Candyman was the best Clive Barker adaptation to date. This follow-up is a travesty of both its literary source and the original film. The only logical sequel would have been 'Candywoman', centred on Virginia Madsen's transformed character. Instead, we have a tedious, fright-free prequel featuring Todd's vanquished Candyman. Director Condon and his writers have misunderstood the myth, which holds that the legendary hook-handed killer exists only in the spaces between the many stories about him; there can, therefore, be no definitive account of his origins. Most of this film, however, is spent explaining how, after the Civil War, Daniel Robataille, the artistic son of a black slave, fell in love with a landowner's daughter, made her pregnant and was punished for his sins. All of which we already knew, and little of which is relevant to a modern-day story about New Orleans schoolteacher Annie Tarrant (Rowan), whose father was slashed to death some years ago. Now Annie is intrigued by her pupil Matthew's obsessive drawings, all of which depict a tall black figure being pursued by a vengeful white mob. Atrocious.