‘Candy’ Episode 1 Recap

Candy’s episode 1, do you ever have those days? You need to bring the kids to their swimming lessons, but only after their Sunday school Bible pageant. They’ve also been pushing you to see the new Star Wars film, so that has to be added to the itinerary. You use an axe to murder your best friend. Father’s Day is approaching, so I’m heading to Target to grab a card. Very busy, very busy!

Candy, Hulu’s new true-crime drama, has a premise based on a genuine story. And as far as axe murders go, this one has a long history. Candy was co-created by Nick Antosca and showrunner Robin Veith, worked with Antosca on The Act and was one of the Mad Men writers’ room’s aces. Hulu is unusually releasing all five episodes of the limited series this week, one each day. It’s going to be a deliciously dark week, based on the premiere.

Jessica Biel plays the title character, a Texas housewife and Bible school teacher who spends her days running errands, doing chores, and transporting her children from one activity to the next. She has to pay a visit to her friend Betty, whose older daughter has been staying at Candy’s house for a couple of days to play with the other kids and see The Empire Strikes Back in the theatre, in order to pick up the little girl’s swimsuit on this particular day in the summer of 1980.

Candy arrives from her friend’s house soaked wet, large-framed spectacles off, frantically sprinting around her house nude in order to whisk the clothing she was wearing into the wash, even if on-screen text hadn’t labelled this as “the day [Betty] died.”

But she regains her composure quickly enough to resume the day’s activities, accompanied with a story about how she went to see Betty, got to talking, lost track of time, went to Target to shop, realized her watch had stopped, and dashed back to the church to be with the kids. Her husband Pat notices that she’s told him the story twice. However, I’m not convinced “I went to Target but saw my watch had stopped” qualifies as an alibi.

The juxtaposition between Candy’s cheerful disposition and the tragedy we know she has wreaked is definitely the stuff of black comedy for writer/showrunner Robin Veith and director Michael Uppendahl. They also know how to create a sense of foreboding. The large suburban homes where the characters dwell are shot to appear almost gigantic, with massive high ceilings and gloomy shadows. Betty’s house is shown with the door shut to remind you that there is a body inside.

The top page of the day’s newspaper features a review of The Shining, another axe murder thriller. Betty’s baby cries throughout the episode, first when Betty is around to care for her, then again when she is not. The strong desire to save the poor little kid is nearly overwhelming

The way the show portrays, or rather fails to present, the crime is also intriguing. We don’t witness it happen; we only see the aftermath; we don’t see the body; we only see the responses of the three neighbors who walk into Betty’s house at her husband’s request and discover the crime scene. Time stamps tell us when the killing happened, but that’s it; the dynamics of the moment, the act of killing, and even the motive are all hidden for the time being. It’s as if the cosmos blinked and someone who had been present suddenly vanished.

Candy and Betty are played by Biel and Lynskey, who provide an interesting contrast. Candy has a lot of energy, is always moving, has large smiles, and has a curly hairstyle that would put Little Orphan Annie to shame. Betty, on the other hand, is alone in her house with a crying infant whom she alternately cares for and ignores while sitting around aimlessly or vacuuming the carpet. Betty feels like a prisoner, whereas Candy feels like a dynamo.

Pablo Schreiber, who plays Betty’s husband Allan, is maybe the episode’s biggest bombshell. He portrays Allan as a man whose personality, his vital force, is steadily ebbing away, replaced by fear, from the moment his initial phone call home goes unanswered. His voice becomes huskier. He starts to lose his appetite. He cancels his dinner plans. He sits unmoving, waiting for a callback. He puts his back against the wall. He is lying in his bed. When he eventually phones Candy to break the dreadful news, she is devastated. Candy responds, perplexed, “…Shot?” It’s as if he’s phoning her from beneath a two-ton load of sadness and remorse. His emotional fatigue is complete, and it’s terrifyingly fascinating to see.

Actually, that’s not a bad way to sum up the entire event. Candy appears to be a nightmare, an earth-toned nightmare with a sweet title character until your teeth rot away.