Candyman 2 : Farewell To The Flesh


He died for love.

Born just after the Civil War,

Daniel Robitaille was the son of slaves,

an artist by trade.

A wealthy landowner commissioned him

to paint the portrait of his daughter.

They fell in love. She became pregnant.

Her father had his thugs chase

the poor man through the town.

When they caught him, they sawed off

his right hand with a rusty blade.

A nearby beehive was raided,

and the honeycomb smeared

over his bleeding, mutilated body.

The crowd that had gathered

fled as the bees came for him.

He died for love.

His resurrection began as rumour,

and grew into myth.

Say his name five times

in the mirror and he would appear.

A hook had replaced his severed hand.

Sorrow and hate fill his eyes.

Bees buzz about his lips.

The myth has travelled

from place to place,

taking root in the most desperate areas.

Even here, in New Orleans,

murders have been

committed in his name.

Yes, but is he real?

Cabrini Green, Chicago, 1992.

Helen Lyle becomes

so obsessed by the myth

that she takes on

the persona of Candyman,

killing her victims with a hook.

Cabrini residents believe

she was the Candyman.

- What about you, Doctor Purcell?

- Do I believe in Candyman?

I believe in the myth.

But the fact? The flesh and blood? No.

- I'm afraid not.

- Prove it.






Well, that is a relief.

My publisher would never have

forgiven me. Imagine the headlines:

"Cambridge Scholar Eviscerated

with Hook on Book Tour."

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you

to meet our Candyman, Peter.

Oh, I'm sorry. These streets

have got me all turned around.

We were a little shy back there, were we?

- It's a gift?

- "To Ethan".

Ethan Tarrant.

Ethan, I'm sorry about

what happened to your father.

- He came to you for help.

- Have you any idea

- How many people contact me?

- My father wasn't a crackpot.

I'm not saying he was.

You told him there was no Candyman.

You told him to say the name -

and now he's dead.

Look, Ethan, I've seen this happen before.

People get sucked into the myth.

There's no myth.

Daniel Robitaille was real.

Daniel Robitaille has been dead

and buried for a very long time.

He's here.

You called him.

I'm sorry. I can't help you.

You're next, Purcell.

- Groin to gullet.

- You're as crazy as your father was.

Give me a shot of single malt.

F*cking murderer!


Get him the f*ck outta here!

You're next, Purcell.

Get out!

It's... my book.


Are you with me, New Orleans?

Do ya hear me? This is the Kingfish

coming to you at 96.2 FM.

Anointed and appointed.

Just three more days, Crescent City,

three days until Lent.

So let's have it, the merriment

before the penance,

and the feast before the fast.

The Kingfish gonna keep

y'all company all the way down.

Hey, brothers and sisters, y'all know

what "carnival" means in Latin?

Well, the Kingfish went to the good

schools, so he can tell you all about it.

"Carnival. Farewell to the flesh. "

That's what it means.

I like that a lot. "Farewell to the flesh. "

Yeah, you right.

And farewell to all that floodin',

as far as I'm concerned.

That's right. Look at it.

The banks of the mighty Mississippi

are ready to spill their seed.

Just look at that sky out there.

It's ready to rain on us again.

And the clouds?

Well, now, brothers and sisters,

they're not the only thing

threatenin' the Crescent City.

We're talking murder, mes amis.

Co so we've heard before,

the hook man, kerchunk.

So when you pull on your costume

and turn to admire yourself in the mirror,

please keep those lips locked tight.

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Submitted on August 05, 2018


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