I was probably dumb young when I first got into horror films; we're talking seven or eight years old, living in the north side of Trenton, NJ. Life wasn't gunfire, but it was rough. The thing was, horror films (and most media in general) didn't relate to me; it was hard to trip on Freddy Krueger terrorizing these kids in the suburbs, because that wasn't really my life. Even 1991's The People Under the Stairs, which featured a protagonist that came from a similar area (although his life was way rougher), the actual action took place in a bugged-out madhouse in the suburbs. I got dude, but it still felt foreign.
Then Candyman dropped in 1992.
Sure, the entire movie takes place all over (with blood being splattered all over everything), but the idea that I lived near projects that resembled the Chicago's Cabrini Green housing project where we learned more about this diabolical monster always sent chills down my spine. It made the movie feel more "real," because it began as this urban legend that was actually true af. Like, I would start saying "Candyman" in my bathroom mirror and have to stop myself before he appeared behind me.
Sure, I was young—11 years old—when that film dropped, but its always stuck with me for how it connected to the life I saw outside of my windows on the way to school. And that was terrifying.—khal