Alex Proyas' 1994 film The Crow owes its lasting cult status in part to its high-style visuals reminiscent of peak-era MTV, an electrifying alt-metal soundtrack, and its undeniably cool goth-chic fashion.
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| Bill Skarsgard in 'The Crow' Larry Horricks/Lionsgate |
However, the deeper reason behind the film’s cultural impact was the tragic accident on set that claimed the life of the promising star Brandon Lee at 28, mirroring the untimely death of his father, martial arts icon Bruce Lee.
Director Rupert Sanders tries to escape the original's shadow by avoiding the term "remake" and labeling this as a modern reinterpretation of the source material. Nonetheless, it remains just as heavy-handed.
Submerged in a moody atmosphere, rain-soaked night scenes, and heavy eyeliner, while sprinkling in retro vibes with tracks from Joy Division, Gary Numan, and others, the new version of The Crow prioritizes visual style over narrative substance. It’s no surprise that the director drew inspiration from high-gloss French films of the '80s like Diva and Subway, part of the "Cinéma du look" movement.
Proyas and his screenwriters skim through the brutal murders of soon-to-be-married Shelly and Eric with unsettling montage sequences, jumping quickly into the sensational elements of resurrection and bloody revenge.
Adapted by Zach Baylin and William Schneider from James O’Barr’s comic series, the reboot—regardless of what it's called—lumbers through a dull introduction. It fails to convincingly establish the timeless love between Eric (Bill Skarsgard) and Shelly (FKA Twigs), nor does it effectively portray the malevolent force that disrupts their happiness.
The villainous aspect is particularly perplexing. Vincent Roeg (Danny Huston) is a wealthy man with a penchant for attractive female pianists, which seems relevant only because Shelly plays the piano.
He derives pleasure from sending women to their doom with a sinister whisper and a touch of blood contamination, causing them to become hollow-eyed before taking their own lives or committing murder.
However, the origins of his mind-manipulating powers and what makes Roeg such a depraved character are never clarified. He claims to have existed for centuries, but if he's meant to be a supernatural being similar to Dead Eric from the comic, why does his skill set differ so drastically? Don’t expect any answers.
Whatever Roeg is, he falls short compared to Michael Wincott’s cold-hearted cokehead with flowing headbanger hair and Bai Ling as his enigmatic witchy partner.
In this version, Eric and Shelly meet at court-ordered rehab. Shelly, who was traumatized by a secretly filmed video of a disturbing hangout, had a breakdown before her arrest. The video’s incriminating content is only hinted at initially, but it’s clear that Roeg wants it erased quickly.
This leaves just enough time for Eric and Shelly to bond over their tattoos, develop budding feelings, and escape rehab together when Roeg’s hit team—led by a pair we’ll dub Fake Tilda Swinton and Fake Terence Stamp—tracks them down.
Hiding out in a stylish apartment generously provided by a friend, the love-struck couple fall for each other amidst dirty sex, a shared joint in the bathtub, pills, champagne, and plenty of euphoric snuggling under sheer white curtains. They let their guard down, spending time by the river, exploring the town, and dancing at a club. In this case, love isn’t just blind—it’s foolish.
Upon returning home, Eric and Shelly discover Roeg’s assassins waiting for them. Sanders and the writers sensibly omit the sadistic rape element from the original and show less interest in sensationalizing the murders. This is likely the last wise decision they make.
Whether encountering The Crow for the first or fiftieth time, viewers don’t need elaborate lore to enjoy the story. It should be relatively simple: A man dies with his beloved, returns from the grave with rapid-healing powers that make him nearly indestructible, and a crow guides him to exact revenge on those who wronged them, allowing them to find peace.
Eric’s journey of revenge in the afterlife begins in a murky industrial wasteland, a liminal space between heaven and hell, where a mysterious figure named Kronos (Sami Bouajila) lays out the rules. The crows, making a raucous noise, are responsible for guiding souls to the afterlife. Yet, Eric has unresolved matters. “The crow will guide you to put the wrong things right,” Kronos instructs.
The image of Brandon Lee in tight black leather and spandex beneath a dramatic trench coat reminiscent of Thierry Mugler’s designs, with a large bird perched on his shoulder like a goth pirate, is so iconic that replicating it would be futile.
As Skarsgard’s Eric, sporting a mullet, prowls the city and takes out Roeg’s henchmen in increasingly gory fashions, he’s frequently shirtless to flaunt his sculpted physique and elaborate tattoos. At one point, a would-be assassin even helps by tearing Eric’s sweat-soaked T-shirt during a blood-soaked fight. I almost exclaimed, “Ooh, girl, behave!”
There’s nothing about this undead avenger (or his performance) to sustain interest through a series of repetitive stabbings, shootings, and skull-crushing. There isn’t even a window dive until a double dive near the end.
The film’s major set-piece is an opera scene where Eric tracks down Roeg’s No. 2, Fake Tilda, whose real name is Marion (Laura Birn). The opulent setting, adorned with gilt, marble, and red plush, provides a stage for a bloodbath that might have excited Luc Besson in the '80s.
However, as Roeg’s seemingly endless army of heavily armed assassins in perfectly tailored formalwear keep appearing just as quickly as Eric can defeat them, it starts to feel like a derivative John Wick. It’s worth noting that an opera full of screeching arias provides excellent audio cover for a killing spree.
There’s a lot of back-and-forth and renegotiation with Kronos, which mainly serves to let Eric shed inky black tears and offer a vague explanation for Roeg’s malice and its link to Kronos' suspended state. However, this excess of otherworldly nonsense only dulls the already minimal focus on the all-consuming love story meant to drive the plot.
DP Steve Annis frames the film like a series of music videos, perhaps aiming to pay homage to the ‘90s roots of the screen adaptation. Instead, it muddles the boundary between reality and the supernatural in a dreary manner.
Twigs and Bouajila fulfill their roles but fail to make their characters memorable, while Huston’s dark lord performance veers into silliness, a flaw more of the script than the actor.
The Crow is a sluggish, overly self-serious gloom-fest that fails to take flight. Given the lengthy development process with numerous directors and lead actors over 16 years, the underwhelming result is hardly surprising. At least we avoided the Mark Wahlberg version.
