As a long-time fan of the original “The Crow,” I must confess that my anticipation for this reboot was as high as Eric Draven’s mullet. However, after watching the 2019 version, I find myself more disappointed than Shelly ever was by her lover’s untimely demise.
1994’s film “The Crow,” directed by Alex Proyas, retains its cult following due to its visually striking aesthetic reminiscent of peak-era MTV, a powerful alt-metal soundtrack, and an extremely fashionable gothic-chic vibe. However, the main reason for the impact this sleek thriller has had on culture is the unfortunate accident that took the life of talented actor Brandon Lee at age 28, mirroring the untimely death of his father, martial arts icon Bruce Lee at a similar age. Director Rupert Sanders tries to distance himself from the original by labeling this as a modern reinterpretation rather than a remake. However, it still feels overly dramatic.
Immersed in a gloomy ambiance, sleek rain-drenched cityscapes, smudged eyeliner, and a dash of nostalgia with tunes from bands like Joy Division and Gary Numan, the latest version of The Crow leans more towards visual allure than narrative depth. It’s no surprise that the director drew inspiration from polished ’80s French films such as Diva and Subway, which fall under the “Cinéma du look” movement.
As a gamer, I sprinted through the chilling sequence of Shelly and Eric’s grisly murders, their images flashing by in a disquieting montage. This rapid pace allowed me to plunge headlong into the thrilling world of resurrection and retaliation bathed in blood.
Revised by Zach Baylin and William Schneider, based on James O’Barr’s comic book series, this new take — or alternative version if you prefer — moves with a seemingly sluggish pace during an uneventful introduction. It fails to effectively portray the immediate, timeless love between Eric (Bill Skarsgard) and Shelly (FKA Twigs), as well as the malevolent force that disrupts their bliss.
To put it simply, the wicked actions of Vincent Roeg (played by Danny Huston) appear rather confusing. He is a man of substantial wealth who seems fond of beautiful female pianists, as evidenced by Shelly’s sketching at the keyboard. However, his motives seem peculiar, as he derives pleasure from manipulating women with a sinister whisper and a touch of blood, causing them to become lifeless before ultimately taking their own lives or someone else’s.
However, the question arises: From what source does this malevolent ability to control minds originate, and why is Roeg such an unsettling character? He claims immortality spanning centuries, yet if we accept he’s a supernatural entity like Dead Eric from comic-book lore, why are his abilities distinctly different? You won’t find answers to these queries. Regardless of what he is, Roog is no match for Michael Wincott as the ruthless cocaine addict with long, sleek hair reminiscent of a heavy metal musician, or Bai Ling as his enchanting, mystical companion.
In this adaptation, Eric and Shelly encounter each other at a court-mandated rehabilitation center. Prior to her apprehension, Shelly was distraught upon receiving a video from a friend, who covertly recorded their gathering that took a violent turn, leaving her emotionally scarred. The distressing occurrences of that evening are subtly hinted at initially, yet they are damning enough to persuade Roeg to have the video taken off circulation immediately. This timeline allows Eric and Shelly to bond over their tattoos, foster budding feelings for each other, and flee rehab together when Roeg’s hit squad, consisting of an elegant duo we’ll refer to as a stand-in for Tilda Swinton and Terence Stamp, locate Shelly.
In a luxurious apartment graciously offered by a kind friend, the starry-eyed pair develop affection through intimate moments involving questionable choices such as sex scented with an unpleasant aroma, smoking marijuana together in the bathtub, taking pills, drinking champagne, and countless passionate embraces swathed in soft white fabrics. However, they momentarily overlook Roeg’s cleverness to enjoy a picnic by the river, explore the town, and visit a dance club. In this scenario, love appears less as a state of blindness than a form of thoughtless foolishness.
Upon returning home, Eric and Shelly encounter Roeg’s henchmen who are already there. The creators and screenwriters have intelligently omitted the brutal rape scene from the initial film and instead focus less on sensationalizing the killings. This might be one of the few intelligent choices they make.
For either a novice or an experienced viewer of “The Crow”, intricate backstory isn’t necessary to hinder the fast-paced narrative. Instead, it should be simple and clear: A man perishes with his beloved, then resurrects with extraordinary healing abilities that make him appear invincible; a crow leads him on a quest to avenge Shelly’s death by eliminating the wrongdoers, ensuring they can both find eternal peace.
In this setting, Eric’s journey into the afterlife unfolds amidst a murky, industrial wasteland, sandwiched between heaven and hell. A mysterious figure named Kronos (Sami Bouajila) introduces the rules to Eric here. Crows, squawking noisily, serve as messengers transporting souls to the realm of the deceased. However, Eric has matters yet to be settled. Kronos advises him, “The crow will lead you to rectify the errors you’ve made.”
The image of Brandon Lee, dressed in form-fitting black leather and spandex under an extravagant trench coat reminiscent of a Thierry Mugler catwalk, with a large bird sitting on his shoulder like a gothic pirate, is so emblematic that attempting to recreate it would have been absurd.
In the city, Skarsgard’s character Eric, along with his iconic mullet, relentlessly targets Roeg’s henchmen in progressively gruesome manners. Frequently, he is seen without a shirt to showcase his well-defined physique and numerous tattoos. In an intense battle, one potential assassin even rips off Eric’s sweaty t-shirt amidst the bloodbath, which almost made me exclaim, “Now, now, let’s keep it classy!”
The depiction of the zombie avenger lacks elements that would keep viewers engaged, beyond repetitive actions like stabbing, chopping, shooting, and skull-crushing. Additionally, there are no scenes of characters leaping through windows until a brief double jump towards the finale.
The key action in the film unfolds during an opera scene, where the character Eric tracks down Roeg’s second-in-command, who is disguised as Tilda but whose real name is Marion (Laura Birn). The opulent architecture, adorned with gold, marble, and red velvet, creates a backdrop for violence that might have appealed to Luc Besson in the ’80s. However, when Roeg’s endless army of assassins in formal attire appear as quickly as Eric can eliminate them, it becomes reminiscent of a less authentic version of John Wick. It’s worth noting that an opera performance filled with loud arias provides effective noise for a killing spree.
As a dedicated admirer, I find myself grappling with an ongoing dialogue between Kronos that seems to yield scant new insights, apart from enabling Eric’s poignant shedding of ink-black tears. Regrettably, these interactions only serve to obscure the origins of Roeg’s malevolence and its link to Kronos’ enigmatic suspended state. The abundance of mystical jargon unfortunately diminishes the intended emotional intensity of the passionate love narrative that should be the central focus.
In a fresh take on wording:
The film titled The Crow, instead of taking flight, is a slow, heavy production filled with excessive solemnity and gloom. Considering the numerous directors and main actors associated with it throughout its 16 years of development, the laborious, lackluster outcome seems fittingly predictable. Perhaps we were fortunate enough to avoid the Mark Wahlberg adaptation.
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2024-08-23 02:26