One of the best crime films ever, The Candy Snatchers was made on a shoestring, briefly hit the drive-in circuit, then languished in obscurity for 35 years; forgotten and left to die much like Candy in her shallow grave by the side of a backwoods gravel road. Its tone is Coen-esque, despite being made a decade before Blood Simple, with even more grim turns of the screw, diabolical plot twists that’d make O. Henry spin in his grave, insane characters, even more insane dialogue, bursts of savage retribution, unquenchable thirsts for domination, byzantine mind games. Perhaps this blackly humorous and ultimately horrific tale was an influence on the Coen Brothers. One can see its roots in the masterful Fargo and more than a little in Raising Arizona, too. TCS is ostensibly a story of a kidnapping gone wrong, but it’s so much more once you scratch under the sleazy, cheapo early 70s production. Why would you want to? Immerse yourself in the sideburns, house-sized boxy sedans, pumpkin-orange-colored upholstery and green kitchen appliances; appreciate a rare perfect specimen of the early independent movement, the right script combined with producers who could care less about political correctness or favorable responses from focus groups.

To discuss the story would spoil it. One bit of advice: don’t watch in mixed company unless you’d like to create some awkward scenes/conversations in real life, once the shattering conclusion brings you to your knees. The Candy Snatchers will polarize its audience, which would be a pretty limited group of people to begin with.

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