Art, Addiction, and Ambition Collide in New York

Read Time:5 Minute, 44 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Candy Apple
–

Genre: Comedy, Drama
Year Released: 2015, 2025 Blu-ray
Runtime: 1h 19m
Director(s): Dean Dempsey
Writer(s): Dean Dempsey
Cast: Dean Dempsey, Texas Trash, Neon Music, Sophia Lamar, Cory Kimbrow-Dana
Where to Watch: available now, order your copy here: www.thecultvault.com, www.mvdshop.com, or www.amazon.com

RAVING REVIEW: There’s something unsettlingly honest about CANDY APPLE, the kind of film that doesn’t just try to entertain but also expose those moments that matter. Set in New York City’s chaotic streets, it’s a dark comic portrait of failure, art, and the reality of living on the fringes of society. Dean Dempsey writes, directs, and stars alongside his real-life father, Texas Trash—a casting choice that turns what could’ve been a mere character study into something raw and personal. This isn’t a film that hides behind metaphor or clean descriptions; it stares directly into dysfunction and asks you to sit with it.

The premise is layered. A father, Texas Trash, tries to stay sober and regain a sense of purpose, while his son, Bobby, attempts to make a film about the world around them. Between expressive frustration, temptation, and the lure of New York’s many vices, the story blurs the line between self-destruction and self-expression. The story often circles back on itself—literally ending where it begins—mirroring the inescapable cycles of addiction and disappointment that haunt both men.

What stands out is how CANDY APPLE balances its fictional structure with factual emotions. Using non-actors and real-life inspiration, Dempsey crafts something that feels closer to a docudrama than a traditional narrative. It’s as though the film isn’t just about the people on screen but made for them—to preserve and mourn a way of life that’s perpetually collapsing. The authenticity of this approach is the film’s strength. There’s no trickery in the way characters stumble through half-baked dreams or in how conversations trail off into silence and regret.

Yet for all its realism, CANDY APPLE is also deeply surreal. Trash and his friend Roxy (played by Neon Music) drift through psychedelic sequences that reflect their fractured psyches. These moments flirt with absurdity but serve a purpose: they highlight the fine line between escape and delusion. When the hallucinogens kick in, so does the film’s most dynamic energy, transforming grimy apartments and trash-strewn streets into strange, colorful manifestations of hope. The editing becomes frantic, the music surges, and the tone slips from tragedy into something almost magical—if only for a moment.

The film struggles with its uneven pacing and tone. Some stretches feel improvised to a fault, where scenes linger long past their payoff. The dialogue can be inconsistent, occasionally veering into parody before snapping back into clarity.

Dempsey’s decision to use his father, a real-life musician and amputee, is both brave and revealing. Texas Trash isn’t acting; he’s existing. Every scene with him carries an unpredictable charge because he doesn’t seem aware of or interested in the camera’s demands. His presence alone creates a tension between reality and performance that no trained actor could reproduce. You get the sense that this isn’t just a father-son story being told—it’s one being lived out in real time, raw and unresolved.

New York isn’t romanticized; it’s an unrelenting maze of alleys, cluttered apartments, and flickering lights. The city becomes another symbol—one that devours people like Trash and Bobby while pretending to offer salvation. Thematically, the film wrestles with the same contradictions that define underground art itself: authenticity versus exploitation, creation versus self-destruction. Bobby’s filmmaking ambitions echo Dempsey’s own, creating a meta-narrative where art imitates life until the distinction between the two no longer matters. It’s self-aware without being smug, allowing moments of introspection to emerge naturally from the chaos.

One of the film’s strongest elements is its portrayal of addiction without resorting to melodrama. Trash’s struggles aren’t treated as a shocking twist but as an inevitability—a quiet, sad return to what’s familiar. There’s no redemption arc, no last-minute awakening, just the cyclical misery of people who want to be better but don’t know how. Dempsey refuses to pity his characters; instead, he captures them as they are: flawed, fascinating, and painfully human.

CANDY APPLE rewards viewers who appreciate unvarnished storytelling. It’s rough around the edges, showing its indie roots, but that’s precisely the point. The imperfections give it character. The cast of real people creates a strange, intimate pulse that can’t be replicated in Hollywood productions.

As the film closes on a near-identical scene to where it started, there’s an unspoken acknowledgment that nothing truly changes for these people. The struggle continues, the pain lingers, and the dream of something better remains just out of reach. Yet there’s an odd comfort in that honesty. CANDY APPLE doesn’t offer solutions—it simply reflects the reality that for some, surviving another day is its own kind of victory. The film feels like a time capsule of downtown New York’s forgotten corners, a tribute to its misfits, artists, and addicts alike. It’s a small, scrappy film with heart—one that doesn’t glamorize the mess but finds beauty in its authenticity.

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