From The Vault: Candy Man

Here is another old review from the archives, historical in its significance as it was my first review in Miami. It also marks the first time I went by Rick. Also the rating system was officially changed from "Richards" to "Flems" at the suggestion of Carl Deschamps, then-editor of The Miami Herald. We were the best of friends until his untimely death, and he even claims to have named his kid after me. At this point in my life I was still married, Jasper (my girlish son) was nothing more than a thundercloud on the horizon, I was fucking waitresses left and right (this one waitress.... I'll never forget her name: Jenny Bebay. Sounds hot huh?) I had it all folks. That was, until I reviewed Candyman.

Candyman (1992)-

Hello guys! The name's Rick Flemming, and I am pleased to come from the Salt Lake City Dispatch to join the team here at the Miami Herald. My inaugeral review: Candyman.

My first gripe with this picture is this: The goddamn thing was too dark to see. Now I know what you are thinking...but I'm sorry. I could barely see Candyman. Also his voice was constantly overpowered by the score, which consisted of one sustained note. Not a good note, either. One of the bad notes. The leading lady was chewing gum loudly through every scene, and I swear to god I saw toilet paper stuck to her shoe. Candyman's hook was obviously rubber, easily squishing against whatever surface it touched, but I noticed an even stranger phenomenon: At the end of many scenes, I could actually hear the word "Cut!" being shouted from off-scene. All in all the movie was outrageously awful. A steaming column of dung standing upright on its own, begging to be squashed. Well, I will gladly be the one to squash it.
-Half a Flem