgemental towards characters when they are so naïve and likeable in their local realness.
This, so the chapter title tells us, is Heaven. We are given a taste of the two young lovers’ romantic bliss as they indulge in their intoxicated highs and their starry-eyed puppy love. As they paint and have sex and write poetry about it afterwards we are govened by the feeling that even the heroin they so casually flirt with is no more than an extension of the passionate world they inhabit. The cinematography in these early sequences maximises this bliss, creating a golden-hued glow as sunlight streams in from windows and illuminates the substandard house and further creates an aura of surreal gracefulness as it we see the bodies of Dan and Candy intertwine under water in a swimming pool. The underwater absence of sound gives further rise to this sense of bliss and creates a jolting sense of disruption when we, along with Candy and Dan emerge from the peace of the water.
As Armfield suggests “heroin induced ecstacy is hard to film as it's usually an experience most viewers are not familiar with”. Rather than use magic realism, as in Trainspotting or Requium for a Dream, the director externalises the users’ feelings by placing them at the centre of sensual, beautifully filmed episodes such as this reoccuring swimming pool scene. A scene at an automatic carwash, where Candy and Dan enter the fountain of water on a blissful high and exit minutes later near passed out, confused and dejected, exemplifyes the way in which the drug teases then betrays its victims. However during these moments when the addiction turns sour, Armfield's breezy visuals and music-video editing style remain. It seems that the desolution of the situation is intensifyed by the consistancy of the surreal filming style, as Armfild rejects what could easily be the graphically confronting cliches of drug culture cinema.
The low-key but emotional performances of Heath Ledger and Abbie Cornish further lend sweetness to the otherwise sordid series of events. Ledger, in particular, exerts a sideways pull as the loving but lost boy who lures Candy away from her safe but stifling milieu. Cornish - the girl of the moment in Australian film – offers a classically restrained performance as a character that requires a sense of understated realness to be as entirely haunting as she manages to be. Noni Hazlehurst and Tony Martin are given the underrated roles of Candy's parents whose apparent function in the film is to bring the bliss back to reality, and to ultimately draw the love story into the realms of the real world where ones actions will have an invariable impact on those around them. It is Geoffrey Rush, in the supporting role of openly gay university chemist Caspar, and his foreseeable tragic demise that brings home the message to all – it’s all well and good until somebody gets hurt.
As the inevitable loss of paradise dawns both the lovers and the audience are brought to “earth”, and then “hell” Armfield creates an increasingly intimate environment. The harrowing process of Dan and Candy’s first serious attempt to give up their habit “cold turkey” gives a dispassionate, fly-on-the-wall depiction of their necessary suffering. The sparse and un-flashy setting adds to intensity of the situation and allows for the complete surrendering of every bitter emotion that Dan and Candy experience. As the lovers escape to the country side to escape the habit, the film's colour palette grows ever more desaturated and the audience will shake their head in detached prudence – having learnt full well from life and other drug classics that a change of scenery doesn’t not add up to a change in personal will.
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