When I first watched Bernard Rose’s 1992 film Candyman, it affected me deeply. I saw it with my then-boyfriend and two other friends who sneered at its baroque tone; one of them jokingly intoned “Candyman” five times, as if to puncture the film’s central ritual. I was uncharacteristically furious at their ridicule. They exchanged furtive glances as if to say, “What’s up with her?” In truth, I woul...