InRO Weekly — Volume 1, Issue 1

FILM REVIEWS
to inform the public about democracy as it is, not as it should be,
so they can vote accordingly — is more valuable than ever. For all
our sakes, let’s keep the pencils sharpened, the archives dusted
off, and the pages turning. — SELINA LEE
DIRECTOR: Lizzie Gottlieb CAST: Robert A. Caro, Robert Gottlieb
DISTRIBUTOR: Sony Pictures Classics IN THEATERS: December
30 RUNTIME: 1 hr. 52 min.
highlight of last year’s Ida Red being a random moment where
Frank Grillo, clad in cowboy hat and mesh shirt, dances to Naked
Eyes’ “Promises Promises” before brutally murdering a woman.
Candy Land is that moment dialed to one hundred, a deep dive
into depravity that is refreshing in its remorselessness. Indeed,
this is a film that, within its first five minutes, features graphic
sex, full-frontal nudity, and the tormenting of religious
fundamentalists.
CANDY LAND
John Swab
In only a few short years, writer-director John Swab has churned
out a handful of low-budget features that have rarely risen above
the mantle of mediocrity. Part of this seems like a direct result of
attempting so much in so little time, for a filmmaker happy to be
getting consistent work in today’s hellish filmmaking landscape.
Yet those familiar with Swab’s filmography may find themselves
going a tad easier on this particular director than many of his ilk,
largely because it’s obvious that he’s in possession of true
technical chops, with a genuine love of the medium ingratiating
itself into every frame. If one were to be especially generous,
they might see a little of the early Walter Hill in his work, a true
legend who understood the supposed limitations of genre fare
and exploited them to produce bracing works of bravado.
“[This] callback to the
grindhouse flicks of the ‘70s
offers up the most respectful
portrait of sex workers the
big screen has seen in ages.
Swab’s latest, Candy Land, eschews the crime drama framework
so inherent to his other films and embraces pure exploitation,
which ultimately frees the filmmaker to deliver his best and most
accomplished work to date. Swab has always excelled when
leaning into this particular texture in past projects, with the
The titular location refers to the last exit on Route 66 before
endless miles of nothingness, the type of low-down and dirty
truck stop where travelers can grab both a meal and a piece of
ass. It’s here where we meet our ragtag group of protagonists, a
five-person squad of sex workers including house mother Nora
(Guinevere Turner) and employees Sadie (Sam Quartin), Riley
(Eden Brolin), Liv (Virginia Rand), and lone male Levi (Owen
Campbell). Not long after, a newcomer — Remy (Olivia Luccardi),
one of the aforementioned zealots who has seemingly
abandoned the church to discover a newfound world of
independence — enters this tight-knit clan. Unfortunately, she’s
arrived at exactly the wrong moment, as a killer, whose identity
is as obvious as it is inevitable, is targeting various clients of
Candy Land.
But make no mistake: Candy Land isn’t trying to pull the rug out
from under its audience members; it establishes its central
antagonist early in the game. Such a move simply reinforces the
film’s exploitative roots, seen in every leering close-up of its
female cast members’ naked bodies and its somehow lovingly
shot moments of brutal violence. Indeed, Swab embraces these
details in ways that put other such 21 st -century attempts to
shame — those films that serve up so-called “exploitation” in the
most sanitized and neutered fashion possible, obviously intended
not to offend audience members in a bid for populist
acceptance. Candy Land has no interest in such bullshit, offering
up its tale of religious cleansing in the most overheated ways
possible. Still, such a description fails to recognize the deep
empathy Swab clearly feels for his characters, namely the
individuals who call Candy Land home. It’s hard to believe that, in
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