David Slade/USA/2005; R4
Warner Bros, NZ$29.95 | Reviewed by Mythily Meher

THERE IS THAT Flash inspired by stories about paedophiles who get away with it: a thick lurch in the gut; a fiery fleshy glimmer of rage; raised hackles; and the desire to make that sick fuck suffer. Hard Candy’s sort-of heroine follows the flash through. The film’s premise is simple: him and her at his place. Him, a photographer, a charmer sprinkled with sleaze. Her, a flirty 14-year-old come guerrilla-vigilante, bent on extracting a confession and exacting revenge.

Having gift-horsed her way into his lair she paces predatory circles around her captive, snarling as she prepares her assault and in its aftermath. Her motives, his guilt, and any unexecuted intentions on both their parts are only ever shadowy suggestions, teasingly out of reach behind the intricate plot and intimate performance. And quickly, cleverly, any monochromatic sense you have as to where you situate your intellect and emotions in the situation presented, is plunged into Technicolor. It’s not as simple as deciding who to root for, and who to despise. Rather, Hard Candy says, ‘We are capable of more than we care to admit’, and presents a situation – based on recent, real-life events in Japan – to demonstrate this. It skims a magnifying glass over the dropped stitches, loose seams, and implications that the aforementioned Flash is fabricated of. It sneaks up on the Superhero fantasy and rattles the foundations. Do we tut-tut but leave offenders to the loopholes and failings of the legal system? Or bypass the long arm of the law and take justice into our own hands? Is this measure of justice justified? Are the criminal, who acts on despicable desires, and the avenger, who do despicable things to punish them, cut from the same cloth? Spurred by conviction in one’s actions, in carrying through the Flash, who carries the cost of vengeance? Does Evil radiate evil? The hands that strangled tended roses in the morning... how to reconcile the two?

Like staring down a kaleidoscope, this film’s turns and tilts in turn trigger a slightly new way of comprehending the elements, as the pieces make a new sort of tenuous sense. Each of which is fleeting.

Aesthetically, music video director David Slade’s first film is – in a far cry from its content – full of spangley sunlight-ness, dreamy interiors of magazine-esque proportions, and a key cast so pretty you could lick them. Like a smatter of blood in a cool lemonade, it does tend to jar a bit overall, but the pretty parcel takes the trauma out of watching it. The score forgoes violins and percussion recorded miles away in time and space – instead, most character clashes and dramatic crescendos here are orchestrated to sounds of the then and there. Ice grates against ice, a page quietly turns, the sticky sucking of an open wound, and breathing of varied punctuation and pace.


THE DVD extras cover this and more, its contents thoughtfully divided into detailed sections all of which are slick, dressed to the film’s visual tone and well worth a squiz. Two audio commentaries outlay the technical, character and performance aspects of the film with dry detail, while six deleted and extended scenes provide insight, mostly into why they didn’t make the final cut. The making-of featurettes are extensive, following the film’s pre and post-production, as well as some interesting marketing strategies. Despite the masterful command Hard Candy’s creators have over its technical elements, there is no ideological commentary controlling its reception here. No morals whispered in Mufasa voices. No subliminal sense of Right and Wrong seeping through. ...Chewy. And a whole lot more mature than the alternative.