Good movies often possess a sense of integrity, but even those that aren't as strong can exhibit it as well. A prime example is "The Crow," which tells the story of a man who, after being murdered alongside his beloved, returns from the grave to seek vengeance. While the film features several elements that fall flat—such as a recurring flashback filled with heavy symbolism related to the protagonist Eric Draven's childhood trauma that led him to a mental institution—viewers must accept that the central love story resonates powerfully, largely due to the charm of the actors involved. The screenplay by Zach Baylin and William Schneider takes its time to establish the tragic event that propels the narrative, delaying the moment when Eric transforms into The Crow, a self-painted, somewhat Joker-like figure of death, until the film's final act. There are numerous other issues that I will address later.
However, the film carries a subtle confidence in its identity and storytelling approach, supported by a metaphysical framework that becomes surprisingly convincing by the conclusion. This movie, unlike what reality show contestants might claim, isn’t here to make friends; it’s committed to its own truth, following a righteous path right to the end. The conclusion resonates with the essence of poets like John Keats and Edgar Allan Poe, as well as the original graphic novel by James O’Barr. The violence depicted is shockingly brutal, even by the standards of revenge thrillers—deliberately excessive in a way reminiscent of art-house or grindhouse films like "Drive" or "Only God Forgives"—as if the film is determined to astonish an audience that believes it has seen it all.
The choice to spend considerable time introducing us to the sorrowful, big-eyed Eric Draven (played by Bill Skarsgård) before his supernatural transformation, along with the development of his love interest Shelly (musician FKA Twigs), a woman entangled in the goth subculture with a hidden past, ultimately pays off as the story unfolds. While it may feel a bit slow at first, the narrative takes a significant turn after Shelly’s tragic death. Without giving too much away, the film embraces a deeply Romantic tone reminiscent of “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.” In an era where sincerity is often dismissed as “cringe,” the film deserves credit for daring to explore this theme and for delivering an ending that feels fitting, even if it doesn’t leave viewers with smiles.
The Crow 2024 Watch on 123films
However, it’s fair to say that it doesn’t quite reach the level of a great film, nor is it particularly commercial. Twigs brings a certain charm but her performance feels somewhat lacking, and Skarsgård, despite his commitment to the love story, doesn’t fare much better. The characters often come across as if they’re in a daze, even when they’re not under the influence. Director Rupert Sanders (“Snow White and the Huntsman,” the live-action “Ghost in the Shell”) leans heavily on clichéd montage sequences of the couple in love, which seem to aim for deeper meaning (like Eric kissing Shelly through a sheer curtain that evokes a burial shroud, or a “Titanic”-like moment of her sinking into the harbor while Eric reaches for her). These moments could have been replaced with more genuine interactions that reflect real human behavior. All of this, combined with the intense violence and the somber ending, likely contributes to why “The Crow” is being overlooked.
This still seems like a misstep, as despite its shortcomings and flaws—such as uninspired storytelling and some unclear or hazy nighttime visuals—the film possesses a certain charm, a unique quality, or perhaps just a clear sincerity of purpose that should protect it from accusations of being merely a cash-grab remake. Anyone in the entertainment industry solely for profit wouldn’t invest in a project like this rendition of “The Crow,” which embraces a 19th-century, black-clad, tombstone-kneeling interpretation of True Love. The film has also taken the time to create a rich mythology that contextualizes character motivations, allowing it to evolve into a narrative that transcends the simple premise of “bad guys kill hero’s girlfriend, hero returns to take revenge,” which is essentially what Alex Proyas (“Dark City”) presented when he first adapted James O’Barr’s comic three decades ago.
In this version, the antagonist, Roeg (likely named after the esteemed director Nicolas Roeg and portrayed by the ever-reliable Danny Huston), is more than just an ordinary criminal; he is a despicable and formidable being who claims to have existed for ages and possesses the power to corrupt humans. Unlike earlier adaptations of The Crow’s legends, this film dives deep into the supernatural, moving beyond the typical resurrection of a deceased hero. It depicts evil as a potent force that can be harnessed and wielded, capable of transforming and tainting others. This approach aligns the narrative more closely with the tale of Orpheus, who endeavors to rescue his wife Eurydice from the underworld, although this version of “The Crow” spends much of its metaphysical exploration in a liminal, purgatorial realm.
1. Proyas’ adaptation was destined to be a film where style took precedence over substance, featuring flat yet iconic characterizations and a visual style inspired by contemporary music videos, album art, and comic book illustrations. The tragic death of star Brandon Lee, who was killed by a prop gun before completing his scenes, forced the production team to rely on silhouetted body doubles and rudimentary compositing techniques to create a finished product. The outcome was a film deeply marked by death in multiple ways. With enough time having passed, it can be said that, despite its flaws, the film garnered additional affection from audiences who were aware of the tragic circumstances surrounding its creation. Personally, I gave Proyas’s “The Crow” a glowing review upon its release and played the soundtrack on repeat.
The latest version lacks the tight focus and energetic pace of the 1994 original. Instead, it presents a somber atmosphere reminiscent of Northern European horror tales. This neo-noir film is set in a rain-soaked, gritty city. While the muscular Skarsgård doesn’t possess Lee’s graceful movements and doesn’t attempt to mimic them, his portrayal of Eric Draven leans more towards a brooding, golem-like figure, summoned to take vengeance on the wicked.
1. That’s perfectly fine. It’s a unique perspective, and ultimately, it not only succeeds but also evokes strong emotions almost against its own intentions. This version of "Crow" seems to grasp its essence most profoundly when it depicts Eric transforming himself into a relentless force for redemption and justice, choosing to embody the darkness he once witnessed while shedding the love that once uplifted him during Shelly's life. The impact on screen echoes a line from Edgar Allan Poe: “Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.” Each scene, particularly in the latter half, feels as if it’s guided by a hidden frequency that only the creators can perceive, something no other mainstream film this year can tap into. Even when the film didn’t quite resonate in a traditional way, there were moments that sent chills down my spine.
There’s a memorable moment where Eric and Shelly stroll across a bridge, and Shelly, half-jokingly, mentions jumping. They envision a tragic double-jump leading to their demise, imagining that teenagers would create memorials for them. I believe that, in time, young people will craft their own tributes to this film in their unique styles. It’s the type of movie that, if you experienced it at 14, you’d likely watch it ten or twenty more times and feel inspired to explore literature, perhaps even memorize some poetry.